Harry and Amelia Potter

6.17

Hermione reads the Daily Prophet as she walks alongside Harry. The headline is gloomy: "More Disappearances."

"You have to realize who you two are, Harry and Mia."

"We know who we are Hermione, alright?" Harry says with some attitude. Hermione frowns. "Sorry."

"So tell me what Arthur said."

"If Dumbledore's traveling places, it's news to the Ministry." I begin. Harry cuts me off.

"But get this: that night at Borgin & Burkes? It seems Draco was looking at a Vanishing Cabinet."

"What would Draco want with a Vanishing Cabinet?" Hermione asks, confused.

"You tell us." Hermione frowns, pondering this. I notice Draco a few yards away, heading towards the abandon girls bathroom again.

"He looks different, don't you think? Draco. Almost... ill."

"Who could tell the difference?" Harry asks me. I roll my eyes.

"I'm gonna go get a jump start on my homework. See you later?" I say, beginning to walk off. They nod and I nonchalantly follow Draco down the corridor.

Coming up to the bathroom, I hear more whimpering and soft whispers.

"I can't do it. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough."

I peek through the door, seeing that we're alone, I walk fully in.

"Cmon, even you don't believe that, Draco." He turns, almost jumping.

"Come to play friend again?" He asks.

"If you need me to." I walk up to him, closing the large gap between us. "Do you need me to?"

"I don't need anything. From anyone." He barks at me and I furrow my brow at him. His face then lightens. "I just need this to be over."

"Any chance you'll tell me what it is you're meant to do?" I ask. He looks to me with wide eyes, like he wants to tell me, but knows he can't. His head lowers and ever so slightly shakes, telling me no. "That's alright. I didn't think so."

I wrap my arms around him, giving him a hug. Once again he is very tense with it, only this time, doesn't relax.

"How was your holiday?" I ask, trying to get his mind off of everything.

"I've had better." He replies. I smirk at him and look away.

"So have I."

"I'm sorry... again." He states, I give him a confused look. "I heard about what happened at the Weasleys."

"We were lucky no one was hurt." I tell him. "Let's just leave it at that."

He falls silent and I can tell he would really rather be left alone. So I begin to walk out. Before I exit completely, I turn back around.

"You're strong, Draco. You know it, I know it." He just stands there looking confused. "If you decide to go through with, whatever your planning, it will take some strength. But if you decide to go against your masters wishes, and start the inevitable war, that will take a greater deal of strength."

"Why are you telling me this? You sound like Dumbledore."

"Just giving you something to think about." And with that, I leave him to his thoughts.

————————————————————————

Later that night, Harry and I meet up to go to our second lesson with Dumbledore.

We plunge our faces into the Pensieve, breaking the surface, emerging from the crackling embers of a fireplace.

A much younger, and more smartly dressed Slughorn probes a dish of crystallized pineapple as he holds court before sixteen year old Tom Riddle and five other boys. The crystal hourglass sits on a side table.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" Tom asks. Slughorn chuckles, wags a sugar-encrusted finger at Riddle.

"Now, Tom, I couldn't tell you if I knew, could I? I must say, m'boy, I'd like to know where you get your information. More knowledgeable than half the staff, you are." As the other boys laugh, Slughorn continues on. "By the way, thank you for the pineapple, you're quite right, it is my favorite, how is it you knew?"

"Intuition." Riddle smiles but his expression suggests intuition had nothing to do with it. Slughorn chuckles uneasily.

"Good gracious, look at the time. Off you go, boys, or Professor Dippett will have us all in detention. Lestrange, Avery, don't forget your essays..." As the others file out, Slughorn busies himself with some papers when he turns, finds Riddle still there, standing by the crystal hourglass. "Look sharp, Tom. You don't want to be caught out of bed after hours..."

"I know a secret shortcut or two."

"Yes, I imagine you do. Something on your mind, Tom?"

"Yes, sir. I couldn't think of anyone else to go to. The other professors, well, they're not like you. They might... misunderstand." Tom has a fake grin on his face.

"Go on." Riddle slips off the ring on his left hand, begins to roll it between his fingers. It is set with a black stone.

"I was in the library the other night, in the Restricted section, and I read something rather odd, about a bit of rare magic, and I thought perhaps you could illuminate me..." Suddenly, a dense fog engulfs the room and Slughorns voice twists into an angry shriek.

"I don't know anything about such things and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't ever let me catch you mentioning it again!" The fog grows thicker and we emerge from the swirling Pensieve.

Harry and I blink, finding Dumbledore studying both of us from across the room.

"Confused? I would be surprised if you both weren't."

"I don't understand, what happened?" Harry asks.

"This is perhaps the most important memory I've collected."

"It's a lie, isn't sir? It's been tampered with?" I ask. Dumbledore nods.

"Yes, Mia. In this case by the person whose memory it is, our friend Professor Slughorn."

"But why would he tamper with his own memory?" Harry questions, not understanding.

"He's ashamed of it. Of what really happened." I answer before Dumbledore does.

Dumbledore trails his withered fingers in the Pensieve. "I asked you to get to know Professor Slughorn and you've done so." He pauses. "Now I want you to persuade him to divulge his true memory. Any way you can."

"We don't know him that well, sir-"

"You're the Chosen Ones, Mia and Harry. And
Horace is, at heart, a decent man. Provide the proper circumstances and he will confess his sins." Dumbledore lifts his fingers from the Pensieve, studies them. They are, in this moment, iridescent, whole. "This memory is everything. Without it, we are blind. Without it, we leave the fate of our world to chance. You have no choice. You must not fail."

As Harry watches, the damp sheen enveloping Dumbledore's hand evaporates and once again his fingers decay.