Family Ties

Dean whipped around so fast he almost lost his balance. Professor Dumbledore was standing behind him. He felt dizzy; he didn't know if students were supposed to know about this Room; but Professor Dumbledore didn't seem angry, he was looking around him curiously. His gaze fell on the guitar, the desk with the case file on it, the large globe with the solar system in it. "I see you have discovered how this Room works. I presume this Room has told you all about your father?"

Dean felt very dizzy. "You... you knew Gary was my father?"

"Yes, Mr Thomas, I knew. Gary Heaton was one of the most promising young Aurors of his time. He was on the verge of joining the Order of the Phoenix when he was killed, Gideon knew him well, knew he could be of help to the Order."

Dean didn't ask what the Order was, he didn't care. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"It was something you had to find out for yourself, Mr Thomas, that's why I asked Professor McGonagall to set you that paper. I knew you'd come across this case and feel drawn to it, it's the natural blood bond of wizards."

Dumbledore's gaze strayed to the section of wall that sat out from where Dean and Ginny had uncovered the memory glass. "Ah, Memory Glass, that should go some way to helping you understand your father. Just remember that Memory Glass is biased, you see only through the eyes of the person to whom the memory belongs."

Dumbledore went to the desk in one long stride. "I suppose it was the escape of this man that drove you here tonight?" Dean nodded miserably. "You wonder what, if anything, to tell your mother?" Dean looked at his suspiciously. Dumbledore smiled at him, "It is not difficult to guess your dilemma."

Dean's fear burst out of him in a tirade. "What do I tell her? He could be looking for her, for us! What if he finds her, my whole family and-"

"Do not panic. He is no threat to you, or you family, any more."

"But, if he finds me..."

"Do you honestly believe you would tell him anything?" Dean hesitated, uncertainly. "Come with me, Mr Thomas, there is something I can show you to put your mind at rest. Bring the case file"

* ~ *

Dean stepped off the moving staircase into Dumbledore's office for the first time. Had he not been so tense, he would have been fascinated. The sound of snoring filled the room, coming from the numerous portraits hanging on the walls. There were tables laden with strange instruments, whirring and clicking, one emitting puffs of silver smoke.

A gentle thrumming sound made Dean's heart soar, and he noticed the large scarlet and gold bird on a perch beside Dumbledore's huge desk. A phoenix! A real live phoenix! Dumbledore himself was hidden by a cupboard door. When he emerged he was carrying a large stone basin, which he placed on his desk.

"This is a Pensieve, Mr Thomas; one can place memories in here, and relive them. This memory is very, very recent. It was given to me only this morning. I do not usually share intelligence such as this, but you need to see it to feel safe again. You will notice that I had to disguise my informant."

Dumbledore took a small vial, similar to the one in the case file, uncorked it and tipped its contents into the Pensieve. There was a small streak of black coloured smoke in it. The contents swirled madly; more so once Dumbledore prodded them with his wand. The smoke cleared and showed an image of a room, there were at least a dozen people in it. "Go on, Mr Thomas, you can enter the memory if you wish, just touch your face to the surface. Do not be afraid, nothing can harm you there."

Dean lowered his face until it touched the surface of the glittering smoky liquid and felt his feet leave the floor. He was plummeting towards the ground, he felt himself tip over and land so hard on his feet that he overbalanced and fell at the feet of what looked like a shadow. It was three dimensional but it looked like a silhouette - a person, cut out of reality. Dean put his hand into it, which tingled as if he'd plunged it into a freezer. He heard a cold, calm voice behind him. "Explain yourself."

Dean's blood ran cold, terrified that they were talking to him. Feeling like he was standing on a turntable, he turned around. A tall, slim figure was standing there. Even his robes were enough to give Dean the creeps, the way they seemed to float around him, even when there was no breeze. He reminded Dean of the Dementors; he exuded an energy that contained no pity, no warmth but a deadly intelligence and power.

Dean looked at the deformed face of the figure: took in the glowing red eyes, the flattened space where a nose should be, with slits rather like a snake would have. He knew without a doubt, that he was looking at Lord Voldemort for the first and, Dean fervently hoped, the last time. He was speaking to a cowering figure at his feet. "Tell me, Lestrange, why you allowed this worthless piece of filth to join you in your escape from Azkaban."

"Master, he heard us plotting, said he would make sure we wouldn't get anywhere if we didn't bring him. His cruelty is legendary, I thought we might have use for hi-"

The man cut off with a scream of agony as Voldemort pointed his wand at him and yelled "CRUCIO!" even as the man was still speaking.

"His skills are indeed exactly what I like to see, however he is a liability. No one could claim discretion was a part of any of his endeavours. I need those who will do as I say; exactly as I say."

He pointed his wand at a point beyond Dean and when he looked to where the wand was pointing he felt his heart sink and something cold and ugly rose in its place. Webster was behind him, not six feet away. Dean lunged at him, and went right though him. Clearly, he could touch nothing here. His frustration and anger were almost unbearable.

"You failed me, you did not secure the location of the Potters for me, you killed a man I instructed you to bring to me unharmed, and you tainted all your endeavours by signing them with your own mark as well as mine, when I instructed all works to be signed only by the Dark Mark."

Webster did not appear afraid. He was mad before he had gone to Azkaban, and the fifteen year stint there had made him worse. His appearance had changed a lot - he had aged thirty years, he was gaunt, his hair long and matted, but the mad gleam in his eyes remained - as did the disturbed smile. His eyes focused on the tip of Voldemort's wand.

"You are too much of a liability to be a Death Eater at this time; I need finesse, subtlety, low-key works. I do not need you. AVADA KEDAVRA!" Webster immediately crumpled into a heap. The other Death Eaters looked shocked, but much too afraid to say anything. "Vanisha Evanesca!"

The body vanished, but not before Dean got a look at the blank staring eyes, void at last of the wild gleam that had chilled Dean from the first time he saw it in the Library, a lifetime ago. Dean felt suddenly like he was rushing upwards, and thought he was just feeling shocked at what had just happened, until he flipped over and felt solid ground under his feet again. He sat down hard on the seat that was miraculously behind him.

There were several seconds of silence. "Dean?" Dean looked up dazedly into Dumbledore's kind blue eyes. "I understand that what you saw was shocking, possibly almost too much to bear. But you needed to understand that Jack Webster is no longer a threat. He is dead. I long suspected that Lord Voldemort would not like Webster's habit of signing his atrocities with his name. No Death Eater is supposed to claim credit for their work - it was all supposed to be credited to Voldemort himself."

Dean nodded, still feeling dazed, and almost disappointed. He got off too lightly. "How can you be sure? Are you sure that it's real?"

Dumbledore seated himself behind his desk, his elbows on the desk and his chin resting on his hands. "It is a memory, Dean, and viewed in the Pensieve it gives an unbiased look at the truth of the situation. This memory came from a valued and trusted informant. I am sure of the information."

Dean's gaze strayed to the case file. "So, the vial in there... it's a record of the trial?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, the ministry keep them; they are used for probationary hearings and as teaching tools for young judges to learn from."

"So, can I-?"

"Another time, Mr Thomas, it is late, and you have classes in the morning. Feel free to come back another time, when you are ready to face seeing the trial. Please be sure you are ready, it will not be a pleasant experience. The Memory Glass is an excellent way to get to know your father - but beware of looking at memories that may disturb you."