Pensieves and Lions

PENSIEVES AND LIONS

"That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."

Harry nodded, supposing that it wasn't really any of his business, anyway. "Sorry for . . ." he mumbled and gestured towards the Pensieve.

"Not at all, my boy," said Dumbledore, "as long as what you saw goes no further, it won't matter. You'd probably have found out sooner or later, anyway. You seem to have a knack for such things."

Harry nodded again, feeling slightly embarrassed and more than slightly guilty. Somehow, the fact that Dumbledore wasn't angry was making him feel worse. He was about to excuse himself when Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly. His eyes had suddenly taken on a mischievous gleam. "Seeing as we're here and talking about that past," he said, moustache twitching, "I might show you something that I think you will find very interesting . . ."

Harry, who didn't want to pry any further, thought he had probably seen enough of Dumbledore's private memories, but the headmaster was now looking highly amused about something. Harry's curiosity was piqued and he found himself smiling in spite of himself.

Dumbledore had closed his eyes in concentration. Then he reached over and held lightly onto Harry's arm and, once again, Harry felt the room jerk and he was falling through an icy darkness. This time when he landed he was . . . in the same room? It was almost exactly as it had been before Harry and Professor Dumbledore had used the Pensieve. The same fascinating and unidentifiable gadgets filled the shelves, and portraits of previous headmasters and mistresses still covered the walls.

A quick look around told him that there were more people in the office than there had been previously, however. The first person he saw, to his mild surprise, was Professor McGonagall. A much younger Professor McGonagall. Her hair had more black than grey and her forehead had far less stress lines than Harry was used to seeing. On a more familiar note, however, she was looking livid. Her lips were pursed into a thin line and her eyes were flashing angrily. Professor Dumbledore, who was still standing next to Harry, chuckled softly. There was another Dumbledore behind the desk next to which McGonagall stood. The past Dumbledore was looking vaguely amused, but as though he were trying to suppress it. Probably to escape the infamous Wrath of Professor McGonagall, Harry thought, laughing inwardly.

Following McGonagall's glare, he turned around. To his utter astonishment, there stood four boys of about his age. One, with messy black hair and glasses, was holding a Gryffindor scarf over his mouth and nose. His eyes were crinkled with laughter, his face was pink and his shoulders were shaking. The boy next to him, who had light brown hair, appeared to be having a slightly easier time of controlling his amusement, but was still obviously using a lot of self-control to keep himself from bursting out laughing. The next boy along, who had slightly neater black hair was positively purple and looked as though he was having palpitations trying to keep his hysteria under control. His eyes were streaming and he was gasping for breath. Half hidden behind him stood a short, blonde and slightly chubby boy. He looked torn between laughing and crying. His gaze kept roving over to the door.

It didn't take Harry more than a split second to put the names to the faces. His face split into a wide grin. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. His father, godfather, ex-DADA teacher and . . . the rat. Whatever they had done, they were in fits of glee about it, which suggested to Harry that there were probably some very angry Slytherins somewhere in the castle . . .

Professor McGonagall was looking thunderous now. "I have never been so ashamed!" she was roaring. "A month of detention . . . no! Two months! With Mr. Filch, cleaning everything in your path! No magic, either! It's elbow grease for the four of you!"

Sirius suddenly let out a very loud, very pig-like snort, causing the four boys to explode into loud guffaws. They were all cackling insanely, tears streaming down their faces. McGonagall raised her voice even more, but could barely be heard above the hilarity. "Stop that laughing RIGHT now! I mean it! If you don't you're going to find Gryffindor in the negatives by the time you leave this room!"

Dumbledore-From-the-Past suddenly seemed very interested in what was going on outside. With a small cough he made his way to the window on the other side of the room.

The laughter in the room was contagious, and Harry soon found himself laughing helplessly along with the Marauders. Sirius had had to sit down and was laughing silently, cheeks wet, face still a rather frightening shade of purple. Professor Lupin (Harry felt very strange thinking of the young boy before him as a professor) was positively crying with mirth and was leaning hard against the chair Sirius was sitting in, seemingly unable to support his own weight any more. His father was hiccuping and was now gulping in great mouthfuls of air between guffaws. Pettigrew was giggling hysterically, face pink, eyes shining with laughter. Apparently, his earlier misgivings about whatever it was they had done had vanished.

"RIGHT!" blared Professor McGonagall. "You will apologise to Mr. Snape and Mr. Malfoy! PROPERLY!" And with that she stormed over to the door and yanked it open.

There, in a vision Harry hoped never to forget for the rest of his life, stood . . . a pantomime lion. From within the lion Harry could hear snarls of "Get your hands of my backside, Snape," and "Trust me, Lucius, your backside is the last thing I want to be touching . . ."

"Then let go!" came the furious voice of Lucius Malfoy. There was the sound of fabric ripping and Lucius Malfoy let out a high-pitched shriek of pain "Stop TUGGING!"

The four disgraced Marauders were beyond hysterical now. The four of them were wheezing helplessly and not one of them was still on his feet.

"Boys! Tell me the counter-curse so I can get Mr. Snape and Mr. Malfoy out of this . . . abomination!" McGonagall shrieked. Her cheeks were bright red with fury and her hands were balled into fists. "WELL?"

It was fairly obvious, at least to Harry, that there wasn't much hope of her getting a coherent answer from any of them. He had probably lost the power of speech himself. Dumbledore-From-the-Past walked over, eyes twinkling.

"Allow me, Minerva." Pointing his wand at the offending costume, he muttered a few words, and out from the lion's rear end sprang a murderous looking Snape, in all his greasy glory. The top half, Malfoy, teetered about and fell face first into Sirius' chair. Sirius, who was still cackling, weakly pushed Malfoy off, and he fell to the ground, trying to extricate himself from the lion's upper body.

"Professor! Potter and his idiotic cronies did this! They should all be expelled!" shrieked Snape.

"Yeah!" bleated Malfoy from somewhere within the lion's depths.

"Now, Mr. Snape, the boys have two months of detention ahead of them. That should be sufficient punishment," Dumbledore said calmly.

The Marauders' laughter had degenerated to weak giggles now, and James Potter, who was most composed, said, "Aw, Professor, I have Quidditch practice and everything . . ."

"Well," said McGonagall, "you should have thought of that. ALL of you."

Four faces dropped. Snape and Malfoy, who had removed himself from the floor and the rear of the costume, sneered at the four of them. "Looks like Gryffindor's chances of getting the Quidditch Cup this year are pretty slim, what with two of you out of commission for two months . . ."

"Well, Harry, we'd better get back," said Dumbledore's voice, startling him. Harry reluctantly nodded.

The next thing he knew, he and Dumbledore were alone again, sitting at the desk. Dumbledore was still smiling. "Now then, Harry. You had best be off. I do believe there is a particular red-headed friend of yours who might be delighted to hear such a story. . . . Do try to keep it between yourselves and Miss Granger, though. I thought you could do with a bit of cheering up."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, getting up to leave and still grinning madly.

As he walked back to the Gryffindor common room, he realised his mood had indeed lightened considerably. Potions was going to be much more entertaining from now on. Professor Severus Snape, the lion's arse . . .