Pensive

Author's Note: My undying love and gratitude to MadEye1200 and Ant Power for the amazing beta work. This was written for notmonica who wanted a missing moment from CoS in which Dumbledore and Snape discuss Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue. However, she wanted it told with the events of DH in mind. Monica dear, I hope this is what you had in mind. *smooch* As always, thank you so much for reading. Please take a moment to review and tell me what you think.

Pensive

So, it had begun. It was inevitable, of course. Harry was a bright and inquisitive fledgling but with every hop he took farther from safe nest of his Muggle childhood, the more likely it was that there would be... incidents. Naturally, after enough incidents there would come questions. How much longer before enough of the pattern emerged, he wondered. How many more incidents before some watchful someone spotted it? Not much longer, he'd wager. He was even reasonably certain just who would be astute enough to see it. He could only hope he'd hold enough sway to enforce silence. Silence from not just the rest of the world but from Harry himself. Feeling every day of his nearly 150 years, his eyes shut and he sighed heavily.

"Headmaster," Severus' voice ground out impatiently, "you did hear me, did you not?"

"Oh yes, Severus. I heard you most distinctly."

"Well?"

"Tea, I think," he answered calmly, rising. "Will you join me?"
"I will not- ," Severus bit off the angry retort. "No, thank you, Headmaster."

"Very well. Do sit down, anyway." He gestured hospitably to one of the arm chairs before his desk as, with a slight tap of his wand, the kettle on the side table put out a gush of fragrant steam. Severus did sit but he remained perched on the edge of the chair, tension plainly evident in every feature and gesture. Dumbledore took no notice as he poured and resumed his own seat.

"Headmaster- ," the man said again, his voice taking what was, for Severus anyway, a pleading note. Dumbledore raised a placating hand.

"Severus, I assure you, I take this quite as seriously as ever you could desire. Please indulge an old and befuddled man and tell me again what, precisely, happened this evening."

The dark-haired man opposite shot him angry, disbelieving look. "Yes, Headmaster. As you know, that Lockhart fool was attempting- ," but he was cut off by a sharp rap at the door.

"Ah, that will be Gilderoy now, if I'm not mistaken," said Dumbledore, not bothering to mask his amusement at the Potions Master's impatient snarl. "Forgive the interruption, Severus." To the door he called, cheerfully, "Come in, Professor. Come in."

In truth, he could sympathize with Snape when it came to their latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. This evening, it took an even larger portion of self-control. He was able to restrain himself to a slight eye roll as the man entered with quick step and flamboyant swish of his rich plum-colored robes. "I understand your dueling club has provided some unexpected excitement, Gilderoy," he said in greeting. "Severus was just beginning to tell me all about it. Will you join us?"

Lockhart faltered a bit as he came face to face with the potions master. "Oh. Er, yes, Headmaster. For a moment. I, er, knew that Professor Snape would be providing a quite complete report. I just, er- , well, I thought I'd pop in and offer my support. It was rather shocking thing, after all, for anyone not experienced in such matters." Taking a seat before the desk, he tugged nervously at his cloak clasp. "Please, Severus. I wouldn't dream of interrupting." He accompanied his attempt at familiarity with a smile which shriveled under the glare Snape turned on him.

Hiding an amused chuckle in a gentle cough, Dumbledore drew the men's attention. "Severus, for the sake of brevity, perhaps your narrative could jump forward to the actual event."

"Of course, Headmaster," the man answered with a slight sneer for his collegue. "We had just recovered from Lockhart's misguided attempt at teaching the disarming charm to the students."

Lockhart's mouth opened to protest but Dumbledore spoke first. "Severus," warned Dumbledore, mildly. Snape acknowledged the warning with a slight inclination of his head.

"It seemed best to continue with a demonstration of dueling practice so Potter and Malfoy were selected. Unfortunately, Potter seemed particularly aggressive and Mr. Malfoy seemed to feel particularly threatened. He reacted with regrettable but not surprising force and conjured a serpent in an attempt to hold Potter at bay." At this, Lockhart uttered some half-hearted spluttering in Harry's defense but Snape took no notice. Dumbledore carefully said nothing, his face neutral.

"The Defense Professor- ," Snape paused, clearing his throat, "did interact with the snake but not to any useful end. The animal became agitated so I stepped in to banish the it before any further untoward incidents might occur."

Here, Lockhart cut in, apparently too eager to tell what happened next to comment on Snape's slur of his own wand work. "Yes, Severus had just raised his wand, Headmaster, when the most extraordinary thing happened." His eyes grew wide and he leaned forward, rising slightly from his seat. "Harry Potter spoke to the snake! Actually spoke to it!" He slapped Dumbledore's desk for emphasis. "It did sound more like air escaping from a very large balloon, mind, but there can be no question. Harry Potter can talk to snakes!" He dropped back into his chair and ran his hand through his blond waves, rumpling them dramatically. "Whatever will you do, Headmaster? After all, once this gets out..." He trailed off with an eloquent shrug.

Dumbledore sat back in his own chair, his hands steepled below his chin. He didn't fear publicity so much. If it were to appear in the Daily Prophet, that would be awkward, of course. Certainly, it would be somewhat uncomfortable for Harry. It was probable that Harry didn't even realize the implications of what he'd done in the Great Hall, though, it was equally probable that young Weasley and Miss Granger were enlightening the boy at that very moment. He shook his head. If only it had happened in a less spectacular manner. He looked up and found Snape watching him carefully.

"Do, Gilderoy? Well, I have encountered a few snakes in the Forbidden Forest with whom I should like to converse. Perhaps Harry will oblige me and serve as translator one day."

"But what about the press, Headmaster," Lockhart gasped. "We must plan how best to use this."

"I do not see any advantage in using this, Lockhart," Snape said, disdainfully. "I'm sure the headmaster would much prefer discretion in this matter."

"Really, gentlemen," said Dumbledore, smiling broadly, "you're becoming unduly excited over this, aren't you? Parseltongue is an unusual gift and often given a negative connotation. However, we are speaking of a young boy. I do not think we need discompose ourselves."

The two younger men stared at him in silence. Lockhart seemed disappointed that he would not be able to commandeer the front page of the Prophet with an exciting scoop. Dumbledore figured he would soon console himself by writing the incident into his next book. Snape's expression, on the other hand, was less readable.

"Unless there is anything else, I think we may conclude. I would ask you both to avoid giving in to useless speculation and spurious chitchat. There is no need to foster fear and mistrust among our students."

"Oh, yes. Of course, Headmaster," said Lockhart, importantly. He rose from his seat. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I'll return to my office. I'll make myself available to the students and, of course, I always have my fan mail to answer." He winked. "Good evening, Headmaster. Severus." Dumbledore thought he could detect a certain amount of relief as the Defense professor retreated from the office and down the spiral stairs.

Snape watched after him until the door was firmly shut. "Headmaster, I understand your desire to keep this incident within the castle walls but what do you really intend to do? Surely you will investigate this thoroughly."

"To what end, Severus? What would you suggest I do with the results of such an investigation?"

"If Potter is in possession of such dark abilities as Parseltongue, surely he requires more supervision and a much shorter leash," Snape answered, his dark eyes hooded. "Would you have him running loose in the castle, influencing other students to follow wherever his whims may lead them? What with the chamber rumored to be open and all this 'Heir of Slytherin nonsense, there were already rumors about him."

There it was. Not the entire picture, of course, but enough to lead the clever potions master to the right answer at last. Was it too late to divert him? Could the man be misled yet a bit longer? Dumbledore rose from his seat, using his still imposing height to advantage. "I suggest you cease to beat around the proverbial bush, Severus." He directed a hard stare at the younger wizard under which, he cowed slightly.

"I mean only that prudence would suggest keeping a very close eye on a young wizard with dark proclivities."

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, fingertips resting on the desk between them. "Yes, quite so. I wouldn't wish to commit such an error again. Beware, Severus." He watched dispassionately as the already sallow man paled further. Relenting slightly, Dumbledore resumed his seat. "You know my wishes for you concerning the boy. You are to assist me in protecting him. Your jealousy and dislike for James Potter must not be suffered to hinder that work. You do right coming to me with a report such as this. The ability to speak Parseltongue is, undeniably, unusual and likely to rouse much perturbation among many of our world. But surely you see as well as I, Harry is not Voldemort. He is not the next terrible dark wizard." He fell silent, waiting, hardly even breathing. Would it be enough to misdirect that considerable intellect?

"I understand your wishes, Headmaster," the man replied stiffly. Dumbledore allowed himself to relax slightly. "I understand why you believe me uniquely suited to the task you lay upon me." Dumbledore noticed the man's tightly clenched fists. "I have committed myself to your service in this matter." Tall as Snape was, he seemed to shrink in on himself as he spoke.

"Thank you, Severus. You are aware of the trust I place in you." He offered the now brooding man a small smile. "For tonight, I believe there is nothing more to be said. In the meantime, please continue to come to me should Mr. Potter display any other extraordinary abilities or accomplishments. It is well, I'm certain, to know all we may about our young charge. Go on and resume your usual duties Severus, and be easy. I won't disregard your information."

Snape gave him an accessing look before rising. "Very well, Headmaster," he replied with a slight bow. "Good evening." His departure was as great a contrast to Lockhart's as the men themselves. Dumbledore watched him go with mingled relief and disappointment.

"Fawkes, at times, I cannot tell which was the greater failure; Tom Riddle or Severus Snape. I only know they are both my own." The bird watched keenly but made no response as Dumbledore began pacing slowly back and forth across the room. After a few moments, he paused before a portrait of an elderly wizard in somber gray robes. "Armando, have you any wisdom for me tonight?"

The man in the portrait smiled sadly. "Albus, it is not a question of wisdom, is it? Wisdom has very little to do with the difficulties you face. There is only doing or not doing."

"Do you place no importance on the manner of doing, then," Dumbledore asked, diffidently.

"Of course, it is important. However, I believe the die is cast, is it not?" The image of former Headmaster Dippet raised an eyebrow. "Unless you would retrace the steps you've taken with young Harry, that is. Are you questioning the course you have chosen?"

Dumbledore frowned. "No, I don't believe so, Armando. I persist in my belief that Harry will be a better person if he is not burdened with his charge so early in his life. The longer he can believe himself to be, for the most part, a normal young wizard, the better for him." He turned his gaze out the window to the shadowy castle grounds. "For us all."

Armando Dippet hemmed and settled back in his painted chair. "Then there is only one path before you, Albus. The choice is made." Closing his eyes, he settled deeper into his seat. "So, you hoped for wisdom, did you? You came to me, of all people, for advice at this time?"

"You are the only headmaster who can understand by experience the situation in which I find myself," Dumbledore answered.

"Indeed. It is not the distinction one might wish," Dippet answered, slitting one eye open. The two were silent a moment; Dumbledore seemingly engaged in watching Fawkes preen and groom his feathers, Dippet ruminating.

"Much of what you need is already at hand, Albus," Dippet said at last. "The boy will have to know eventually and it had best be the complete story. There must be," he added, "a few key pieces missing from the whole. You must track them down. Organize your thoughts, Albus. That is my wisdom for you."

Dumbledore turned from his examination of the phoenix and faced the old portrait. "Excellent advice, it is, Armando. I thank you." He moved briskly over to a cabinet in the corner. "Sleep seeming unlikely tonight, I shall begin to follow your most obliging wisdom at once." No answer came as Dippet was already snoring lightly in his frame.

From a high shelf in the cabinet, Dumbledore drew forth the rune-covered stone bowl which was his pensieve. Deep and wide, the bottom was obscured by a thin, silvery film which swirled as if by its own power. Dumbledore set it carefully on the center of his desk. He began pacing again, this time purposefully as if thinking hard and rapidly. From time to time, he paused before the desk, drawing a fine silver thread from his temple and depositing it into the basin which began to fill and swirl like a whirlpool.

Outside, the stars tracked their course across the sky over the Forbidden Forest as the centaurs watched. Owls swooshed in and out over the grounds and the lake's surface rippled with the light breeze. Within the high tower, as his young charges slept, Albus Dumbledore organized his thoughts.