The Time Traveler's Dilemma
Chapter Three: Memories Revealed

The passageway loomed darkly ahead of them, the lightless candle brackets along the walls still smoking eerily as if they had just been snuffed out.

Harry, Ron and Hermione, their illuminated wands held aloft, crept steadily forward, nervous about what they might find.

"Harry," whispered Hermione, quickening her pace so that she was level with him, "what exactly are we likely to find down here?"

Harry glanced sideways at her. "Hopefully, one of Voldemort's horcruxes," he said matter-of-factly. "Though the other person who knows exactly what will happen when we reach the horcrux-besides Voldemort himself, that is-is you." He paused, giving her a slight smile. "You've already lived this when I come from, remember?"

"Well what did I say?"

"You gave a few details," piped in Ron from behind them. "Especially about the use of this memory. It'll become clear once we get there, I expect."

Her mind reeling from the complications of her time traveling, Hermione nodded silently. She took Ron to mean that in their past, she had already experienced this night, this attempt to get the Horcrux, and therefore her past self had already told them exactly what they needed to do to destroy it successfully.

The three of them continued to make their way slowly down the passageway, following it as it curved seamlessly to the left, where it opened up into a high-ceilinged room whose shadows their wandlight couldn't quite penetrate.

Shining his light around the walls, Harry's wand revealed more candles in brackets, which immediately lit themselves as his wand passed over them with a slight rushing sound. Soon, the room was filled with a soft glow, the rushing sound stopped, and it was revealed that they stood at the entrance of a circular room not dissimilar to the dimensions of the Headmaster's office several floors above them.

The contents of the room, however, could not have been more different than Dumbledore's old office, noted Hermione, from the small handful of times she had visited it in her years at Hogwarts. There was an odd sort of coldness imposed on the chamber despite the rosy color of the stone walls and the glow from the candles.

It was also almost completely bare of furniture; at the center of the chamber stood a marvelous-looking wooden desk and straight-backed chair. On the dark wooden surface of the desk stood a Pensieve, the rune-engraved stone basin used to collect a person's memories.

This Pensieve, however, was small, much smaller than Dumbledore's had been, and appeared to be quite empty. There were no swirling strands of memory floating in its basin, no blue light emanated from its depths; it simply sat upon the desk's surface, horribly foreboding in its emptiness. Hermione couldn't help but feel a great sense of dread as she looked at the Pensieve; what were they to do with it, exactly?

The three of them stood motionless on the threshold, as silent as the room.

"C'mon," said Harry after several moments' hesitation. He motioned for Ron and Hermione to follow him to the center of the room, and they did. Hermione noticed that Ron did so especially reluctantly, and Hermione was afraid to ask what she had told them in the past that could bring out the cold sweat that had broken out on his face.

"Alright," said Harry, taking a deep breath. "Hermione, you had--in the past--said that we needed to use the memory to reveal the position of the Horcrux ..."

He plunged a hand into his robes and withdrew the vile containing the memory. It glowed a bright, incandescent blue, even brighter than when Harry had applied it to the portal to gain access to the passageway.

Harry continued, "And that once we view the memory, we could find the Horcrux, capture it, and destroy it." He paused, gulped. "Destroy it ... after a fashion..."

"After a fashion ...?" Hermione asked faintly, watching his face intently in the blue light of the memory.

His eyes focused on hers, but remained inscrutable.

Ron cleared his throat nervously beside her. "Let's do it," he said, his voice strangely high-pitched.

Harry's intense gaze faltered, and he looked away from her. Pursing his lips, he uncorked the vile, and poured the memory into the waiting Pensieve.

Immediately upon touching the Pensieve's surface, the memory shot suddenly and forcefully out of it, seeming to explode into the air around them, which became dense and heavy with the weight of it. Soon, the circular room was filled with magically expanded gossamer strands, and the air itself began to hum louder and louder until it seemed to vibrate veritably around them.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, and her gaze quickly sought out Ron and Harry. Ron's eyes were tightly shut, his mouth screwed up as if in tense concentration. Harry's eyes were darting around the room, taking in the expanding ribbons of blue light; he was standing on the balls of his feet, ready for anything.

Then, quite as suddenly as it started, the blue strands melted back into the air, and the space in the room seemed to disappear. The walls and candle brackets remained in place, but the space itself filled with the contents of a wholly different place. Or rather, the exact same place but with deliberate alterations.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves standing in the exact same room, but this time it was filled with more furniture than the desk and chair. Ceiling high bookcases lined with enormous texts lined the walls, cushy armchairs stood in front of the desk, and a whole host of ancient-looking objects cluttered various shelves and the surfaces of spindly tables. The place looked like an office, and a very old one, at that.

Helga Hufflepuff's office...?, thought Hermione.

She looked around, then let out a stifled scream as Harry's hand clamped over her mouth. They were no longer alone. There, beside one of the bookshelves, loomed the outlines of two figures Hermione loathed and mistrusted above anybody else: Voldemort and Severus Snape himself were in deep conference not seven feet from them.

Harry removed his hand from her mouth, and she gulped, her gaze riveted on Voldemort. Beside her, Ron gave a whimper, "Blimey ..."

"Never mind," Harry whispered, "it's a memory, they can't hear or see us anyway." He had a look of barely suppressed rage on his face.

"A memory?" questioned Hermione. But as soon as she asked, she understood. They must be inside the memory that shot out of the vile and filled the room, and therefore were utterly invisible to the two figures in front of them.

"Yes," said Harry. "We needed a memory of Voldemort's to gain entrance to the passageway, and now to find the Horcrux."

"That's ... ingenious," said Hermione in a grudgingly impressed tone.

"Exactly. That way he could control exactly who can and can't enter the place where his Horcrux is hidden. Or find it once they get here."

Hermione nodded, another burning question popping into her head. "But, Harry! How exactly did you come by a memory of Voldemort's? That seems downright impossible!"

"It would have been," said Ron in an eager tone. "But that's why it was so helpful when we got that Patronus from Sn--"

"Let's talk about that later," said Harry impatiently, who had taken several steps towards the two figures they shared the room with, his footsteps echoing off the stone floor. "We've got to hear the contents of this memory. It will be vital if we are to use the memory to find the horcrux."

And with this, the three of them turned eagerly to survey Voldemort and Snape, who stood several feet apart, their heads inclined towards each other.

Both were dressed in billowing black robes; Voldemort's seemed to float around him, as if the fabric was afraid of coming into direct contact with his skin.

Snape looked the same as ever, his lank, greasy hair curtaining his sallow features and hooked nose. Seeing a dry smile tugging at his pursed lips, Hermione felt a surge of anger mixed with fear rise in her chest as she took in the sight of the two men standing in front of her.

Peering more closely at her former Potions professor's features, however, Hermione thought he seemed much younger than when he had taught at Hogwarts, and she wondered if this memory took place much earlier, before Voldemort had lost his powers.

Before she could process this thought, however, Voldemort had opened his mouth to speak.

"Thank you for meeting me here, Severus," he said, his voice high and cold, and he gestured carelessly around the room with a long-fingered hand. "You have not disappointed me."

"It is my pleasure, my Lord," replied Snape with a slight bow of his greasy head. "As you now, I have just secured a teaching post here at Hogwarts; the journey to this room could not have been easier, once you gave your directions. I couldn't help but notice that the room is well hidden."

Voldemort surveyed Snape with slightly narrowed eyes, a move that did nothing to improve his appearance. "Indeed," he said softly. Then he continued: "I have called you here for a single reason, Severus. As you know --and it is you, Severus, out of all my followers, who knows this best-- I have journeyed farther than any other wizard along the path of immortality..."

Veldemort's cold voice trailed off delicately and he paused as if waiting for Snape to congratulate him on this point.

When he did not, Voldemort resumed his speech, his voice neither loud nor soft, but perfectly controlled. "The magical powers and methods I use to craft this immorality I shall not reveal to you, but as you were the one who came to me so swiftly yesterday evening after learning about the prophecy involving the Potters,"--beside her, Hermione could hear Harry suck in breath, and was surprised when his hand sought out hers, gripping it tight-- "I have chosen you to perform a specific task for me before I strike at Godric's Hollow."

Harry's fingers were stone cold against Hermione's, and she could feel him shaking with suppressed rage.

"A task, my Lord?" said Snape, his voice carefully inflected to omit curiosity, though Hermione noticed that his dark eyes gleamed a shade brighter.

"A task, yes," came the cold reply. "A task that involves my immortality. You realize, Severus, that this is a burden that will fall heavily on your shoulders, and that you will speak of it to no one." It was not a request.

"Of course not, my Lord," he said, and inclined his head again, his eyes never leaving his master's face.

"Why that slimy git," Hermione heard Ron seethe beside her.

Despite her loathing for the former professor standing before her, Hermione could not help but feel a powerful sense of dread start to form at the pit of her stomach. A smile had appeared on Voldemort's face, a wild, insane sort of smile that made him look less human. Never in Harry's descriptions of him had Hermione imagined something so horrible as the creature before her now who fashioned himself the Dark Lord.

Voldemort did not reply to Snape. Instead, he plunged his hand inside his eerily billiowing cloak and pulled out an ornately engraved silver goblet. He held it aloft in front of Snape, his long white fingers wrapped around one of its handles. It gleamed brightly in the candlelight.

Harry leaned towards Hermione, his hand finally slipping out of hers; his mouth was very close to her ear. "Hufflepuff's cup!" he whispered in exclamation. "I saw it in Dumbledore's Pensieve! That's the Horcrux!"

Hermione gave a small gasp of understanding and exchanged looks with an equally astonished Ron. "Oh yes, of course..."

Meanwhile, Voldemort had enchanted the goblet to float in mid-air before him, and was now looking at Snape, his red eyes alight with concentration.

"My Lord," began Snape, this time with a hint of nervousness, "what am I to--"

But Voldemort cut him off. "You are to do nothing, but feel this ..."

And, quite suddenly, Voldemort had yelled "Crucio!" and Snape was on the ground convulsing in pain, a horrible scream erupting from his this lips, his black eyes leaking tears.

Voldemort was again performing magic: the cup was spinning in front of him and began to shake and buck in the air. Soon, Snape's body began to quiet and his screams became fainter, as if it was no longer issuing from his lips.

And then it hit her: the scream was no longer issuing from Snape's lips. Rather, it was now issuing from the spinning cup, as if it had drank in all of his pain and now contained it.

Slowly but surely, Snape stopped moving or making any sort of sound at all and lay quite motionless on the ground.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood riveted to the spot, horrified.

A high-pitched laughter filled Hermione's ears as Voldemort began to laugh, and suddenly the contents of the room began to disappear, the two figures in front of them dissolving before their very eyes. Moments later, they found themselves back in the bare room with the single desk, the single chair, and this time, a silver goblet resting in the very spot the Pensieve occupied before they entered the memory.

The Horcrux had replaced the Pensieve.

Breathing heavily, Hermione looked around at Harry and Ron.

"What-- what was that?" said Ron, his voice unsteady.

But Hermione wasn't listening. She rounded on Harry, whose face looked ashen and rigid. "Harry-" she began, and reached out a steadying hand to him, not quite touching him. "Are you alright ...?"

His eyes seemed to have difficulty finding hers, as if he was still replaying the scene they had just witnessed all over again.

Finally, he found his voice, "I knew," he said, his voice positively bubbling with rage, his eyes jockeying between herself and Ron. "I knew it but I didn't... I knew it was Snape. I knew it was him who told Voldemort about the prophecy. Trelawney told me at the end of last year ... I knew." And then, as if he couldn't contain himself any longer, burst out, "I knew but I still hate him! I hate him!"

"Oh I know, Harry, I know ..." said Hermione, striken. "You're absolutely right. It's one thing to hear it. It's quite another to see it in front of you." She gulped. "To see it in real life."

Hermione caught Ron's eye, and he squirmed uncomfortably, his face quite pale.

"It's fine," came Harry's voice, now more controlled. "It's fine." He seemed to be steeling himself for something. "It's over now. But we have to take care of the horcrux. We can't stop now."

"No, we can't," agreed Hermione. "Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted it. He'd have wanted us to keep going."

"It's for the best, mate," said Ron.

Harry gave a sharp nod; and Hermione was relieved that he seemed at last to be firmly in the present, no longer replaying the scene in his mind. His face looked set as he took a step towards the desk.

The cup stood innocently at the center of it, the ornate carvings of runes ornamenting the outside.

"How ... How do we destroy it?" she asked hesitantly.

"First we have to remove it; we can destroy it later," answered Harry, his eyes still riveted on the cup.

Nodding, Hermione drew her wand, ready to perform a series of charms to remove the cup without touching it. She muttered a series of spells over the horcrux, then frowned. Nothing had happened.

Harry reached out and stopped her hand. "That won't work. It's just like the portal: magic won't be able to touch the cup now." He looked fleetingly at Hermione. "You said as much ... you know, in the past. We'll have to remove it by hand."

"Harry, no!" shot Hermione, and caught the back of his robes to stop his movement forward. "There has to be another way! You saw what Voldemort did to that cup! You saw what he put into it. It contains Snape's pain. Don't touch it, it could be dangerous."

"Of course it's dangerous, Hermione. Voldemort designed it that way on purpose."

"Hermione," said Ron as she opened her mouth to retort, "Harry's right. It's the only way. You-Know-Who wanted to make it as painful as possible to remove his horcrux."

"Alright, fine!" Hermione relented, still distressed. "But I'll do it. I'll remove the cup."

"No, you won't," hissed Harry, rounding on her. "If anyone's touching that cup, it'll be me, not either of you two."

"You don't have to do everything alone, Harry!" said Hermione desperately, tears springing into her eyes. "You don't have to be noble one hundred percent of the time. You can let others help!"

"I'm not doing anything alone! And I'm not being noble," came Harry's voice, angry. "Look at you two, you're here with me and I could have never gotten here without your help. But there are some things I'm meant to do by myself." He glanced at Ron, "Ron, you know what to do from here."

And quick as lightening, before Hermione could stop his hand, Harry had reached out to grasp the goblet, one hand on each of the silver handles.

Immediately he began to convulse just as Snape had in the memory, and Harry's piercing yells of pain mixed with echoes of Snape's yells, whihc were erupting out of the cup. Soon he was on the ground, his green eyes shut tight, tears running down his pale cheeks.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, rushing towards him, but Ron caught her around the middle with both hands, bodily stopping her. "Ron, let go!"

"This is what has to happen, Hermione!" said Ron into her ear. "There's no other way!"

Hermione struggled against Ron's grasp, and he pulled her more tightly against his body. "Ron, let me go! Let me go to him!" She stamped on Ron's foot and he cursed, but didn't let go of her.

"Harry, let go of the cup!" she yelled desperately, tears starting to leak down her own cheeks as Harry continued to convulse in pain in front of her, his yells still mixing with the echoes of Snape's.

Hermione could feel herself begin to weaken against Ron's hold on her and fought all the harder, now pounding her fists ineffectually against his chest. She could no longer see through her tears.

Finally, she felt his grasp loosen and then Ron's arms disappeared altogether.

Suddenly, she found herself sprawled flat on her back. Her head was pounding, as if she had hit it against something very hard. "Harry," she yelled weakly, "Harry, drop the cup!"

"Hermione!" came a strong voice from somewhere above her that she recognized immediately as Harry's. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"Did she say 'drop the cup'?" came Ron's voice now. "What cup?"

Hermione blinked the tears out of her eyes confusedly and struggled into a sitting position, looking around.

She gasped.

She was no longer in the hidden chamber with the single desk and the horcrux; she was back at the Burrow, in the dress robes she had worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding, twilight settling around her. A sparkler burst in the air above her head, showering her with red sparks. The noise from the wedding reception filled her ears; she could hear billowing laughter, the clink of forks against china, and merry chatter from across the lawn.

Harry and Ron were kneeling beside her. Ron looked panicked and Harry's green eyes glowed bright with concern.

"Hermione," said Ron unsteadily, "what happened? You're-you're crying!"

"Yes ... I-I don't know what happened," she said, looking up. "Or rather, how it happened." Looking down at her hands, she saw it: tiny pieces of glass and oddly bent bits of golden metal sat in her palm and glittered on the front of her robes. The remains of the time-turner.

"The time-turner," she said. "I'm back."

Thanks for reading and an even bigger thanks for those kind souls who've left me reviews.

Tune in next chapter to find out:

How will Ron and Harry react to Hermione's time-traveling?
How did Harry obtain the memory? Who helped him to get it?
When and where will Hermione time-travel to next and what will she discover about Snape, and about herself?
What's going on between Hermione and Harry? Hermione and Ron?