Disclaimer: Nothing in this story belongs to me. All places and characters belong to J.K. Rowling and any company that has a claim to the Harry Potter Trademark. I make no money out of this story. Please don't sue me.
Unwelcome Memories
Harry and Dumbledore materialised within the memory, their feet sinking slightly into the damp soil of the grim cemetery. The inky clouds of the pensive swirled around them, shimmering through the tombstones as the dilapidated Riddle Mansion loomed in the distance.
The faint rustling of leaves and the occasional creak of a decaying branch were the only sounds breaking the oppressive silence that covered the scene like a heavy mantle.
Harry glanced sideways at Albus, his green eyes lost far away. "This is Riddle Cemetery," he explained, his voice sombre. "the place where the war restarted."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed as he surveyed the unsettling scene, the ghostly light of the night reflecting on his half-moon glasses.
The memory started unfolding before them. Cedric stood in the centre of the cemetery, his damp and dirty hair sticking to his forehead as he regarded the Triwizard Cup with suspicion.
"Is this part of the task?" Cedric asked hesitantly, looking around the gloomy scene.
Memory Harry cried out suddenly, his scar blazing with white-hot pain. He crumpled to his knees, barely able to speak through the agony. "You need to leave… Now!"
Cedric looked torn between helping Memory Harry and making a break for the cup when Peter Pettigrew appeared from the shadows, his rat-like face twisted with malice. A sickening chill ran down Harry's spine as the all-too-familiar voice of Lord Voldemort echoed through the air.
"Kill the spare," the Dark Lord commanded, his voice cold and merciless.
"Avada Kedavra!" shouted Pettigrew, and a flash of sickly green light engulfed Cedric like a malevolent snake.
Cedric's body slammed to the ground with a sickening thud, his limbs contorted at an impossible angle as if they were released from their marionette strings. He lay there like a discarded rag doll, the gruesome sight that became another addition to the vast darkness of Harry's memories.
"This can not be." Dumbledore's voice was a whisper, his eyes widening as he recognised the voice of his old enemy.
"We are just getting started." Harry pointed towards the memory as it twisted and morphed like a whirlwind of dark smoke. Trapped against the tombstone of Tom Riddle Senior, was Memory Harry, his face contorted in pain.
"This... This is impossible." Dumbledore muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Far from it," Harry replied, resigned.
They watched as Pettigrew began the ritual that would bring back Lord Voldemort. With a flick of his wand, the rat summoned the bones from Tom Riddle Senior's tomb, dropping them into the bubbling cauldron with a sickening clatter.
"Harry, please you must tell me this is not what I suspect it is," Dumbledore asked, unable to mask the horror in his voice.
"Unfortunately, yes," Harry gritted his teeth, staring fiercely at the unfolding nightmare before them.
"I shan't see any more," Albus said. Though he looked like he wanted to look away, his gaze was fixated on the scene unfolding in front of them.
As the cauldron roared and bubbled, Pettigrew brought a blade down on his own hand, severing it with one swift motion. With a guttural scream, he hurled the severed appendage into the seething potion.
With trembling steps, he approached Memory Harry and sliced open his arm. The crimson liquid flowed freely from the wound, permeating the blade. Pettigrew walked to the cauldron and shook the wicked knife over it, mixing some of the blood with the vile concoction in the cauldron.
The cauldron shook and erupted in a violent explosion, its contents hurling skyward like an unhinged inferno. As the smoke cleared, Lord Voldemort emerged from within, his chalk-white visage a grotesque mockery of life.
Albus finally ripped his eyes from the grotesque scene. "My boy," the words echoed through the clearing, Dumbledore's voice trembling as he spoke, "What have you done?" The crackling of flames and Voldemort's cold laughter echoed in the distance.
"Hardly my fault, Albus," Harry's jaw was set, his eyes cold as he met Dumbledore's gaze. A glimmer of anger flashed in his eyes.
"Not this," Albus replied moving his hand towards the still cackling Lord Voldemort, "Travelling through time on such a scale is reckless, have you any idea of the consequences?" Dumbledore snapped, his usually calm demeanour now frayed, like an old tapestry threatening to unravel. "How can this even be possible?"
"Oh," Harry hesitated, his anger leaving him instantly, "I'm still not completely sure about the how. You're the one who came up with all the arithmacy for the ritual."
"Preposterous!" Albus retorted, his face flushing crimson with indignation. "I would never condone such recklessness!"
"Look at me, Albus," Harry said firmly. "I'm here. We both know that there are only a few wizards that could achieve this, and I'm certainly not one of them." Harry paused, searching for the right words, "You don't understand the context, how dire the situation was."
"Enough!" Dumbledore roared, his arm sweeping through the air as if to dispel the horrid memories before them. "I do not want to see any more of this, Harry. What I've seen already is too much."
"Albus, please," Harry argued, his voice tinged with desperation. "You need to see this, you must."
"I mustn't do anything," Dumbledore firmly retorted, "You do not understand the consequences of your actions, child."
"Child?" the word cut through Harry's heart like a knife, unleashing a familiar wave of anger that radiated from his stomach and consumed his entire being, a feeling he knew all too well, "Do not pretend to understand, Albus Dumbledore. You have not seen what I have seen. In all your years, you have not known the darkens that forged me." the words poured forth from Harry with an unstoppable force, bursting out from a hidden and unknown place within him. It was as if they had been locked away in a secret jail, buried deep within his subconscious mind. "A child would have not, could have not, been through what I've been through."
"Harry," Albus' voice softened, clearly taken aback by the intensity radiating from the younger wizard. "What has happened to you?"
Harry took a deep breath, reeling in his emotions. "I am trying to show you." he said, trying to keep steady, "Just let me show you."
"I simply cannot." Dumbledor said, defeated, "What you ask of me is too dangerous, not only for us, but for the fabric of time itself."
"Please keep watching," Harry implored. "If after witnessing all the memories I need to show you, you still don't want anything to do with this, you can obliviate me and yourself. We can wipe the slate clean, pretend like nothing happened."
Dumbledore studied Harry for a long, tense moment. The air between them thick like molasses. Finally, Albus sighed, relenting like an aged oak bowing to the force of a storm.
"Very well," he conceded, his voice weary. "I fear this may be a mistake, but I will allow it... For now."
Harry breathed out, letting the muscles in his body relax. This was a small victory, but at that moment it felt immense.
The wizards stayed quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.
Harry's anxiety grew with each passing moment. Everything hinged on Albus' cooperation, yet the old wizard seemed unsure. He desperately needed Albus to be fully on board with their plan, but it seemed like that might not be the case.
"What happened next?" Dumbledore broke the silence.
"The war restarted almost immediately. Voldemort stayed hidden, and the Ministry refused to accept his return. Instead, they launched a smear campaign against you and me, claiming we were mad and that you sought the position of Minister for Magic." Harry said, his gaze far away.
"You reactivated the Order of the Phoenix," Harry continued, his voice gaining strength as he narrated the grim series of events. "We tried to fight back, but Tom seemed to always be one step ahead."
With a swirl of smoky tendrils, the Pensieve transported them once more. They found themselves in the dimly lit kitchen of Grimmauld Place, surrounded by the murmured voices of wizards huddled around the scarred wooden table. Memory Harry stood in one corner, looking overwhelmed and out of place amid the seasoned fighters.
"About a year after the previous memory," Harry whispered to Dumbledore, who surveyed the room with curiosity. "The Order was struggling."
As if on cue, Memory Dumbledore swept into the room, his presence commanding instant silence. He cast a glance around the solemn faces before settling into his seat at the head of the table.
"Friends," Memory Dumbledore began, his voice clear and resonant, infused with an undertone of urgency. "I know these are dark times, and our path is fraught with peril. But our resolve must remain unshaken. Let us begin."
Real Dumbledore, standing beside Harry, observed his memory counterpart with some curiosity in his face. His lips pressed into a thin line, considering the implications of what he was witnessing.
Memory Dumbledore turned to Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Kingsley," he said, "Please enlighten us with the latest updates from the Ministry."
Kingsley stood, his gold hoop earring glinting in the dim light of the kitchen. He addressed the room with a grave expression, his deep voice resonating through the tense atmosphere. "There's still no mention of Him within the Ministry," he reported. "Moreover, Yaxley has been appointed as Head of the DMLE. I fear that all departments are now compromised." he paused for a moment, letting the gravity of his words sink in. "We must assume that all means of magical transportation are monitored by Death Eaters and are no longer safe."
Real Albus frowned at this revelation, his mind racing with the implications. He glanced at Harry, who was watching Memory Siruis with eyes full of grief.
"Thank you, Kingsley," Memory Dumbledore acknowledged. "Remus, what news do you have from the continent?"
Lupin rose, his patched robes hanging loosely on his thin frame. His face was lined and weary. "The situation is dire, Albus," he began, his voice measured. "He is contacting any dark creature available across all of Europe. He's paying for the service of those who refuse to aid him willingly."
Tonks chimed in, her violet hair spiked like a porcupine's quills.
"We've received reports of multiple illegal portkeys entering the country. But Yaxley is handling these cases personally, so our hands are tied."
"Thank you, Remus, thank you, Nymphadora," Memory Dumbledore said nodding to each wizard. "We must remain vigilant and gather as much information as possible. It's crucial that we stay one step ahead."
The tension in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place hung heavy, like a suffocating cloud that threatened to choke the very air from their lungs. Mrs. Weasley's face was drawn and pinched as she chimed in, her voice trembling with indignation. "Surely the other governments will step in if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is recruiting dark forces in their countries?" Her eyes darted around the table, searching for a glimmer of hope among the grim faces.
Lupin sighed, his expression weary. "Unfortunately, Molly, they don't see criminals leaving their borders as a bad thing. If anything, it's one less problem for them to deal with."
Sirius slammed his fist on the table, his grey eyes blazing with anger. "Bloody idiots, all of them!" he snarled. "If they think Voldemort won't come after them as soon as he's done with Britain, they're delusional!"
"Indeed," Memory Dumbledore agreed, his voice calm among the rising tempers in the room. "Fear has a way of paralysing even the most rational minds. They prefer to ignore the issue rather than confront it."
"Severus," Memory Dumbledore moved on, drawing the attention of the sallow-skinned Potions Master. "What can you tell us about Voldemort's current state?"
Severus Snape shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his black eyes unreadable. "He is...confident," he said slowly, his voice guarded. "As if he knows something that none of us do. However, he hasn't shared anything with those in his circle."
"Any idea what that might be?" Memory Dumbledore inquired.
"Nothing," Snape admitted, a flicker of unease crossing his features. "Which is worrisome, but I will continue to press for information."
"Be careful, Severus," Memory Dumbledore warned.
The memory started to fade and Albus found himself back beside Harry in the swirling mists. He peered at the young wizard, concern etched on his face.
"I had thought the Order would be larger," he noted.
"Trust was a rare commodity," Harry admitted. "One spy in our ranks could've been catastrophic."
The inky mist shifted once more, revealing the grand atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The polished floors and opulent statues gleamed in the dim light, and the air hummed with an undercurrent of tension.
"Snape gave us intel about a Death Eater attack on the Ministry," Harry explained quietly. "We believed Tom was finally coming out of hiding to seize both the prophecy and the Ministry itself."
Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles glinted as he scanned the area, noticing the hidden figures lurking in the shadows. They seemed poised for action, wands at the ready.
"Ah," Dumbledore murmured, understanding dawning upon him. "An ambush."
"That was the plan," Harry said, scanning the familiar scene, reliving the harrowing moments that had led to their downfall.
The atrium of the Ministry shimmered with an air of expectancy, the atmosphere thick and charged like a brewing thunderstorm. Harry's heart thudded against his ribs in the silence. Dumbledore stood beside him, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, ruffling the robes of the concealed Order members. Their wands glinted in the dim light as they held them steady, poised to strike at any moment.
"Here they come," Harry whispered, his breath catching in his throat.
As if on cue, a group of Death Eaters apparated into the atrium, their dark robes billowing ominously. They moved cautiously, eyes darting left and right, wands raised and ready for confrontation.
"NOW!" Sirius roared, and the Order burst from their hiding places, stunning the unsuspecting Death Eaters with a barrage of expertly aimed spells. The crackle of magic filled the air as one by one, the Death Eaters crumpled to the floor, incapacitated.
Lupin surveyed the scene, his brow furrowed in concern. "That was too easy," he murmured, eyeing the fallen enemies warily.
"Moony, you've got to learn to appreciate the little victories," Sirius retorted, a grin playing at the corner of his lips. His celebration was cut short as three distinct cries of "Avada Kedavra" shattered the uneasy peace.
"So many mistakes" Harry whispered to himself, his heart constricting as the memory unfolded before him.
Tonks, Mundungus, and Kingsley had their wands trained on the incapacitated Death Eaters as they released a new barrage of killing curses. The air in the room turned thick with betrayal.
"Stupefy!" Sirius barked, his eyes burning with fury as he stunned Tonks. The rest of the Order followed suit taking on the two other rogue wizards, their faces etched with disbelief.
"What could have driven them to such an act?" Dumbledore asked with a bewildered expression.
"Tom," Harry said quietly.
The atrium was awash with the green light of Floo flames, as Aurors marched forth from each fireplace in the room like a procession of vengeful ghosts. At their head strode Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, his face pinched and furious, flanked by the chilling figure of Corban Yaxley, the head of the DMLE.
"Arrest them!" Fudge bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at the members of the Order. The Aurors sprang into action, conjuring ropes that bound the still-confused Order members together in a tangled mass.
"We have seven death Aurors Minister" Yaxley sneered, stalking towards the crumpled bodies on the floor.
"They are not Aurors" Memory Harry pleaded from his restrained position "They are Death Eaters"
"Nonsense," Yaxley said as he pulled back the sleeve of one of the bodies, revealing not the Dark Mark but unblemished skin. "See? No Dark Mark. We've lost seven good Aurors today."
Memory Harry's eyes darted between the crimson-robed bodies and the smug expression on Yaxley's face, his mind racing. They were dressed in Death Eater robes a minute ago, he was sure of this.
"Take them all to Azkaban!" Fudge barked furiously. The Aurors moved in, their wands trained on the bound members of the Order, ready to execute the command.
"Cornelius," Memory Dumbledore tried "You must see this is not what it seems"
"Enough!" Fudge snapped, his patience clearly at its end. "Take them away!"
"Forgive me, Cornelius, but I cannot allow that." With a fluid motion, Memory Dumbledore raised his arm above his head, passing through the ropes as if they were made of shadows. He forcefully closed his hand into a fist and every Order member disappeared in a puff of white flames.
As the atrium echoed with the sound of outrage from Fudge and Yaxley, the inky tendrils of the Pensieve swept over the scene, plunging Harry and Dumbledore back into darkness.