The Knights Of Walpurgis

Chapter Twenty--Three: The Pensieve

Dumbledore sat across his desk from Harry, wearing a purple nightgown with comets flashing across his chest and galaxies swirling around his stomach. He tried to remember more about the cavern - he was sure that there were several important details that he was forgetting - but the memory seemed to slip away as though he were trying to hold water on his fingertips.

Dumbledore looked slightly disappointed for a moment, before standing up and walking over to one of the cabinets that lined the walls of his office. He opened it and took out a stone basin that he carried carefully back to his desk, setting it down before Harry.

"You recognise my Pensieve, of course," Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded.

"I offered you its use at the start of the year. I understand that it is not an offer you have wished to take up, because viewing our past memories is not always an easy thing, but I think that it might help, not just with this dream, but also should there be anything that you wish to study again, and perhaps analyse your decisions and their implications."

Dumbledore did not suggest any specific memories, although Harry felt sure that he was talking about the battle at the Department of Mysteries the previous summer, and Harry's decisions before that. Still, Harry couldn't help but smile as he thought how useful it might be to replay his interactions with Ginny since the summer, and see if he could work out whether she did fancy him, or whether he was imagining things.

"I forgot," he said, at last. "Sorry, sir, but with everything else it just slipped my mind. I think I finally understand what you told me, the first time you showed me this, about having a head so full of thoughts that you can't make sense of anything."

"You do have a particularly busy life, Harry. Have you ever considered giving anything up?"

"The only thing that I could really give up is Quidditch," Harry said, sinking in his chair. "And I don't want to. I know it's selfish, and I could probably learn more if I wasn't out on the pitch three times a week, but..."

Dumbledore had held up a hand, and was smiling.

"I understand," he said. "In my distant youth, I was a Keeper, although I did not possess any great skill. I found it very useful, as it gave me something on which to focus apart from my schoolwork and Prefect duties. It all seems rather along time ago, but nowadays I still enjoy taking time away from my responsibilities. I enjoy listening to the wireless, even the news, although it is so apt to be gloomy nowadays."

Harry nodded. The Daily Prophet was full of articles about home protection, self-defence and speculation on how the Ministry was handling the war. Mr. Diggory's latest front page picture had made him look quite worn out.

"Anyway, it may help you to borrow the Pensieve for a time. I can show you how to use it now, and we can watch your memory of your most recent dream. Then you can review any memory you wish at your leisure. You can also, of course, show other people your memories, if you wish."

Harry nodded, wondering who would want to share his memories.

What would I show them? Fighting Voldemort? Living in a cupboard? All those fun times that I had at school with Dudley, where no-one would even talk to me?

He knew that he was being foolish, that he actually had many good memories, but the feeling of having Voldemort in his mind and the ache pounding in his head had him feeling rather miserable. He tried to focus on a positive thought, as though trying to conjure a Patronus.

Unbidden, the memory of standing with a bruised and battered, yet excited and elated, Ginny at the end of Gryffindor's last Quidditch match came to mind.

*

Dumbledore had watched the scene in the cavern silently, showing no surprise at the events that unfolded.

"As you can imagine, Professor Snape told me of this event from his own experiences," he commented. "We did not know that another such event was scheduled for tonight."

Harry rubbed at his scar, which was still burning with Voldemort's pleasure. Occasionally he felt a pained stab, which he presumed was another initiate having the Dark Mark burned into their skin.

"There were so many," he said.

"Voldemort's forces are no longer limited to the few scared Death Eaters you saw at his return," Dumbledore said, rather glumly. "He has been amassing a new army. Recruiting among the old families, as you may have guessed, but also contacting the giants and employing mercenaries."

"The men in red?"

"Yes. Rogue members of the Dark Arts Defence League, of all things. Of course, having spent so long studying the Dark Arts, it was not a difficult step for them to begin practising them. And once that step is taken, it is very hard to come back."

Harry grimaced. "Sir, the Cruciatus curse that I used on Bellatrix Lestrange..."

Dumbledore nodded. "I would be more concerned if you had managed the spell, or if you had enjoyed it. Do not misunderstand me, Harry. Every wizard is open to temptation. Most avoid it, and some of the strongest proponents of the Light are those who have seen the Dark for themselves, such as yourself and Professor Snape."

Harry wasn't sure that he liked the comparison, but having seen for himself what Snape was risking every time he returned to Voldemort's side, he felt that the Potions Master was rather braver than Harry had ever really given him credit for.

*

Harry had arranged with his friends to meet him after his daily training session with Marchbanks. She left him with a small frown on her face, and turned right instead of her usual left outside the door. Harry supposed that she was going to Dumbledore again, and sighed.

What now? I know I didn't do well today, but my head still hurts.

He grimaced, knowing that Voldemort wasn't likely to take it easy on him if he had a headache when they fought.

When the others arrived, he was sitting on one of the squashy beanbags used by the HA. The Pensieve sat before him, and five more beanbags formed a circle around it.

"Harry, is that a Pensieve?" Hermione asked, as the five of them sat down.

"Yeah, it's Dumbledore's."

"He gave it to you?" Ron asked.

"For a while, yeah," Harry nodded.

"Why?"

"So I could look at my memories, and work out if I made the wrong decisions or if there was anything that I could learn from them."

There was a long pause, and then Luna said, "Memories like the fight in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Exactly."

There was a longer silence. This time it was Ginny who broke it. "Did you look at it?"

"Yes," Harry said. "The whole thing. From my exam to the end of the day. Dumbledore taught me how to skip bits of it that I didn't want to see."

"Like what?"

"Like three hours on the Thestrals," Harry replied, smiling slightly. "Although you all looked pretty weird, trying to climb onto them when you couldn't see them."

Luna laughed quietly.

"You did," she said. "It would have been impolite to say it then, but especially when you walked into your Thestral and fell over, Ronald."

Ron blushed hotly and muttered something under his breath, but to Harry's relief the tension in the room had broken.

"I didn't ask you to come here to be miserable," he said. "I wanted your advice on something."

"What?" Neville asked.

"I want the five of you to come into one of my memories and see if you can help me work out what I should do."

"What memory?" Ginny asked, but Harry thought that she'd already guessed.

"The end of my fourth year," Harry said. "My duel with Voldemort."

*

As much as anything else, it had been instructive for Harry to watch his friends as the memory played out. Hermione had gasped as Wormtail cut Harry, and had nearly been in tears when Voldemort had tortured him. Ron had watched the whole thing quietly, but had been glaring in ill-concealed fury at Wormtail throughout almost the entire thing. Luna had been as implacable as ever, although when Voldemort had first arisen from the cauldron, she had broken away from the group to take a closer look at him. She didn't say what she had seen, although she had seemed more focused afterward. Neville had been silent as well, although when Voldemort mentioned the Lestrange's loyalty at going to Azkaban rather than giving up his secrets, Neville's face had contorted into a grimace somewhere between fury and pain. Ginny had only moved when the ghosts of Harry's parents emerged from Voldemort's wand - walking up to them and looking closely at them as they circled the golden cage which held Harry and Voldemort prisoner as their wands were locked together.

"Well?" Harry asked. As the memory-Harry had grabbed the Portkey, so too had they returned to the Room of Requirement.

"Ugly git, isn't he?" Ron said eventually. Hermione reached across and took his hand, smiling.

"Yeah, he is," Harry said, smiling as well.

"You can't duel him?" Neville asked.

"If we cast spells that hit each other, then that cage thing'll happen again."

"What about not using magic?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is there any chance that you could get close enough to stab him? Or hit him with a rock or something?"

Harry thought about it. He hadn't even considered hand-to-hand fighting with Voldemort.

"He only has to touch me, though, and he'll win. It's as bad as the Cruciatus."

Ginny shivered. Harry reached out and took her hand in his.

"Sorry," he said. She squeezed his hand and shook her head.

"I'm okay," she said. "It's just hard. I know that Tom was evil, but seeing him like that..."

"He doesn't like being called Tom," Harry remembered. Dumbledore had angered the Dark wizard by calling him Tom in the atrium of the Ministry the year before.

"Hang on," he said. Putting his wand to his temple, he brought the atrium duel fully to mind. Imagining it sliding out of his mind and onto his wand, he took the wand from the side of his head and saw the silvery wisp of memory hanging from the wandtip. He dipped it into the Pensieve and gestured for the others to join him.

This time they watched as Harry raced after Bellatrix Lestrange. It wasn't until the memory started that Harry realised what his friends were about to see, but his throat was dry and he couldn't say anything to warn them. Instead they watched in silence as Harry cast the Cruciatus curse on Sirius' murderer, and then continued to watch the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort. It wasn't until the memory-Harry cried out as Voldemort possessed him that Harry realised that Ginny was still holding his hand, because she was suddenly squeezing tight, her face intent on memory-Harry even as Voldemort screamed in turn and let Harry go.

The duel concluded with Voldemort vanishing from the atrium as Cornelius Fudge and the other Ministry personnel arrived. The group returned to the Room of Requirement as the memory-Harry departed on Dumbledore's Portkey.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry hung his head, unable to look his friends in the eye. Seeing it again had brought home how angry he had become, how nearly he had come to complete loss of control. He shuddered at the thought of it, and almost automatically checked on his shields. He couldn't risk letting his anger loose like that again. He had to stay in control.

"Harry?" It was Ginny's voice. He looked up, realising again that he was still holding her hand. He tried to pull away, but she held firm, not releasing him even when he was looking straight at her.

"You couldn't do it, Harry. Remember that. You may have tried, but there's no-one in this room whose temper hasn't gotten the better of them sometimes."

Harry tried to pull away again, but Ginny held firm.

"She's right, mate," Ron said. "Look at us Weasleys. We've all got filthy tempers, even Percy in his way, and look what getting angry has done for him. He's stuck on his own, 'cos he's too proud to apologise."

Harry shrugged. He didn't think that he had much in common with Percy.

"You won't do it again," Luna said. It was the first time that she'd spoken since they'd started watching Harry's memory of Voldemort's resurrection. "You didn't like it, did you?"

Harry stared at her in surprise for a moment, and then shook his head.

"Then you won't do it again," Luna said, as though it were set in stone.

"Harry, Luna has a point," Hermione said. Harry almost smiled, knowing how much effort it must have taken for Hermione to say that. "You tried to do that spell, but it didn't work. Now it's nearly a year later, and you're still feeling bad about it. I think that shows that you're a good person, at heart, and if you do the wrong thing occasionally, well, that just means that you're human."

Harry did smile this time, wondering how Hermione could resolve such a difficult problem for him with an answer that sounded as though she'd lifted it from a textbook.

"You're right," he said at last. "I know it, and Dumbledore told me the same thing, really. But seeing it again..."

Ron and Neville nodded in sympathy.

"Not your best moment, mate," Ron said. "But I don't think any of us would look that good if we just looked at our worst moments."

"Why couldn't Voldemort possess you?" Luna said suddenly.

Harry looked at her in surprise.

"Dumbledore said something about my heart," he said. "Voldemort left when I started thinking about Sirius, about..."

"Harry?" Ginny prompted gently.

"I wanted to die," Harry said, his gaze dropping back to the floor. "I wanted to die so that I could be with Sirius again."

Ginny's grip on his hand tightened to the point of pain.

"I don't anymore," he said as he looked up at his friends. "But just for a moment, while Voldemort was there, when it hurt so much... I just couldn't do it. I couldn't fight him. Dumbledore reckons that the only thing that saved me was my heart, that thinking about Sirius made me... I dunno," he finished, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"It makes sense," Ron said, after a long moment of silence.

"What do you mean?"

"You-Kn... Him. He doesn't sound like he knows anything about caring for someone or something, well, except for himself. But that's not the same thing," he said, looking at Hermione. "Maybe what you feel for Sirius, Voldemort couldn't understand it. I mean, when you feel that way about someone, it's not always easy to understand, right?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, he's never had that. His mum died, he killed his dad, I don't reckon he ever got married or anything, you know? So maybe when he felt what you feel for Sirius, it hurt him. All those feelings, the grief, the loss... Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm talking complete rubbish, I don't know. No-one really understands how the heart works," Ron said with a rueful smile. "And they've been studying it for a long time."

*

Harry lay awake later that night, thinking about what Ron had said. Could it be possible? Was Voldemort vulnerable to human emotions? He thought about his most recent dream, seeing Voldemort casually casting the Killing Curse as easily as breathing, torturing his followers as though it were of no more consequence than swatting a fly.

Can you do that and still be human? He doesn't look it, and he doesn't feel it, Harry thought with a shudder. Can he be beaten just by... what? Hate? Despair? Anger? They're supposed to make someone weaker, aren't they? Make them lose control?

Harry drifted off into a fitful sleep, where he dreamed about tying his wand to Voldemort's in a duel, the same way that their wands had become tied in his fourth year. Harry forced all his anger, all his hate, all his fear along the link, and Voldemort buckled as each emotion struck home. Finally, he sent the despair that he felt over the loss of his parents and Sirius across to Voldemort. Instead of finishing him off, however, it seemed to feed the Dark wizard, who grew stronger and larger, looming over Harry like a giant.

Harry moaned and rolled over, and didn't remember the dream when he woke up the next morning.

*

"Well, it is an interesting idea, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort is certainly rather less than human, although also rather more as well."

Dmbledore frowned, and regarded Harry over steepled fingers.

"This is something that you wish to investigate?"

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore pursed his lips briefly, and then nodded. "Very well. It was a similar matter that I was hoping to discuss with you today, anyway. Firstly, I showed your dream to Rose."

"What did she say?"

"Well, it was real, of course. Professor Snape verified it, but Voldemort did not alter it in any way. He confirmed everything up to the Cruciatus being placed on him, at which point he caught only fragments until the meeting ended and he was returned here by Portkey. Voldemort apparently did not mention you at all, beyond his hopes to kill you, that is."

Harry and Dumbledore exchanged grim smiles at this.

"No, it seems that he was unaware of your presence, and that you may have just been lucky enough, if that is the right phrase, to have left yourself unshielded when he was in such a happy state of mind."

Harry shivered. His definition of happy and Voldemort's definition didn't seem to coincide.

"He hasn't tried to disrupt my Occlumency training at all," Harry said.

"He is arrogant," Dumbledore said. "And as you reported, does not think much of your skills. He appears to have no need to enter your mind over distance, and believes in his ability to breakdown your defences when next you meet. Now, in order to prevent him having the chance, you will need to successfully duel with him."

Harry nodded, but remembering the end of his fourth year, had a question.

"How am I supposed to duel with him, sir? My wand won't work against his."

"Timing," Dumbledore suggested. "I wish that I could be more helpful, Harry. I have contacted Mr. Ollivander, and he is happy to give you free roam of his shop if you wish to find another wand."

Harry thought about the havoc he'd caused in Ollivander's before finding his wand nearly six years before, and shook his head.

"I think mine is the only one that I can work with, sir," he said.

"As you wish, Harry. I will not pretend to be displeased. Perhaps I am simply being sentimental, but I can't help but feel that yourself and Voldemort have Fawkes' feathers in your wands for a reason."

Fawkes trilled at the mention of his name. As always, the sound filled Harry with a warm feeling.

"Now, as for duelling.:Madam Marchbanks reports that you have progressed sufficiently far that it should be worth you attempting some quite advanced spells."

"Okay. Which ones?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I wonder if you have noticed, Harry, how some wizards and witches are able to cast spells without saying the words of the spells?"

Harry nodded.

"Why do you think that is?"

"I just assumed that you were familiar with the spells," Harry said. "I mean, Professor McGonagall can transfigure almost anything, and Mrs. Weasley hardly says a word when she's cooking dinner or breakfast or anything."

"Ah, no," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Close, but not quite. Wordless magic is generally not attempted by many wizards, because it can be exceptionally difficult. Generally a witch or wizard will learn a few spells that will be of immediate and regular use to them -- cooking spells, for example, or spells for use in a classroom."

"Why learn them, if they're so difficult?" Harry asked.

"There are benefits," Dumbledore said. "Once mastered, they are much easier, much less draining. Generally, it is not worth the effort for your average wizard in the street, but for someone who may need to use many spells in quick succession without their ability to do magic becoming drained, someone, for example, who will be duelling a powerful Dark wizard..."

Harry nodded.

"Madam Marchbanks is prepared to teach you, Harry, if you wish."

"Teach?"

Dumbledore smiled.

"Yes, teach. Don't let her fool you, Harry. She is a fine teacher, although she confesses that she's enjoyed beating you up for the last several months. She says that you take punishment very well."

Harry smiled ruefully.

"I don't think that these spells will be the key to defeating Voldemort, but they should help," Dumbledore said. "And I may be wrong. It may be as simple as finding the right Freezing Hex. I am continuing to investigate the matter, and am hopeful of finding a weakness that you will be able to exploit."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"When I fight Voldemort, am I going to be alone?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and then sighed.

"Give your previous history with each other, it makes sense for us to assume the worst, Harry. I will do my utmost to be alongside you, and ideally, we would be able to meet him with a strong enough force that we could overwhelm him, but I suspect that we will not be so lucky. The prophecy, vague as it is, seems to indicate that final duel will be solely between Voldemort and yourself."

"To the death."

Dumbledore inclined his head, but did not say anything.

*

"Potter, what spell are you most familiar with?"

"I don't know."

"Is there a spell that you particularly enjoy casting?"

"Er, not really."

"Well, is there a spell that you are particularly good at?"

"Er, Expelliarmus?"

Marchbanks' brow folded into a frown.

"No, no good," she said. "We need something with a strong tie to you, Potter. My first wordless spell was a Freezing Hex, you may not be surprised to hear."

Harry smiled slightly.

"I hear you've got a good Patronus?"

Harry nodded.

"Right, we'll start with that."

"How do I do it?"

"Just imagine the spell, its properties, what it does, how you move your wand to cast it and what words you say to cast it."

Harry thought that this sounded like rather a lot, but nodded.

"And you need to want to cast it, too. Not just hope you can, like when you try a new spell, but you have to want to do it, you have to need to cast that spell, at least at first. It'll come easier with time, same as any magic."

Harry frowned.

"Go on, then."

Harry waved his wand, and imagined the silver stag bursting forth.

Nothing happened.

"Again."

Another wave. Still nothing.

"Keep going."

Another wave. Harry began to feel a bit embarrassed.

"Another."

Harry stared at his wand as thought it had betrayed him. He imagined the Patronus, thought about Christmas at Grimmauld Place, with Sirius happy and everyone enjoying themselves. He waved his wand. It had no effect.

"Potter, you've become too good at controlling your emotions," Marchbanks said, leaning heavily on her cane. Harry had become very used to her bellowing loudly at him from only a few inches away, but this time she sounded much louder.

"I can't do both," he replied loudly, not far from yelling at her. "I have to keep myself calm to keep Voldemort out of my head. I can't just go about letting my emotions out one moment, and shutting them away another."

"Then you'll never master this magic," Marchbanks fired back. "Learning to control your emotions is part of being an adult, boy. Dumbledore tells me that there's a fire inside you, so it's time to start burning things."

"I can control my emotions," Harry said. "What do you think Occlumency is?"

"A cage," Marchbanks fired back. "You've locked everything away, like a lion in a zoo, but if that lion gets out, then it's still dangerous. It's not tame, it's not under control -- it's a prisoner. Your Occlumency shuts all your emotions out -- it's not control, any more than a king in a castle controls the invaders outside."

Harry reeled mentally from Marchbanks' words. Since he had begun to get the hang of Occlumency, he had always imagined himself as standing on the battlements of a solid castle with Sirius by his side. He felt shaken.

"What do I need to do?"

Marchbanks looked at him almost kindly -- an unusual expression on her normally stern face.

"You need to move past your Occlumency, Potter," she said. "It's a foundation stone for you to build on -- good for defence, but worth nothing without a good offence. Your emotions are powerful weapons -- without them you couldn't perform the most powerful spells. Without joy, there is no Patronus. Without hate, there is no Killing Curse, no Cruciatus Curse either. The most powerful spells known to mankind are based on emotions, and if you can't master that magic, then Voldemort will roll right over you, as good as you are at avoiding and defending yourself.

Harry felt a little better. It was the closest that Marchbanks had come to complimenting him in a long time.

"It's good that you can defend yourself from Voldemort's mental attacks," Marchbanks said. "But you need to be able to fight back. Use your own emotions against him. That's the key to the spells you learn here. They won't beat him, or so Dumbledore tells me, but they'll keep him busy."

"How do you think I'll manage to beat him, then?"

"Like I said, our emotions are key to the most powerful magic we can produce, Potter. The key lies with you -- you just have to figure out what lock it fits."

*

It was all very well Marchbanks saying that Harry had the key with him, but he wasn't sure what she meant. Harry spent the next few days trying to determine what emotion he had that could defeat Voldemort. He felt annoyance when Slytherin absolutely pounded Hufflepuff in their Quidditch match, because it meant that Hufflepuff were out of the running for the Quidditch Cup. Depending on the result when Gryffindor met Ravenclaw the following month, Slytherin could end up as champions, which Harry didn't want to see. But he couldn't imagine Voldemort being annoyed to death.

Harry began to feel a nervous excitement as the day of the match drew nearer. Ravenclaw had lost their first match to Hufflepuff on the Snitch but entered a strong showing in beating Slytherin, a jubilant Cho Chang snatching the Snitch when Ravenclaw had been several goals ahead. With the final match approaching, Gryffindor needed to win by one hundred and eighty points to take the title, while Ravenclaw needed one hundred and ten points. The more Harry thought about the match, the more nervous he felt. But, at the same time, he wasn't sure that Voldemort would be bothered by nervousness.

At least, as the weeks passed, he began to feel better about Ginny. She had shown no signs of attraction to him -- unless I'm completely misreading things, he thought -- and was the same as she had ever been. He felt relieved about that.

But his relief was tempered by his awareness that, despite his best efforts, despite the tentative reconciliations between himself, and Ernie, and Cho, there were still those in all four houses who were gossiping about him behind his back. He didn't know what they were finding to gossip about -- now that he wasn't seeing Susan or working on Occlumency training, he only had to worry about the HA, Quidditch, school work and Marchbanks sessions, as well as still getting tips from the various teachers, but that was more than enough to keep him busy from when he awoke to when he fell asleep. Apparently, somewhere in there, he was still finding time to conduct torrid affairs with about half the school, such was the amount of laughter that he occasionally overheard. This caused him to feel angry, exasperation and a pounding sense of injustice.

If nothing else, becoming more aware of his emotions was allowing him to make slow progress under Marchbanks. He was managing to cast a wispy Patronus, about as much as he had managed in his first lesson with Remus, three years before.

One morning, the week before Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were set to meet at Quidditch, something happened to drive all this from his mind, however.

On his way to breakfast, he passed Malfoy, who had been uncharacteristically silent since Cho, Ernie and Justin had abandoned him. At the time, Harry had been grateful for his silence, but the way in which Malfoy approached him directly across the Entrance Hall suggested that he had been brewing more trouble since then.

"Interesting news, isn't it, Potter?"

"What are you talking about, Malfoy? Have you found out how many centuries until your dad gets let out of Azkaban?"

Malfoy's smirk widened.

"Not long now, Potter. Not with the change in management coming up."

"What are you on about?"

"Check the paper. You can't miss it."

Malfoy laughed, and walked on, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him and laughing belatedly, although Harry would have bet his Firebolt that they hadn't understood what was funny.

He hurried the rest of the way to the Great Hall, which was unusually silent as he entered. Hermione was already standing, and holding a copy of the Prophet for him. As Harry approached, he tried to tell himself that he was imagining the face on the cover, that there was no way he could be right about who it was. It was a face that still haunted his dreams occasionally.

"Harry, I..." Hermione tailed off, uncharacteristically lost for words.

Harry took the Prophet from her. He felt very, very sick.

Hogwarts High Inquisitor challenges Diggory!

Minister's reign 'illegal' claims Dolores Umbridge.

To be continued...