Disclaimer: All characters in this story belong to J.K Rowling and whichever companies have a claim on the Harry Potter trademark. I only do this for fun and I make no money whatsoever from it. Please don't sue me!
Old Friends
Harry blinked open his eyes and was instantly attacked by the brightness of the room he found himself in. His muscles ached and protested with every movement. His slender frame seemed too fragile to hold his weight, and his arms looked too short. His whole body felt odd, as if it had been compressed overnight.
A surge of memories flooded his mind, attacking him with their vividness and intensity. Memories of war, the cacophony of spells flying, the searing pain of loss. Memories of a broken office, papers strewn about and shattered glass crunching underfoot. Memories of warm blue eyes on canvas, glistening behind half-moon-shaped glasses. Memories of a ritual, dark and foreboding. Memories of pain.
Harry reached for his glasses and slowly stood up, still overwhelmed by the siege of sensations. He took in the familiar sights of Gryffindor Tower's boy's dormitory - the stone walls, red and gold banners hanging from the ceiling, and the four empty beds that used to be filled with familiar faces.
The room was bathed in a soft, golden light from the autumn morning sun, filtering through the windows and dancing across the stone walls. The gentle rustling of the wood furniture could be heard as it warmed up with the rays of daylight. The room was filled with a peaceful and comforting atmosphere, as if nature itself had granted Harry a moment of tranquillity after the ordeal of waking up. It was a place where memories were made and friendships forged. It was home.
Harry snapped himself out of his reverie, the pain and confusion forgotten. He took a deep breath and recalled the plan that he and Albus had spent countless hours crafting. Every detail, every possible outcome had been meticulously considered. The pieces were in place, now it was just a matter of executing it flawlessly.
"Step one," Harry muttered to himself, a hint of amusement in his voice "Don't die while time travelling,". He pinched his arm just to make sure, wincing when the pain confirmed his successful journey through time. "Checked."
"Step two," he continued, casting a quick wordless tempus. Light filaments left the tip of his wand, they moved through the air and arranged themselves to say '9:25 am, 31st October 1994' in front of him. "Check that you are in the right place and time." He grinned triumphantly. "A bit later than planned, but still acceptable."
"Step three," Harry said with a devilish smirk, "take a second to appreciate how much of a badass you are." It was rare for him to indulge in self-praise, but given the circumstances, he felt it appropriate. After all, time travel wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence, even in the wizarding world.
Harry's feet tapped in a small, playful dance as he mimicked the cowboys he had seen in Vernons' movies. He formed his hands into imaginary guns and playfully shot them into the air, making sound effects with his mouth. The sun beat down on his back as he spun and twirled, lost in his own imagination.
"I am a badass." he said to himself, stopping his little dance "I am the greatest badass that has ever lived. Witness me and tremble, Tommy Boy!"
Harry's demeanour changed in an instant as he prepared himself for the next step. His least favourite "Step four," he sighed, his smile fading into a grimace, "talk to Albus and convince him not to obliviate the fairy lights out of you."
The mere thought of facing Albus Dumbledore, the man who had become both friend and mentor, filled him with anticipation and dread. Would the venerable headmaster understand the necessity of Harry's actions once more, or would he simply see them as a transgression to be corrected?
"Alright, Harry," he told himself, steeling his resolve, "You can do this." With a deep breath, he prepared to face his past and secure his future. And if there was one thing Harry Potter knew, it was that he wouldn't back down from a challenge, even if that challenge involved facing the greatest wizard since Merlin.
He cast a freshening charm on himself and one on his mouth and put on the tightest robe he had, in case the worst came to pass and he needed to fight his way out of the headmaster's office.
He took the Merauder's Map from his chest and opened it by touching it with his wand and saying "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good"
"Looks like Albus is in his office," Harry muttered to himself, studying the map closely. "Good, that makes things a bit easier." He folded the map, tucked it into his robes, and strode out of the dormitory.
The Gryffindor common room was empty but for him, its scarlet and gold colours unblemished by the ravages of time. Harry felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him as he took in the familiar surroundings. The worn-down armchairs, the crackling fire, and the magnificent painting of the Fat Lady – all reminders of a simpler time.
"Ah, the joys of youth," he mused with a wry smile as he passed the spot where he used to play Exploding Snap with Ron while Hermione watched them over whatever thick tome she was getting through at the time. Shaking his head fondly, he continued towards the portrait hole and left the common room behind.
As he walked through the halls of Hogwarts, Harry marvelled at the pristine condition of the castle. The magic within the stones danced happily, full of life. No ruins, no fire, no death.
"Morning!" he greeted a group of passing students with an enthusiastic wave. They exchanged confused glances before returning wary nods. Harry couldn't blame them; he must have seemed a bit mad with his broad grin and bubbly disposition.
Despite his overwhelming joy at seeing the castle and its inhabitants alive and well, a growing sense of unease gnawed at him. The nagging doubt of how the real Albus would react to his time-travelling threatened to dampen his spirits.
Upon reaching the end of the corridor, Harry found himself face to face with the familiar stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle stared back at him with its cold, impassive gaze.
"Alright, let's see if I still remember a few of these," he muttered under his breath. "Lemon sherbet?" No response from the gargoyle. "Fizzing Whizzbee?" Still nothing. Harry frowned, racking his brain for more muggle sweets. "How about... Jelly Beans?"
To his relief, the gargoyle sprang to life, stepping aside and revealing the spiralling staircase that led to the headmaster's office.
As he climbed the stairs, Harry couldn't shake the growing anxiety that gnawed at the pit of his stomach. With each step, the weight of what was to come settled heavier on his shoulders. His entire plan hinged on convincing Albus Dumbledore to help him. Failure was not an option – it would mean either being Obliviated or, worse, engaging in a magical duel with the headmaster.
Pushing aside his doubts, Harry took a deep breath and continued his climb. He knew that this was his only chance to set things right – not just for himself, but for everyone who had died during the war.
"Right then," he muttered as he reached the top of the stairs, steeling himself for the confrontation ahead. "Time to face the music."
Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed open the door without knocking and stepped into Dumbledore's office. The soft morning light filled the ample room. Books filled towering shelves, and magical instruments whirred and clicked on every available surface.
"Professor?" he called out tentatively, scanning the room for any sign of the headmaster. Instead, his gaze fell upon Fawkes, perched regally on his golden stand. At the sight of Harry, the phoenix let out a happy chirp, causing an involuntary smile to spread across Harry's face.
"Hello there, old friend," he said, stepping closer to the magnificent bird. "It's been far too long."
As if sharing his sentiment, Fawkes fluffed his feathers and trilled a soothing note, temporarily easing some of Harry's anxiety. He reached out a hand, and Fawkes nuzzled it with his beak, a gesture of affection Harry hadn't realized how much he'd missed until now.
"Ah, Harry," came Albus Dumbledore's voice from behind him, "I see you've reacquainted yourself with my loyal companion."
Harry turned to find the headmaster descending the spiral staircase that led to his private chambers. Dumbledore looked much as he remembered - tall and thin, with a long silver beard and half-moon spectacles perched atop his crooked nose. He wore a purple cloak that billowed gently around him, giving the impression that he had just landed from a great height.
"Good morning, sir," Harry replied, trying to sound casual despite the pounding of his heart. "Fawkes always did have a way of brightening up a room."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I must say, I am surprised to see you here, Harry. Shouldn't you be in class at this hour?"
"Er, yes, about that," Harry stammered, suddenly very aware of the enormity of what he was about to say. "I... actually have something urgent I need to discuss with you."
"Really?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, studying him intently as if trying to discern his thoughts. "Well then, by all means, let us talk. But first, perhaps a cup of tea is in order?"
"Tea would be brilliant, sir," Harry replied, grateful for the temporary reprieve, and hoping that whatever lay ahead, he could navigate it with the same courage and determination that had brought him this far. He glanced back at Fawkes, who seemed to give him a reassuring nod, as if to say, 'You can do this.'
"Very well," Dumbledore said, waving his wand to summon a steaming pot and two cups. "Now, let's see what's so important that it couldn't wait until after class.". He gestured for Harry to join him on the two pristine leather ottomans by the window.
The scent of freshly brewed tea relaxed him, as Harry and Dumbledore sipped in comfortable silence. Harry's gaze drifted around the office, taking in the shelves filled with curious artefacts, the aged portraits of sleeping headmasters and headmistresses, and the various magical instruments whirring and clicking in a symphony of arcane complexity.
"Sir," Harry started hesitantly, "I hope you're not too upset about my absence from class. It's just that..." He trailed off, searching for the right words that wouldn't give away too much.
"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said gently, "I trust that if you felt it necessary to skip class, it must be for a good reason. I'm always here to listen."
"Thank you, sir." Harry smiled weakly.
Harry reached for the small lever underneath the window frame. As he pulled it, one of the long sheets of glass faded away, leaving the frame empty and letting the chill autumn breeze in.
Harry's gaze was far on the horizon. "Autumn is my favourite season for flying," he said.
Albus looked from the hidden lever that Harry activated to the boy's face. "Indeed," he said, "I find the chill breeze to be quite refreshing."
"Do you fly much, professor?" Harry turned his head to look at Dumbledore.
"I quite enjoy flying," Dumbledore replied, "But alas, the Headmaster's duties are plenty and lengthy, and my responsibilities tend to get in the way of any time I could spend on my broom."
"I know what you mean," Harry said, his voice heavy, almost sorrowful.
Dumbledore was studying Harry's face. His eyes held something hidden behind their usual sparkling, something that Harry could not decipher.
A slow gust of wind came inside the office, bringing with it the cold morning air. Harry pushed some magic into his hands, warming them and the cup of tea in his grasp.
The silence between the wizards was heavy, as if they were silently sizing each other up. Harry felt a sense of unease, knowing that he was desperately trying to avoid discussing the reason for his visit to this office. He fidgeted in his seat, wondering if he should just come clean or continue with the charade.
"I think it is time, Harry," Dumbledore said, parting the silence as if it were a heavy curtain between them, "To provide me with some explanations."
"I'm afraid, sir," Harry started, putting the half empty cup of tea on the small table, "That I'm not sure where to start."
"Perhaps, you would like to tell me how you knew how to open the window." Dumbledore ventured. With the twinkle in his eyes now gone, Harry could identify what was hidden behind. Suspicion.
"Or perhaps," Dumbledore continued, his voice steady, "you would prefer to start by telling me when you learned that bit of wandless magic you just performed."
A jolt of electricity seemed to run through Harry's body, making his skin feel tingly and his hairs stand on end. He could feel the sweat starting to form on his palms.
Despite his inner turmoil, Harry chuckled. "I guess subtlety was never my thing."
Albus Dumbledore didn't chuckle. The smell of autumn and the faint hint of lemon from Dumbledore's handkerchief filled the air, but under it all was a subtle scent of worry and apprehension.
"Albus, I need you to trust me," Harry said, his voice serious. "Please bring out your Pensieve."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but didn't question how Harry knew about the Pensieve's existence. With a wave of his hand, the hidden cabinet sprang open and the shimmering silver basin floated gracefully onto the headmaster's desk. Dumbledore moved to his seat behind the desk, his blue eyes never leaving Harry's face, as if he was trying to read the younger wizard's thoughts. He gestured for Harry to take the seat opposite him.
"Very well, Harry," Dumbledore said. "What is it that you wish to show me?"
The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, two powerful wizards locked in a silent battle of wills. Harry hesitated for a moment, knowing that what he was about to reveal could either cement their bond or destroy it forever. But there was no turning back now.
"I will reach for my wand to retrieve the memory," Harry said, moving slowly to take the wooden stick from his pocket.
"Your warning is unnecessary, Harry," Dumbledore replied, his voice softening, though a cold edge dwindled. "I do not wish to harm you, and if I did, you would not be able to take your wand fast enough to stop me"
Harry was all too aware of that fact, he recalled their previous encounters and the numerous times Albus had proven himself to be a formidable opponent. Taking a deep breath, he reached for his wand and placed it against his temple. The tip glowed brightly as he extracted a silvery filament of light from his head.
Their eyes met once more, and for a fleeting moment, Harry allowed himself to hope that he might find understanding in the wise, old wizard before him. But the future remained uncertain, and only time would tell if their shared journey through memories would bring them closer or drive them further apart.
The silvery strand of memory hovered in the air, connected to Harry's wand as if it were an ethereal thread. He carefully lowered it towards the pensive, his heart still pounding in his chest. The air seemed to thicken with tension as the memory dangled precariously above the gleaming silver surface of the pensive.
"Albus," Harry began, his voice strained, "before we go in, you need to understand that the world inside this pensive is very different from the one you know. I ask that you don't judge me too harshly."
Dumbledore regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, his blue eyes searching Harry's face. "I shall do my best to keep an open mind, Harry," he said quietly. "But I must admit, your words have piqued my curiosity and not a small modicum of concern."
"Perhaps that's for the best," Harry replied, a wry smile playing on his lips. With a flick of his wand, the strand of memory dropped into the pensive, swirling and melding with the liquid within.
"Shall we?" Dumbledore asked, gesturing towards the pensive. His expression was guarded, but there was a hint of warmth in his eyes, reminding Harry of the deep bond they once shared.
"Please," Harry said, allowing the headmaster to enter first. As Dumbledore submerged his face in the silvery pool, Harry turned towards Fawkes, who remained perched nearby. The phoenix trilled softly, his flame-red feathers shimmering under the rays of sun that slithered through the windows.
"This is going to suck balls" Harry whispered, his voice laden with emotion.
With a final nod to the phoenix, Harry steeled himself and plunged into the depths of the pensive, following Dumbledore into the realm of memories and the dreaded future he was so desperate to avoid.