A Reflection of Himself

January arrived, cold and blustery, marking the beginning of the last semester of Harry's schooling. After having spent much of the rest of the holiday at the Burrow, Harry and his friends returned to Hogwarts the day before classes would begin. He had just finished putting his things away after having unpacked when he heard an unexpected voice say his name.

"Hello, Harry."

Shocked, Harry turned around to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway of his dormitory. In all his years at Hogwarts, Harry had never once seen Dumbledore enter the Gryffindor quarters. He wondered what brought him here today.

"Hi, sir," Harry greeted him, sounding perplexed. "Did you need something?"

Harry knew it was an idiotic question to ask. Why else would he be here?

"Yes, Harry, I wondered if you might come with me to my office. There is something I've been meaning to show you."

The piercing quality of Dumbledore's eyes unnerved Harry, and he felt himself unsteady with apprehension. "Uh, sure..."

Harry followed Dumbledore out of the room and down the stairs, through the common room, and out the portal into the hallway. Dumbledore was silent at first, but then he ventured casually, "How was your holiday, Harry?"

Harry knew the Headmaster was trying to make conversation, lighten the awkward silence. "Fine," he murmured.

"That's good to hear," Dumbledore acquiesced. "How are the Weasleys doing?"

"All right," Harry replied.

Dumbledore, realizing that Harry was only going to produce one-word answers, simply nodded and then quietly continued on his way to his office. Upon arriving at the entrance, Dumbledore gave the password to the guardian gargoyle, and the statue sprang to life and jumped aside, revealing the revolving staircase that led to the door to the office. Harry mechanically followed Dumbledore into his office and took a seat when Dumbledore motioned for him to do so.

Dumbledore was seated at his desk, Harry seated directly facing him. Steepling his fingers, Dumbledore gazed at Harry for a few very long seconds, causing Harry was feel uneasy. He fidgeted in his seat, and then, without preamble, Dumbledore suddenly stood up, walked to one of the many shelves, and withdrew what Harry knew was his Pensieve. Gingerly placing the object on his desk, Harry stared at the rune-lined stone basin, entranced by the swirling silver mist-like substance within. Harry unconsciously stood from his chair and found himself leaning over the Pensieve, gazing curiously down into its contents. He saw what appeared to be a group of darkly-clad figures, which was quickly pursuing another group of people, only the other group was clad in all sorts of colors.

Finally, Harry glanced up at Dumbledore. "Sir?" he asked.

"Contained within this Pensieve are many of my memories from the first war, Harry," Dumbledore explained. "After much deliberation and thought, I decided that it would be advantageous for you to see some of them. I feel that the full-force of the second war is nearly upon us, and for you to be best prepared, you should have a good idea of what actually happened during the first war. I could, of course, tell you, which I have done somewhat, but nothing speaks more clearly than actually bearing witness to those events."

Harry nodded solemnly. He wasn't sure what to say, but he knew that Dumbledore was trying his best to prepare him for the inevitable. Staring down into the Pensieve once more, Harry wondered if he really wanted to actually see some of the horrific events of the first war, but Dumbledore was being completely open and honest with him now. There were no more crytic messages or half-explanations.

Finally, withdrawing his green eyes from the Pensieve, Harry glanced at Dumbledore. "Is it- ?" he tried to say. "Is it really... was it really as bad as everyone says it was, sir?"

And the unspoken question: Will it be just as bad... or worse?

Dumbledore nodded gravely and sensed Harry's unspoken question. "I will not kid you, Harry. I have kept certain things from you enough over the years, and if there is one thing I have learned, it is that honesty, no matter how blunt or brutal it may be, is always better than fabricated euphemisms. Yes, Harry, I do believe that when this war strikes us full-force, it will be unlike anything I have ever witnessed."

Harry swallowed slowly, feeling like his insides were about to drop right out of him. Focus, Harry, he told himself firmly. Now is not the time to lose your head... or you might really, quite literally, lose your head in the future when you face Voldemort.

As Harry gazed upon every wrinkle on Dumbledore's aged face, taking in his white, long beard, Harry thought he saw every one hundred-fifty years of the man's life. Harry knew that Dumbledore had not only faced Voldemort the first time around, but also had faced the dark wizard Grindelwald some fifty years prior, when Voldemort was still Tom Riddle and nothing more than a student. Harry wondered what else Dumbledore had seen in his life, how many other dark wizards he had faced in battle, how many friends he had lost...

"Then that's pretty bad," Harry whispered, unable to keep the fright out of his voice. No matter how Gryffindor he was or how many times he had already fought Voldemort, Harry would have to have been a fool to not be somewhat afraid in that moment. Dumbledore's words, after all, left absolutely no room for contradiction.

"Shall we, then, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry knew what he meant. With a silent nod, Harry leaned forward over the Pensieve and was suddenly sucked in, Dumbledore following closely behind him.

Had he not known he was inside one of Dumbledore's memories, Harry would have thought what he was seeing was real. He nearly fell over with shock when he saw his parents. James and Lily Potter were side-by-side, their wands held out courageously in front of them, and on their faces were looks of determination. Harry had never seen his father appear so brave. James did not resemble the pompous teenager he had once been, the one Harry had seen in Snape's memory a couple of years ago. Although his hair was just as unruly as Harry's and he was still quite young, there was an air about him that spoke volumes that he meant business.

Not too far behind James and Lily were Sirius and Lupin, both appearing youthful and untainted. They were not the Sirius and Lupin he had come to know. Sirius was well-muscled and healthy, his face handsome and carefree, not gaunt by the years of Azkaban. His hair was worn shorter than Harry remembered it. Lupin's hair wasn't greying, and his face wasn't lined with years of having to endure countless transformations.

Leading what Harry knew had to be the first Order of the Phoenix was Dumbledore himself, but he looked exactly the same as he did now. Glancing down the ranks, Harry saw the faces of those he had seen in the picture Mad-Eye Moody had shown him at Grimmauld Place nearly three summers ago, some of them now deceased. Feeling extreme anger and hurt growing inside him, Harry wished he could lunge at the Voldemort he now saw in the memory.

He was responsible for all their deaths, Harry inwardly raged. It's his fault! All his fault!

Harry unconsciously began to move in the direction of Voldemort and his many masked Death Eaters, but Dumbledore firmly held him back.

"No, Harry," he said steadily. "I know what's going through your mind right now. Seeing those whose lives have been lost has caused feelings and thoughts you have tried to suppress for a long time to surface. You have known the truth for a long time now, but I fear that-"

"Actually seeing them as if they were living again makes it a hundred times worse... and more real than I could ever imagine," Harry finished. "I'm sorry, sir... I- I just wish I could stop him."

"You can and you will, Harry, but not here, not now. Now you must watch."

Harry felt Dumbledore's grip lessen on his shoulders, and so, he watched the scene play out before him. They were in a field on the outskirts of a small village, and Harry could hear cries in the distance and see flames coming from the village.

"Give it up, Tom!" the younger Dumbledore's voice rang through the summer night air. "You have nothing to gain by what you have been doing!"

Voldemort laughed, high and long. "You fool of an old man! Why do you resist me? Give in now, and your death will be much less painful."

"We'll never surrender to you!" someone yelled from the side of the good.

Harry craned his head, trying to see who it was, but before he could, one of the Death Eaters fired a curse at one of the members of the Order, causing that person to fall to the ground. It was enough to cause a full-on battle to break out. Curses and hexes, some Unforgivables from the Death Eaters, fired back and forth. Soon enough, the two opposing sides clashed. Harry couldn't tell who the Death Eaters were, as their faces were covered, but he wondered if one of them was Snape. Standing here now, witnessing such tradegy and violence, Harry was angered that Snape had at one time been one of those people responsible for the deaths of so many people.

The battle raged on, though, for a long time. Harry was amazed at the sheer length of the memory, but he kept his eyes on his parents especially. Luckily, they had remained unharmed. Of course, Harry knew their deaths would not have been in this battle. He didn't know what year it was, but his mother didn't appear pregnant, so he thought it must have been a year or so before he was born.

By the time the battle ended, two Death Eaters were down, whether dead or not Harry couldn't tell, and three members of the Order were down, one confirmed dead. Voldemort, like the coward he was, retreated, but just before he left, he bellowed, "There will be a next time, Dumbledore, and then you will meet your doom!"

The words were too predictable. To Harry, it seemed like the only things that could come out of the mouth of someone as vile as Voldemort were such cliche statements said only by those evil overlords who wanted to "rule the world." Before Harry could say anything, he felt himself being lifted out of the memory, and when he opened his eyes again, he was once again in Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore was still standing behind him, but then he walked around his desk and took a seat, sighed long and heavily. Harry wondered if the memory had exhausted the old headmaster.

"So now you have seen an example of what happened during the first war," Dumbledore stated.

Harry nodded. "What year was that, sir?"

"1979, I believe," Dumbledore murmured. "Still two years before you would finally defeat him, at least for another thirteen years."

"It was so... strange," Harry mumbled. "I mean, seeing all those people alive again." He felt numb, unable to say what was really on his mind, the depth of his feelings.

Dumbledore sighed. "It is sad, Harry, to see them again... once so alive and young. Those who are in the Order again know that all too well. We suffered much loss those years, but I believe that to fully understand the level of loss, you may need to see another memory."

Dumbledore was regarding Harry very closely, and Harry shifted in his seat, wondering to what memory Dumbledore could possibly be referring.

"I thought I had seen enough," Harry whispered.

"You have seen more in your own lifetime, Harry, that most ever would, but now, I am trying to prepare you as best as I can. It will pain you to no end, but you need to see what I am about to show you."

Harry frowned, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

"And which memory is that, sir?" he finally asked hesitantly.

"The aftermath of the destruction of Voldemort by you, Harry."

Harry's head was spinning. He wanted to see and didn't want to see it at the same time. There had been nights he had spent awake, wondering what had happened. True, he had been told that his father had been killed first, and then Voldemort had gone for him, while his mother begged Voldemort to spare him. Voldemort had told Lily that she didn't have to die, but she had sacrificed herself for her son... and then, when Voldemort had come face-to-face with baby Harry, his killing curse backfired, and he was destroyed.

Now, gazing down into the Pensieve, Harry saw what looked like a house in ruin. Smoke was billowing up from the mess. Harry glanced at Dumbledore.

"But, sir, were you even there?"

"Actually, Harry, what you are seeing is Hagrid's memory," Dumbledore explained.

"You mean, more than one person's memories can be stored in the Pensieve at the same time?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "Now, let us enter."

Harry dove head-first into the Pensieve, and once again, he found himself immersed in a memory. Sirius had just landed on the ground on his flying motorcycle, and Hagrid was busily pushing his way through the wrecked house. Harry watched as Sirius rushed toward Hagrid, just as Hagrid found baby Harry still alive. Picking up the wailing child, Hagrid held Harry gingerly in his large hands. Tears were prickling at the edges of his beetle-black eyes.

"Hagrid!" Sirius called, urgently tugging on his coat.

Hagrid turned around and sniffed loudly. "They're d- dead," he stuttered. "Gone... both of them."

Sirius felt his heart skip of beat. Harry watched his godfather's face fall, knowing that Sirius couldn't believe it was true - that his best friend and his best friend's wife were dead.

Sirius looked desperately at Harry. "Give him to me, Hagrid... please. I'm his godfather."

"'M sorry, Sirius," Hagrid insisted. "Dumbledore told me ter bring little Harry ter him."

"What?!" Sirius exclaimed, exasperated and hurt. "But- but no, James would've wanted-"

"Sorry," Hagrid apologized again, giving Sirius a sad look. "Maybe yeh'll see him 'gain soon."

Sirius protested further, but Hagrid only shook his head, saying he had to take Harry to Dumbledore immediately.

"Can I borrow yer bike?" Hagrid asked suddenly.

Sirius wanted to protest again, but he was finding himself too worn and drained. With a reluctant nod, he allowed Hagrid the use of his motorcycle, and Harry watched as Hagrid flew away, and then the memory ended. He was in Dumbledore's office again, knowing what would happen to poor Sirius soon thereafter, knowing what would happen to him.

Thinking about his house in ruins, his parents' remains somewhere within, burning... burning... burning... Harry closed his eyes, trying to keep the burning of tears from taking hold.