OBiaH
Title: Of Butterflies in a Hurricane
Author: roxierose13
Rating: NC-17
Complete: No
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I do not own Harry Potter and/or any other characters used in this fic. They are all property of J.K. Rowling.
Warnings: Sexual content, Minor char. death, angst, Horcrux hunt.
Summary: After Dumbledore's death and Draco's disappearance, Harry knows what he has to do. He must find and save his boyfriend while concealing the relationship, destroy the Horcruxes that will ultimately destroy Voldemort, and deal with his grief. With Ron and Hermione by his side, he may just have a chance. ~Sequel to Falling Away with You~
Reread: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24
*
"We're wasting time!"
"And what do you propose we do, Harry?" Hermione sat crossly in an armchair as Harry bore down on her and Ron. Harry had been growing increasingly impatient ever since they had destroyed the last Horcrux, over a week ago. September was quickly passing into October while they stayed in the school.
"We need to find the next Horcrux!" Harry exclaimed, annoyed at their lack of energy. Everyday spent in a lazy stupor in the castle was a day more Draco was at the hands of Voldemort.
"Of course, we do, Harry. But are you proposing we just go traipsing off into the wilderness without so much as an idea of where to go or what to do?" Hermione asked, sounding annoyed. Harry had been hounding them for days to get a move on; for what reason, she didn't know.
She knew he wanted to get rid of Voldemort once and for all. That was simple. But his new fervor to get it done as quickly as possible was starting to wear on her nerves. He was constantly reminding them that they were wasting time; they were running out of time, they needed to go, they couldn't just sit there...
"Harry," Ron said, trying to calm him down, "do you know anything about the next Horcrux?"
Harry stopped. He'd been about to shoot a scathing response but Ron's question had thrown him. "Well, I know it's either Hufflepuff's cup or Voldemort's snake, Nagini. I don't think that we'll be able to get to the snake, so that one will probably be the last one before I kill Voldemort."
Ron nodded without saying anything. Hearing Harry talk so calmly about killing someone was a little disconcerting.
"But, Harry," Hermione interrupted, "you don't even know where the cup is. How do you expect to find it if we just take off? I think it's better if we stay here and figure it out first."
"I don't want to stay here!"
"But why?" Hermione pushed. "Is it because of Dumbledore?"
"What? No," Harry said dismissively. It was true that he did feel awkward staying inside the castle where it had once been so friendly and warming and now it seemed cold and distant to him without Dumbledore's presence. Yes, he avoided the Astronomy Tower whenever he went onto the grounds, but other than that, his dislike of staying at the castle had little to do with Dumbledore.
The real reason for his increased impatience was the growing feeling of unease that came upon him at random times. Sometimes, the snake on his wrist would give a jerk and hiss quietly. Other times, it would sink its tiny fangs into Harry's skin. It always happened when that same uneasy feeling came over him. He wondered if it didn't have something to do with Draco.
Either way, he knew he couldn't just stay inside the castle like he once had. This was a war, damn it! People were dying everyday and Harry was the only one with the power to stop it all. Even with the weight of the entire wizarding world on his shoulders, Harry was focused on only one thing; Draco. He had to save him, wherever he was, whatever deed the Dark Lord was forcing him to do (or doing to him) as punishment.
"Well, then, why do we have to leave here so soon with no plan whatsoever?" Hermione asked.
"I just don't want to stay here anymore, okay?" Harry said, giving her a pleading look to drop it. He couldn't tell them why, not yet. He knew they weren't ready. Ron would never understand and Hermione might, but it would still be difficult.
Hermione didn't look convinced but allowed the subject to turn to other, less interesting, subjects. When the portrait hole swung open and Neville and Dean clambered through, they took the extra seats around them in the common room.
"So, Harry," Dean said, "how much longer are you gonna be around? There’s a Quidditch match on Saturday; Gryffindor versus Slytherin. You interested? You used to be captain and all. Ginny's still on the team. I bet she'd love to see you."
Harry didn't reply for a moment. So far, he had done a pretty good job of avoiding Ginny. The subject wasn't spoken of between him, Ron, and Hermione at all. It had taken on an air of a guarded secret that none spoke of.
"Maybe," Harry said, not committing to anything and carefully avoiding the subject of Ginny. "I don't know how much longer we're staying."
"What are you doing here anyway?" Dean asked curiously and Neville perked up, interested in the subject now.
"It's just..." Harry trailed away. He really didn't know what to tell them besides the truth.
"Research," Hermione supplied, smiling lightly. The tone of her voice was pleasant but made it perfectly clear that they weren't to ask that question again.
Dean and Neville nodded, clearly afraid of invoking Hermione's wrath. Ron looked amused at how she commanded the room, much like Professor McGonagall.
"I think I'm going to go lie down," Harry said suddenly, standing up from his chair. All four of the other people looked surprised as he rose and gave them a half-smile. "I'll see you later."
He turned then and started up the stairs. He had no intention of lying down; in fact, he meant to do what he always did. It was becoming quite the habit for him nowadays. He would go upstairs, pull the curtains around his bed, set a locking and silencing spell and pull out the Pensieve.
He had come to regard the Pensieve as an invaluable source. When he had first received it, he hadn’t found it to be useful at all, but then, he hadn't been going into any memories either. He now knew that it was better to go into the memories no matter how unrelated they might seem. He understood what Dumbledore had told him once about being able to see patterns easier this way.
He reached the dorm and did his usual routine of locking and silencing the bed then pulled out the Pensieve, setting it on the bed in front of him and poking the top with his wand. The silver memories swirled as always until they reached a stop.
Harry moved to lean over the basin to see in when a ghostly shape rose out of the top of the bowl, much like the teenage Bertha Jorkins had done just a few years ago when Harry had first seen the Pensieve. This time, though, it was not Bertha Jorkins; it was Snape.
Harry's eyes widened as the potion’s master rose from the basin and revolved slowly.
"Sir, I can't do it... No, I refuse!" Snape spoke in intervals as if half of the conversation was missing. "... I don't care! I'm tired of this! You know what I have done... Yes, sir, I know... I realize... Yes, I will..."
Snape's ghost stopped revolving and faded slowly back into the basin. Harry’s expression was extremely confused. What was Snape talking about? He had sounded quite worried in the middle and adamant as well. Harry supposed it would have been much easier to tell if he'd had the other half of the conversation. He supposed it had been Dumbledore with whom Snape had been speaking.
It hardly made sense to Harry. Obviously, Snape hadn't wanted to do something but Dumbledore had forced him to. Maybe it had been to continue being a double-agent. Snape must have been tired of his role and wanted to quit but then he would just go behind Dumbledore's back and kill him, Harry thought bitterly
Harry laid back on his bed, resting his head on the pillow, the Pensieve still sitting in front of him. As he stared at the ceiling, he wondered what could have made Snape so angry. He had to guess it was something Dumbledore had wanted him to do.
But what would he want him to do? Harry wondered.
Harry couldn't figure it out for the life of him as he lay on his bed, facing the ceiling. His bedside lamp flickered as a draft came in through a tiny gap in the hangings. He felt tired as he lay there, listening to the soft rustling of fabric, and, before he knew it, he was drifting into a heavy sleep.
He opened his eyes and found himself sitting at a small, round table at a roadside cafe. He looked to his left and saw that it was merely a small restaurant that seemed to be set outside of the city. It had to be springtime since the flowers in the pots next to the table were in full bloom and he was comfortably warm.
He looked up and across the table to see that he was not alone. There was someone in the seat across from him. She was smiling softly and her blue eyes were sparkling in the sun.
"Rose?" he asked in amazement.
"Oui, 'Arry," she replied and swept her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. "I 'ave come to see you; to see 'ow you are doing."
"I'm doing..." Harry tried to say "fine" but it didn't want to come. He knew that everything was not fine.
"I know what 'as 'appened," Rose said quietly when Harry stalled for words.
"You do?"
"Oui, you are worried for 'im. You 'ave done much already, 'Arry. Do not worry so."
"How can I not worry?!" Harry exploded. None of the other customers at the restaurant so much as turned their heads. "I don't even know where he is! I'm sitting in some stupid, safe castle while he's out there," he gestured wildly to his left, over a green field that spread out beyond the cafe, "doing God knows what! Or having God knows what done to him! I can't just let it go! He's gone and it's all my fault." He stopped there, finally saying what he'd been thinking for months.
Rose gave him a sympathetic look as he struggled to control his emotions, holding back the tears that had welled in his eyes as he said it.
"Eet is not your fault," she said consolingly.
"Yes, it is!" he exclaimed. "I could have stopped him! If I hadn't-- He would have--" Harry stopped as his tears began to choke him and rolled down his face. He hastily wiped them away with the back of his sleeve and carefully avoided Rose's eye.
He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and was forced to look up. Rose was looking him directly in the eyes, and Harry once again got that feeling that she was seeing right through him.
"No, 'Arry," she said firmly. "'E wanted to stop, but zere are singz zat we cannot control."
Harry looked up at her, his eyebrows furrowed. He wiped away another tear and took a breath, trying to calm himself. "But I could have stopped it."
"No," she said again, moving her hand to grasp his chin lightly. "But you can now."
"What?" he asked, confused.
"'Arry, 'e loves you and you love 'im. You must find 'im and save 'im."
"What do you think I'm trying to do?!" Harry exploded.
She didn't appear fazed by the outburst and simply continued. "You must 'ave patience. You are doing well. Le petit dragon, 'e is waiting and will be safe a little while longer, I see. But do not waste your time. Many sings can occur when time is left alone."
Harry was confused yet again as Rose stood up from the table, smiling down at him.
"Wait," he said quickly. "What do you mean?"
"'Opefully, you will never need to know," Rose said softly and she turned, walking away from Harry and the table.
"Wh--wait!" he called again, rising from the table and sprinting after her. She turned around and waited for him to catch up.
"Oui?" she asked.
"How-- do you know how he is? Where is he? Can I find him? Is he safe?"
Rose merely gave him a sad smile and gently took Harry's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I do not know all, 'Arry. You must rely on yourself for zose answers." She moved in and kissed his cheek lightly then let go of his hand and drifted away across the green field.
Harry stared after her, wishing she had told him more but knowing she was right. She didn't know it all, and, even if she did, she couldn't tell him. He walked back slowly to the cafe and plopped down in his chair with a sigh.
Harry's eyes shot open and he realized he was lying on his four-poster bed in Gryffindor tower. He sat up quickly, seeing that the Pensieve was still sitting in between his legs. He peeked out the hanging for a second and saw that it was now dark outside. He could hear Neville's snores and knew that it must be late.
He looked back at the Pensieve where Snape's face was still swimming about on the surface. He picked up the basin and shook it violently, not wanting to see Snape's face or think about him anymore.
He set down the Pensieve that was swirling rapidly from the sudden motion. Harry gave a sigh and sat back on his bed, wondering if the dream with Rose had been real or a figment of his subconscious; his subconscious desire to know about Draco.
Harry decided he really didn't want to think about anything anymore and reached over to put the Pensieve away when the image inside caught his eye.
From his vantage point, he could see Dumbledore standing with an old man; a man who didn't look particularly clean to Harry. He became curious and glanced around quickly then plunged headfirst into the memory.
He landed feet first in a dirty shop. He recognized it at once as Borgin & Burkes in Knockturn Alley. Dumbledore was speaking to an old, grizzly-looking man.
"... bit expensive for a memory," Dumbledore was saying pleasantly to the man.
"Well, Dumbledore," the man said in a gravelly voice, "it's like this. Man comes into the shop, looks fidgety. I don't trust him, but he says he got something to sell, something valuable. He takes this little bottle out," the man then presented a small vial of what Harry recognized as a memory, "and says it's got something really important in it."
"And what was in it?" Dumbledore asked conversationally, his eyes on the vial.
"Don't know," the man said, shrugging. "Can't get it open. You probably could, but I trust it's worth a pretty penny."
Dumbledore gave the look of someone who thought it was a bit too expensive. "I don't know, Burke, it seems a questionable value of a memory you can't open."
Burke scowled. "Listen, Dumbledore, you want this or not?"
"Bring it down twenty galleons and I will take it," Dumbledore said calmly.
Burke didn't look pleased but he seemed willing to get rid of the memory. "Fine, fine," he grumbled.
Dumbledore smiled graciously and took out the money and gave it to Burke. "I hope it's as valuable as you think it is."
Burke just nodded, still upset about the deal he had just made. Dumbledore turned and walked out of the shop, Harry following closely behind him. They walked up several streets in London and finally to The Leaky Cauldron where Dumbledore flooed to Hogwarts. Harry just made it into the fire in order to be transported with him.
They came out in the circular Headmaster's study. Dumbledore dusted off his robes and walked around to his desk, taking out the vial as he went and examining it closely.
"Hmm," he said to himself and Harry moved closer to hear better. "A simple Decoding Spell ought to open it. That foolish Burke is only half the wizard he pretends to be."
Dumbledore smiled at his own joke and set the vial down on his desk, raising his wand to open the memory. At that moment, though, there was a knock on the door. Dumbledore looked up and hastily grabbed the memory, shoving it behind one of the many books that sat on a shelf on the other side of his desk. After carefully concealing it, he opened the door.
Some teacher stood on the threshold looking quite harassed.
"Hello, Professor Mistle, what can I do for you?"
"Oh, that Sirius Black!" the professor exploded and Harry recognized her; it was the teacher Sirius had been doing detention with in the other memory. "He's done it again, sir! Three times this week I've found him in a closet with that boy!"
Harry wondered who she could be talking about, but had no time to really ponder the situation as Dumbledore spoke. "Give him another detention," he said calmly, but Harry saw that his eyes were twinkling as usual. "He will learn eventually."
The professor didn't seem quite satisfied with Dumbledore's answer but, nonetheless, left his office, slamming the door perhaps a little harder than was necessary.
Dumbledore walked back to his desk and sat down in his chair, pulling a bowl of Lemon Drops toward him and popping one into his mouth.
"Now, what was I doing?" he wondered aloud. He thought for a moment, but in the end, merely shrugged and grabbed another candy.
All of a sudden, Harry felt himself rising off his feet and was deposited on his bed. The memory was gone from the top of the Pensieve as he sat there, confused. It had been an odd memory. Dumbledore had gotten some memory from Burke but hadn't opened it. Did that mean he never had?
Harry's eyes grew wide as he thought about it. What could be in that memory? Was it still where Dumbledore had left it, so many years ago? He wondered about these questions as he sat, alert in his bed. He knew he had to find that memory, and find it he would.
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A/N: Hmm, quicker update wasn't it? :) Please review!
Author: roxierose13
Rating: NC-17
Complete: No
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I do not own Harry Potter and/or any other characters used in this fic. They are all property of J.K. Rowling.
Warnings: Sexual content, Minor char. death, angst, Horcrux hunt.
Summary: After Dumbledore's death and Draco's disappearance, Harry knows what he has to do. He must find and save his boyfriend while concealing the relationship, destroy the Horcruxes that will ultimately destroy Voldemort, and deal with his grief. With Ron and Hermione by his side, he may just have a chance. ~Sequel to Falling Away with You~
Reread: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24
*
"We're wasting time!"
"And what do you propose we do, Harry?" Hermione sat crossly in an armchair as Harry bore down on her and Ron. Harry had been growing increasingly impatient ever since they had destroyed the last Horcrux, over a week ago. September was quickly passing into October while they stayed in the school.
"We need to find the next Horcrux!" Harry exclaimed, annoyed at their lack of energy. Everyday spent in a lazy stupor in the castle was a day more Draco was at the hands of Voldemort.
"Of course, we do, Harry. But are you proposing we just go traipsing off into the wilderness without so much as an idea of where to go or what to do?" Hermione asked, sounding annoyed. Harry had been hounding them for days to get a move on; for what reason, she didn't know.
She knew he wanted to get rid of Voldemort once and for all. That was simple. But his new fervor to get it done as quickly as possible was starting to wear on her nerves. He was constantly reminding them that they were wasting time; they were running out of time, they needed to go, they couldn't just sit there...
"Harry," Ron said, trying to calm him down, "do you know anything about the next Horcrux?"
Harry stopped. He'd been about to shoot a scathing response but Ron's question had thrown him. "Well, I know it's either Hufflepuff's cup or Voldemort's snake, Nagini. I don't think that we'll be able to get to the snake, so that one will probably be the last one before I kill Voldemort."
Ron nodded without saying anything. Hearing Harry talk so calmly about killing someone was a little disconcerting.
"But, Harry," Hermione interrupted, "you don't even know where the cup is. How do you expect to find it if we just take off? I think it's better if we stay here and figure it out first."
"I don't want to stay here!"
"But why?" Hermione pushed. "Is it because of Dumbledore?"
"What? No," Harry said dismissively. It was true that he did feel awkward staying inside the castle where it had once been so friendly and warming and now it seemed cold and distant to him without Dumbledore's presence. Yes, he avoided the Astronomy Tower whenever he went onto the grounds, but other than that, his dislike of staying at the castle had little to do with Dumbledore.
The real reason for his increased impatience was the growing feeling of unease that came upon him at random times. Sometimes, the snake on his wrist would give a jerk and hiss quietly. Other times, it would sink its tiny fangs into Harry's skin. It always happened when that same uneasy feeling came over him. He wondered if it didn't have something to do with Draco.
Either way, he knew he couldn't just stay inside the castle like he once had. This was a war, damn it! People were dying everyday and Harry was the only one with the power to stop it all. Even with the weight of the entire wizarding world on his shoulders, Harry was focused on only one thing; Draco. He had to save him, wherever he was, whatever deed the Dark Lord was forcing him to do (or doing to him) as punishment.
"Well, then, why do we have to leave here so soon with no plan whatsoever?" Hermione asked.
"I just don't want to stay here anymore, okay?" Harry said, giving her a pleading look to drop it. He couldn't tell them why, not yet. He knew they weren't ready. Ron would never understand and Hermione might, but it would still be difficult.
Hermione didn't look convinced but allowed the subject to turn to other, less interesting, subjects. When the portrait hole swung open and Neville and Dean clambered through, they took the extra seats around them in the common room.
"So, Harry," Dean said, "how much longer are you gonna be around? There’s a Quidditch match on Saturday; Gryffindor versus Slytherin. You interested? You used to be captain and all. Ginny's still on the team. I bet she'd love to see you."
Harry didn't reply for a moment. So far, he had done a pretty good job of avoiding Ginny. The subject wasn't spoken of between him, Ron, and Hermione at all. It had taken on an air of a guarded secret that none spoke of.
"Maybe," Harry said, not committing to anything and carefully avoiding the subject of Ginny. "I don't know how much longer we're staying."
"What are you doing here anyway?" Dean asked curiously and Neville perked up, interested in the subject now.
"It's just..." Harry trailed away. He really didn't know what to tell them besides the truth.
"Research," Hermione supplied, smiling lightly. The tone of her voice was pleasant but made it perfectly clear that they weren't to ask that question again.
Dean and Neville nodded, clearly afraid of invoking Hermione's wrath. Ron looked amused at how she commanded the room, much like Professor McGonagall.
"I think I'm going to go lie down," Harry said suddenly, standing up from his chair. All four of the other people looked surprised as he rose and gave them a half-smile. "I'll see you later."
He turned then and started up the stairs. He had no intention of lying down; in fact, he meant to do what he always did. It was becoming quite the habit for him nowadays. He would go upstairs, pull the curtains around his bed, set a locking and silencing spell and pull out the Pensieve.
He had come to regard the Pensieve as an invaluable source. When he had first received it, he hadn’t found it to be useful at all, but then, he hadn't been going into any memories either. He now knew that it was better to go into the memories no matter how unrelated they might seem. He understood what Dumbledore had told him once about being able to see patterns easier this way.
He reached the dorm and did his usual routine of locking and silencing the bed then pulled out the Pensieve, setting it on the bed in front of him and poking the top with his wand. The silver memories swirled as always until they reached a stop.
Harry moved to lean over the basin to see in when a ghostly shape rose out of the top of the bowl, much like the teenage Bertha Jorkins had done just a few years ago when Harry had first seen the Pensieve. This time, though, it was not Bertha Jorkins; it was Snape.
Harry's eyes widened as the potion’s master rose from the basin and revolved slowly.
"Sir, I can't do it... No, I refuse!" Snape spoke in intervals as if half of the conversation was missing. "... I don't care! I'm tired of this! You know what I have done... Yes, sir, I know... I realize... Yes, I will..."
Snape's ghost stopped revolving and faded slowly back into the basin. Harry’s expression was extremely confused. What was Snape talking about? He had sounded quite worried in the middle and adamant as well. Harry supposed it would have been much easier to tell if he'd had the other half of the conversation. He supposed it had been Dumbledore with whom Snape had been speaking.
It hardly made sense to Harry. Obviously, Snape hadn't wanted to do something but Dumbledore had forced him to. Maybe it had been to continue being a double-agent. Snape must have been tired of his role and wanted to quit but then he would just go behind Dumbledore's back and kill him, Harry thought bitterly
Harry laid back on his bed, resting his head on the pillow, the Pensieve still sitting in front of him. As he stared at the ceiling, he wondered what could have made Snape so angry. He had to guess it was something Dumbledore had wanted him to do.
But what would he want him to do? Harry wondered.
Harry couldn't figure it out for the life of him as he lay on his bed, facing the ceiling. His bedside lamp flickered as a draft came in through a tiny gap in the hangings. He felt tired as he lay there, listening to the soft rustling of fabric, and, before he knew it, he was drifting into a heavy sleep.
He opened his eyes and found himself sitting at a small, round table at a roadside cafe. He looked to his left and saw that it was merely a small restaurant that seemed to be set outside of the city. It had to be springtime since the flowers in the pots next to the table were in full bloom and he was comfortably warm.
He looked up and across the table to see that he was not alone. There was someone in the seat across from him. She was smiling softly and her blue eyes were sparkling in the sun.
"Rose?" he asked in amazement.
"Oui, 'Arry," she replied and swept her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. "I 'ave come to see you; to see 'ow you are doing."
"I'm doing..." Harry tried to say "fine" but it didn't want to come. He knew that everything was not fine.
"I know what 'as 'appened," Rose said quietly when Harry stalled for words.
"You do?"
"Oui, you are worried for 'im. You 'ave done much already, 'Arry. Do not worry so."
"How can I not worry?!" Harry exploded. None of the other customers at the restaurant so much as turned their heads. "I don't even know where he is! I'm sitting in some stupid, safe castle while he's out there," he gestured wildly to his left, over a green field that spread out beyond the cafe, "doing God knows what! Or having God knows what done to him! I can't just let it go! He's gone and it's all my fault." He stopped there, finally saying what he'd been thinking for months.
Rose gave him a sympathetic look as he struggled to control his emotions, holding back the tears that had welled in his eyes as he said it.
"Eet is not your fault," she said consolingly.
"Yes, it is!" he exclaimed. "I could have stopped him! If I hadn't-- He would have--" Harry stopped as his tears began to choke him and rolled down his face. He hastily wiped them away with the back of his sleeve and carefully avoided Rose's eye.
He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and was forced to look up. Rose was looking him directly in the eyes, and Harry once again got that feeling that she was seeing right through him.
"No, 'Arry," she said firmly. "'E wanted to stop, but zere are singz zat we cannot control."
Harry looked up at her, his eyebrows furrowed. He wiped away another tear and took a breath, trying to calm himself. "But I could have stopped it."
"No," she said again, moving her hand to grasp his chin lightly. "But you can now."
"What?" he asked, confused.
"'Arry, 'e loves you and you love 'im. You must find 'im and save 'im."
"What do you think I'm trying to do?!" Harry exploded.
She didn't appear fazed by the outburst and simply continued. "You must 'ave patience. You are doing well. Le petit dragon, 'e is waiting and will be safe a little while longer, I see. But do not waste your time. Many sings can occur when time is left alone."
Harry was confused yet again as Rose stood up from the table, smiling down at him.
"Wait," he said quickly. "What do you mean?"
"'Opefully, you will never need to know," Rose said softly and she turned, walking away from Harry and the table.
"Wh--wait!" he called again, rising from the table and sprinting after her. She turned around and waited for him to catch up.
"Oui?" she asked.
"How-- do you know how he is? Where is he? Can I find him? Is he safe?"
Rose merely gave him a sad smile and gently took Harry's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I do not know all, 'Arry. You must rely on yourself for zose answers." She moved in and kissed his cheek lightly then let go of his hand and drifted away across the green field.
Harry stared after her, wishing she had told him more but knowing she was right. She didn't know it all, and, even if she did, she couldn't tell him. He walked back slowly to the cafe and plopped down in his chair with a sigh.
Harry's eyes shot open and he realized he was lying on his four-poster bed in Gryffindor tower. He sat up quickly, seeing that the Pensieve was still sitting in between his legs. He peeked out the hanging for a second and saw that it was now dark outside. He could hear Neville's snores and knew that it must be late.
He looked back at the Pensieve where Snape's face was still swimming about on the surface. He picked up the basin and shook it violently, not wanting to see Snape's face or think about him anymore.
He set down the Pensieve that was swirling rapidly from the sudden motion. Harry gave a sigh and sat back on his bed, wondering if the dream with Rose had been real or a figment of his subconscious; his subconscious desire to know about Draco.
Harry decided he really didn't want to think about anything anymore and reached over to put the Pensieve away when the image inside caught his eye.
From his vantage point, he could see Dumbledore standing with an old man; a man who didn't look particularly clean to Harry. He became curious and glanced around quickly then plunged headfirst into the memory.
He landed feet first in a dirty shop. He recognized it at once as Borgin & Burkes in Knockturn Alley. Dumbledore was speaking to an old, grizzly-looking man.
"... bit expensive for a memory," Dumbledore was saying pleasantly to the man.
"Well, Dumbledore," the man said in a gravelly voice, "it's like this. Man comes into the shop, looks fidgety. I don't trust him, but he says he got something to sell, something valuable. He takes this little bottle out," the man then presented a small vial of what Harry recognized as a memory, "and says it's got something really important in it."
"And what was in it?" Dumbledore asked conversationally, his eyes on the vial.
"Don't know," the man said, shrugging. "Can't get it open. You probably could, but I trust it's worth a pretty penny."
Dumbledore gave the look of someone who thought it was a bit too expensive. "I don't know, Burke, it seems a questionable value of a memory you can't open."
Burke scowled. "Listen, Dumbledore, you want this or not?"
"Bring it down twenty galleons and I will take it," Dumbledore said calmly.
Burke didn't look pleased but he seemed willing to get rid of the memory. "Fine, fine," he grumbled.
Dumbledore smiled graciously and took out the money and gave it to Burke. "I hope it's as valuable as you think it is."
Burke just nodded, still upset about the deal he had just made. Dumbledore turned and walked out of the shop, Harry following closely behind him. They walked up several streets in London and finally to The Leaky Cauldron where Dumbledore flooed to Hogwarts. Harry just made it into the fire in order to be transported with him.
They came out in the circular Headmaster's study. Dumbledore dusted off his robes and walked around to his desk, taking out the vial as he went and examining it closely.
"Hmm," he said to himself and Harry moved closer to hear better. "A simple Decoding Spell ought to open it. That foolish Burke is only half the wizard he pretends to be."
Dumbledore smiled at his own joke and set the vial down on his desk, raising his wand to open the memory. At that moment, though, there was a knock on the door. Dumbledore looked up and hastily grabbed the memory, shoving it behind one of the many books that sat on a shelf on the other side of his desk. After carefully concealing it, he opened the door.
Some teacher stood on the threshold looking quite harassed.
"Hello, Professor Mistle, what can I do for you?"
"Oh, that Sirius Black!" the professor exploded and Harry recognized her; it was the teacher Sirius had been doing detention with in the other memory. "He's done it again, sir! Three times this week I've found him in a closet with that boy!"
Harry wondered who she could be talking about, but had no time to really ponder the situation as Dumbledore spoke. "Give him another detention," he said calmly, but Harry saw that his eyes were twinkling as usual. "He will learn eventually."
The professor didn't seem quite satisfied with Dumbledore's answer but, nonetheless, left his office, slamming the door perhaps a little harder than was necessary.
Dumbledore walked back to his desk and sat down in his chair, pulling a bowl of Lemon Drops toward him and popping one into his mouth.
"Now, what was I doing?" he wondered aloud. He thought for a moment, but in the end, merely shrugged and grabbed another candy.
All of a sudden, Harry felt himself rising off his feet and was deposited on his bed. The memory was gone from the top of the Pensieve as he sat there, confused. It had been an odd memory. Dumbledore had gotten some memory from Burke but hadn't opened it. Did that mean he never had?
Harry's eyes grew wide as he thought about it. What could be in that memory? Was it still where Dumbledore had left it, so many years ago? He wondered about these questions as he sat, alert in his bed. He knew he had to find that memory, and find it he would.
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A/N: Hmm, quicker update wasn't it? :) Please review!