Chapter 3
A/N: No, this isn't abandoned! Shocking!
Anyway, a warning to anyone reading this that there is gore and violence mentioned!
While James, Sirius and Professor Dumbledore each trained a steady wand on him, Harry gently picked up the thin length of rosewood Lily had left on the table for him. Ignoring the three men, he spent a moment examining the wand. It was scuffed near the tip, worn smooth near the handle, and felt friendly in his hand.
There had been some debate on which wand to give him – no one wanted to risk losing their own, for any reason, but ultimately they'd decided that each of the men had more experience disarming and containing another wizard than Lily had so, in the end, she'd reluctantly placed it on the table near the pensive and retreated behind her husband. James had issued a series of threats detailing exactly what curses he'd use if Harry even thought about attacking them (which Harry thought was rather silly of him since that just forearmed him with what kinds of counter-measures he'd need to take) before Sirius vanished the ropes binding him to the chair.
He'd remained sitting, wiggling his toes to get the blood flow restored rather than leaping to his feet, and that seemed to reassure everyone that he wasn't going to rabidly lunge for anyone's throat.
Once the feeling returned to his feet, he slowly stood and with exaggerated care moved over to the table. Before picking up the wand, he turned to Dumbledore and asked, "Can I conjure up a pair of glasses first?"
Without hesitation, the Headmaster replied, "Certainly, my boy."
With a sense of smug relief, Harry finally swished the wand and cast his first spell.
Although he hadn't thought it possible, the glasses which appeared were uglier than his usual mangled attempts. The frames looked like someone had taken a pair of normal glasses and stretched and melted the ear pieces into lumpy globs then sort of pounded them into a workable shape, ignoring the bubbles and craters that had formed. The lenses were neither symmetrical nor even remotely circular, with one side noticeably larger than the other.
All in all, it was a spectacularly pathetic piece of magic, and Harry grimaced in distaste. That particular spell never seemed to work well for him, but considering how often he needed to replace his glasses, he'd learned to live with the uniquely grotesque eyeglasses he produced. At least the prescription usually turned out well.
With a sigh, he slipped them on and was finally able to see the edges of the room clearly. Since he felt he had the time, he looked around, noting that the room, while definitely still Dumbledore's, was quite a bit different than how he remembered it last. The delicate twirling, spinning devices he's smashed after Sirius' death were all clustered along a single shelf behind the chair he'd been confined to. The sword of Gryffindor was missing, the rug on the floor was a deep purple rather than the burgundy he remembered, and the bookcases beside the door seemed to be gone as well. Fawkes' perch was present, although empty, and he wished for a brief moment that the phoenix was there – a creature such as Fawkes would be harder to replicate than a human after all.
He would have liked to spend a few more moments cataloguing the room, but it seemed his time was up, "Quit stalling and put the bloody memory in." James snapped.
Harry didn't bother looking at him, but did step over to the pensive. He didn't have to think too hard to know exactly which memory to extract. Pressing the borrowed wand to his temple, he concentrated and a thick silver strand flowed out to twist and shiver in the air. With a flick of the wrist, he sent the memory into the pensive and lowered the wand to his side, turning to face the Headmaster with a raised eyebrow.
"Leave the wand on the table." James barked, his own wand having never wavered from its point on Harry's chest.
Reluctantly, Harry placed the friendly wand onto the table next the pensive and moved back a step without being ordered to do so.
Dumbledore stepped up beside him, pressed his flowing beard to his chest to prevent it from getting in the way, and peered into the pensive, vanishing instantly. Harry gave the three other people a final, wary look and also leaned over to peer into the memory.
With a lurching sense of disorientation, he tumbled into chaos.
0101010
The memory snapped into focus surrounding Harry. Screams no less chilling for being remembered rent the air, black cloaked figures dancing around volleys of stunners and retaliating with deadly shots of green light. The very atmosphere was filled with madness and desperation.
Harry glanced around, letting shadows from the past run right through him, although he automatically dodged the Avada Kedavra curses. That would not be a good habit to lose, after all. Dumbledore was no where in sight. Neither was the memory of the old man, although Harry knew right where to look for that. He would have thought that the pensive would have dumped him nearer to his past self rather than across the lawn, but that was magic for you – completely counter-intuitive.
Harry frowned around himself once more, hoping to catch sight of the Headmaster. If Dumbledore didn't get in the right position, he'd miss the whole point of Harry picking this battle, but all around him he only saw black-clad forms.
Flinching as one Death Eater shot a nasty flesh-eating curse through Harry's chest striking a fellow Death Eater, Harry shot a startled look behind him and saw the distinctive willowy form of Severus Snape ducking away. He blinked in surprise, not having realized that his old potion professor had been at this fight. Although, now that he thought about it, it did make sense. This was Voldemort's first major victory, a battle he'd likely gambled the entirety of his followers on with reverberating effects.
This was the Loss of Hogwarts.
Harry shook his head. It didn't matter that Snape had been here at this point, even if it was nice to have some final evidence that he'd fought for their side before his death.
The ground beneath his feet did not squish as he remembered it, his footsteps leaving no imprint in the mud of a memory, but Harry paid that no attention, focusing instead on the main reason he'd entered this memory in the first place. First he looked up, since all the other directions seemed to be filled with swarms of people. The sky looked low and overcast, threatening rain, as he remembered. He cast his eyes from one side to the other, but saw none of the silvery flashes on the edges that a constructed memory would bring, nor any black gaping holes from a modified memory. Next Harry waded through the crowds up to the gates of Hogwarts, passing out of the Death Eaters' ranks, through the front lines of the castle defenders where the grounds were filling up with the dead and dying and up to the ancient stone walls. He forcibly kept his gaze steady on the grey stone, turning deaf ears to the frantic cries of lost friends.
There were recent scorch marks along the rock, one of which still glowed as if embedded with tiny embers. The untouched areas looked damp and muddy with a few places growing a green slime. Chips and cracks ran along the face of the wall, although none looked like they would damage its structure unduly.
Harry felt his shoulders relax in relief. This level of detail was impossible to manufacture in a false memory or an illusion of this size. The memory was most definitely real.
Once again confident of his mental health, Harry turned back to the crowds of fighters battling around him. Now that he was sure of himself, he needed to find out who this new Dumbledore was and what he wanted with Harry.
Where was that frustrating, twinkly-eyed old man anyway? Harry couldn't exactly leave the memory without him - his parents and Sirius (or whoever they were) would probably think he'd murdered the old man or something if he came out alone.
As if summoned by his irritation, the Headmaster materialized at his side, "Harry," The man's voice was troubled, "When did this take place? Who are these people attacking the children?"
Willing to play along since he couldn't think of anything better to do, Harry answered, "This was about, um, eleven years ago?" He tilted his head and counted, silently for a moment, "Yes, eleven years ago." He nodded for emphasis. "Those are the Death Eaters. Voldemort's followers, remember?"
"Yes, yes." Came the distracted reply and the frowning Headmaster surveyed the battle. He seemed to flinch as one of the second year Slytherins defending Hogwarts dropped with an agonized scream, his skin boiling off and Harry felt a bubble of sympathy. It had been hard enough to live through the battle, but if this person who claimed to be Dumbledore actually believed he was who he said he was – and all evidence was pointing that way – then he probably was feeling the same sense of responsibility for the students that the real Dumbledore would have. Harry knew he'd have a hard time watching a memory of something like this if he hadn't known it had already happened. Now the scene that had played out so often in his nightmares was an empty horror, still awful, but the sharp pain had turned into a hollow ache, and even reliving it in vivid detail here in a pensive didn't cause the heart-wrenching pain it once would have.
Watching the very real agony crossing Dumbledore's familiar face, Harry was slowly coming to the reluctant conviction that this man genuinely believed he was who he appeared to be. Everything so far was too well done, too believable, to be anything else. Apparently Voldemort's next game for Harry was to drop him in a place filled with people who'd been somehow changed, body and mind, to honestly believe they were who they claimed to be. They were all probably perfectly innocent bystanders caught up in one of the Dark wizard's twisted games, with their memories modified and appearances changed. If Harry hadn't despised the evil man so thoroughly, he'd be impressed at his creativity. Although, actually it had probably been thought up by some minion who would never get credit for it. It was still a brilliant scheme.
He had no idea how to get out of this weird situation and back to where he was needed, but at least he felt he was getting a handle on the rules. And if he was lucky, these people will have been infused with enough of the personalities of the people they were imitating to help him out, once they realized he was telling the truth. Harry always did have an overabundance of luck, so there was a good possibility he'd be able to turn this little game around on Voldemort.
A mist was rolling in, the Dementors on their way. Still watching the lines deepen on Albus' face, Harry knew it was getting near the time for which Harry had picked this memory for. "Come on." Harry reached out and grasped a handful of the man's sleeve and tugged. Dumbledore followed willingly, walking with heavier footsteps than the spry wizard usually did, but his eyes continued to track the battle, noting each injured student, each fallen body.
"Where are the aurors?" Dumbledore asked in a voice so low as to be nearly unheard in the tumult around them.
Not sure if the question had been rhetorical or not, Harry answered anyway, "They don't show. The minister was in Voldemort's pocket and the head of the department bribed."
Dumbledore's eyes grew sadder and he finally looked at Harry, still leading him through the carnage to the castle steps, "This memory may have happened to you, but it did not happen here."
Harry just shook his head and kept walking, "It happened. This memory isn't fake, I looked and the signs aren't there." They passed the memory-Harry, dueling with two Death Eaters and slowly being pushed backwards, but Harry didn't pause, "I think you've had your memories changed. You aren't Dumbledore and this will prove it." With that he stopped and flung and arm out to point at the doors into the castle.
They were scorched, the one on the left leaning at an unnatural angle as the hinges had been melted and stretched. Between the doors stood a figure in shimmering robes, spells shooting from his wand at a blinding pace. Albus Dumbledore, as Harry remembered him, casting shield spells, curses, and dizzingly complex charms in a display of brilliant magical power – all of which would be doomed to failure. Harry gazed over at his former mentor as he battled to save his students and sighed. He'd seen this too often in his nightmares to want to watch it now. So he watched the other Dumbledore as he watched 'himself' fight.
The skin around his eyes was tight and he clenched his wand at his side in a grip that twitched every now and then as if he were about to mimic the moves of his double or perhaps was restraining himself from joining in the fight. The old man's eyes couldn't seem to stay focused in one place, although they darted back to the Dumbledore on the steps more frequently than anywhere else.
The mist was getting thicker, the screams warning of the incoming dementors beginning. A silver rabbit patronus shot through the castle walls, sent out from Luna lying within with a broken ankle and a curse that temporarily blinded her. Several other injured students whom Dumbledore had managed to whisk within the relative safety of the castle also sent out their patronus spells, bringing some relief to the people outside still fighting the Death Eaters.
"Why is everyone outside? Why is this happening here?"
The question was soft, almost agonized, but again Harry answered, "It's the first quidditch match of the season. Everyone was at the pitch when the wards fell. Some of the professors tried to herd everyone into the castle, but this was as far as they got." If they'd entered the memory a bit sooner, they could have seen the mob of children trample several of their own in their desperation to flee. The fallen wards had included the appraration wards, but very few of the children had been taught that skill and even fewer had thought to use it. The adults had begun to pick up kids and apparate them in ones and twos to safety, but there were too many children and too much panic. Most of students had fled on foot and had only turned back to try to fight when they'd realized they were being slaughtered as they ran. They'd been faced with the choice of taking a curse in the back or standing their ground and hoping to survive long enough for one of the teachers to get to them. Harry'd never been quite sure what the point of killing all the children had been other than simply to create fear, anger and chaos across the country. They'd learned afterwards that the Death Eater children had left the match early to avoid the attack.
Harry's memory-self stumbled up beside the castle doors. Blood splatter glistened in his hair and he limped from a poorly cast bone splitter which had only fractured his left tibia bone.
No sooner had Harry reached the wall than a powerful voice called out, "Harry Potter!"
Harry and Dumbledore (both the real and memory versions) as well as a good portion of the rest of the crowd swiveled to face the insane Dark Lord as he emerged from the midst of his followers. His gleeful, manic smile only heightened the horror of his presence.
"Riddle." Dumbledore's calm voice, no less powerful than Voldermort's, turned the dark wizard's attention from the still fighting teen to himself.
"Riddle?" Harry glanced over at the man watching the memory with him. His face was intent, focused on Voldemort as the dark wizard began to declare that his reign was about to unfold. Old snake-face definitely loved the sound of his own voice and would declare his brilliance for several long minutes. Harry's former headmaster had spent those minutes both buying time for McGonagall and Professor Flitwick to apparate more of the children off the field and into the castle and have time to weave a costly spell into the very fabric of Hogwarts. Just the tip of his wand moved now as he prepared the school for its final part in this confrontation.
"Tom Riddle," Harry answered easily, "Voldemort."
"That's Tommy Riddle?" Dumbledore raked his eyes over the madman, taking in the pasty skin; flattened, nose-less face; bald skull and gleaming red eyes.
One of Harry's eyebrows rose, "Tommy? You used to call him 'Tommy'?" Harry could always get a furious rant out of Voldemort whenever he dared to call him by his given name, but it hadn't occurred to him to use 'Tommy' before. He'd have to remember it for their next meeting. The explosion was guaranteed to be spectacular.
Dumbledore, still looking disturbed absently replied, "That's what he's asked everyone to call him."
Harry's second eyebrow joined the first.
Well, that was…different.
Unfortunately this wasn't the time to ask about that. While the battle continued to rage about them, Voldemort, memory-Harry and memory-Dumbledore almost seemed to be in a pocket of calm for a moment. That moment was shattered as one of the Death Eaters took advantage of the distraction to fire a curse at Harry. He caught it in the stomach, blasting him back behind the headmaster into the entrance hall and making him retch bloody chunks all over his own feet. The Death Eater, sensing victory, moved closer, but he only made it a few steps before tumbling to the ground unconscious from the stunner Harry managed to toss out between heaves.
Voldemort meanwhile had cast the first volley against Dumbledore, a nasty hex meant to turn the oxygen in a person's blood into iron. Dumbledore's counter spell dissipated it before it could reach him and the deadly duel for Hogwarts had begun.
The battle was intense, several blocked spells producing shockwaves that caused the people around them to stumble. But it was also incredibly short. Voldemort didn't exactly play fair and at one point snatched up a fifth year Ravenclaw, Jasmine Merritaff, who'd been forced back into the Voldemort's reach. The girl was immobilized and used as a human shield, limiting the spells Dumbledore could safely use.
From a pragmatic perspective, Harry now could look back and acknowledge that Dumbledore should have ignored the hostage and continue to fight with deadly precision – perhaps then the outcome of the battle would have been different. But Harry knew that if he'd been in Albus' position he would no more have been able to sacrifice a child than the Headmaster had been able to do, so Harry was able to forgive his old mentor for not fighting quite as well as perhaps he should have.
It was memory-Harry's presence that tipped the scales. Still puking up blood and curled up in a fetal ball of pain, Harry was helpless to dodge when Voldemort's breath-stealing spell hurled his direction. In fact, he hadn't even noticed it coming his way.
From a perspective of hindsight, Harry was able to see the Dumbledore had anticipated this. That he'd planned for it, even. But in the heat of the moment, it looked like the old man had lost his head. Instead of sending a chunk of masonry flying out to block the spell, or raising a shield around Harry, Dumbledore growled out something guttural and low and hurled himself directly into the path of the pale yellow light.
The effect was instant and as dramatic as any final sacrifice could ask for. Dumbledore's entire body seemed to contract as his lungs were violently crushed. His body crashed to the ground, head hitting the stone with an ugly crack and around him Hogwarts shuttered. There was an instant of stillness where even Voldemort looked shocked, and then the broken gates of Hogwarts slammed themselves shut, sealing everyone who was inside behind such ancient wards that it had taken Voldemort nearly a full two years of steady spellwork and countless blood rituals to topple.
The dozens of children still outside the castle, along with McGonnagal and Vector, never stood a chance and were slaughtered within minutes of that final sacrifice, but all those who had made it to the castle were saved.
And, as a final bonus, Harry Potter, now with the second person to ritually sacrifice their life for his sake, was granted another layer of protection from the wizard who so desperately wanted to kill him.
Still watching the 'real' Dumbledore as the castle doors slammed shut and the memory around them started to fade, Harry could see the shock and sorrow and horror pass in waves over that wrinkled face and settle in something like acceptance and something like determination. But before Harry could have a chance to ask about it, they were jerking away from the memory.
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They tumbled out of the memory, Harry stumbling a bit before catching himself with the edge of the table. Glancing around, he saw that not much had changed. James and Sirius still had their wands out and pointed at him, although Lily had retrieved hers while they were in the pensive and now joined them in leveling it at him.
"Well?" James demanded, impatient.
Beside him, Dumbledore let out a deep sigh. "His memories appear to be genuine."
His statement caused a new round of blinking and, as before when she was surprised and confused, Lily's wand dropped to point at the floor. "What do you mean?" She asked.
"He showed me proof that his memories are real and not consistent with what we know to have happened." Harry glanced at him and noticed that the old man seemed to look drained and tired, his face tight and unhappy.
"That doesn't make any sense." Sirius muttered.
"Nonetheless, it is true." He turned to Harry, eyes searching. "He saw a great battle and he saw me fall."
"Impossible." James flatly stated.
"Perhaps," Dumbledore agreed, "But it was still true. So we are left with a dilemma."
Harry snorted, "It's not a dilemma, you've all been cursed. You aren't really who you think you are."
His statement was met with a wall of disbelief. "We haven't been cursed," James growled.
Dumbledore looked thoughtful, one hand coming up to stroke his beard, "He does have a point."
"What?!" Sirius' jaw actually dropped and Lily gasped, "You can't be serious!"
Dumbledore inclined his head, "Mr. Potter here was gracious enough to lend a memory to prove his past is real. I believe it would only be sensible to return the courtesy."
Harry's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded. Even better than seeing Harry's memories of Dumbledore's death would be proof that Dumbledore's own mind had been tampered with. If the Headmaster saw that his own memories were false, it would be indisputable that what Harry had been telling them was true and that they were simply being used as puppets by Voldemort.
Dumbledore ignored Potter and Sirius' muttered grumblings and extended his wand to Harry, "Please retrieve your memory."
Somewhat surprised by the man's willingness to hand over his wand, Harry accepted it, but hesitated at actually clearing his memory from the stone bowl. "Do you think they," He jerked his head to indicate the others, "should see it first?"
Dumbledore's smile was sad, "If they still remain unconvinced about the facts based solely on my word and need to see for themselves, then I think, out of a lifetime of memories, you might be able to find something a bit less…jarring for them."
Harry looked over at the three adults to find each of them looking a bit flushed and shamefaced, as if Dumbledore's simple admonishment had been a much harsher rebuke. None of them said anything, so Harry retrieved his memory and reluctantly handed back the wand.
The headmaster tapped the tip of his chin with the wand for a moment, gazing down at the empty pensive, "Nothing too recent will do, but not too distant either." He hummed a moment in thought, then slowly brought the wand to his temple and extracted a single slivery thread. It twisted and jerked on the end of his wand, a living thing, before vanishing into the pensive. With a sweeping gesture, he waved Harry into the memory first.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! This chapter is focused on the past and I'll say now that Harry's old world isn't going to come into play in this new one (In other words, Harry will neither ever get back nor will anyone from there ever make it to this new universe). Instead, Harry gets to face all new troubles in a whole new universe! But I thought this would be a good way to get a good feel for where Harry came from :-)
I will tell you now that I don't hold stories hostage for reviews, but I have found that they are truly incredibly motivating towards getting a new chapter out (I find that I'm suddenly interested in writing more when someone tells me that they are interested in finding out what happened ). Since I'm more focused on 'Dust the Scales', the next chapter of this will probably be a long time in coming, but there will be more eventually.