Shortly thereafter, Harry noticed McGonagall getting up from her own seat and excusing herself from the Hall. Realizing this was as good a time as any, he stood up, placing his fork back down on his plate.
“Where are you off to?” asked Ginny as he stood. He realized then that he hadn’t told her about the memory.
“I… I’ll explain later.” Harry gave her a quick peck on the forehead (Ron became suddenly interested in the mashed potatoes remaining on his plate), as she frowned slightly. Quickly, he added, “I promise.”
He made his way to the exit of the Great Hall and found himself in a deserted corridor. He figured it best to retrieve the memory first, and then go to McGonagall’s office. As he made his way towards the Gryffindor common room, Harry found that he had broken into a jog—for some odd reason, he felt time was of the essence.
“Richtenfile,” he pronounced as he reached the Fat Lady.
“Feast finished already, has it?” she asked curiously, peering over Harry’s shoulder as if expecting to see a herd of students stampeding around the corner.
“Not exactly,” answered Harry, and he didn’t offer an explanation. She swung open; apparently, she felt it wasn’t worth waiting for an elaboration.
The common room was empty, as Harry expected it would be. It didn’t take long to find the vial hidden among the mass of clothes in his trunk, and within five minutes, he found himself rounding the corner to the headmistress’s office. It had occurred to him along the way that he wouldn’t know the password, and so he hoped to catch McGonagall entering the office.
As he rounded the corner, he saw her down the corridor, although she appeared to be leaving, heading in the direction of the Great Hall. She was still wearing her tall witch’s hay. As she turned to walk off, trunk floating behind her, Harry called, “Professor!”
She whirled on the spot, looking slightly taken aback.
Harry approached her. He knew he would need to choose his words carefully. “Professor,” he repeated. “I was wondering—I need to see—well, would it be alright if I used Professor Dumbledore’s old Pensieve?”
She eyed him a moment, considering. Of what, he wasn’t sure. “Of course, Mr. Potter. I’ve got appointments with the Ministry tonight, and a long day tomorrow. I’m afraid I’ll be away from the castle until Sunday. You’re welcome to use whatever you need, though. You know that.”
“Right,” answered Harry. “Thanks.”
She smiled, and turned to the stone gargoyle standing motionless against the wall. “Altus obduco.” The great statue sprang to life, and with a great heaving leap, bounded out of the way. Fortunately, Harry had grown accustomed to this, and accordingly, he stepped back to avoid a collision.
There was a muffled rumbling noise, like concrete sliding against concrete, and the spiral staircase to the headmistress’s office was revealed. Just as Harry was about to step onto the stairs, McGonagall called back, “Oh, Harry,” she paused a moment, silent. “He’s sleeping, I think.”
Harry looked at her for a moment, digesting what she had said, and then nodded his head. With a look of understanding, she swept off for the Entrance Hall.
For the first time while visiting this room of the castle, Harry didn’t bother to knock before entering. He knew no familiar voice would answer this time.
After all, he reasoned, it’s not really him. Just a memory—an imprint of him.
Slowly, he pushed the heavy door opened. To his surprise, the office did not seem to have changed as drastically as he had expected it to. Albus Dumbledore’s assortment of strange instruments still stood in various places about the office. There were less on the desk than Harry remembered, but several whirring and smoking ones remained all the same. The glistening sword of Gryffindor sparkled in its case, just as he remembered it, and the Sorting Hat had been returned (stool beside it) to its usual resting place on a high shelf beyond the large chair of the desk.
There were, of course, differences that Harry noticed as well, such as a thick, dusty book entitled Transfiguratione (and in sprawling golden letters beneath it: Master’s Edition) that was sitting atop a pedestal in the corner of the room. He also noticed the addition of a new portrait, one that he had only seen once before, inside of which was the image of a barely moving Albus Dumbledore, snoring softly in the frame.
Harry turned his mind to the Pensieve. He looked about in search of the cabinet that Dumbledore used to keep the ancient basin; after several moments he found the right cupboard and pulled the wooden door open. Sure enough, eerie silvery light poured out into the office, the source of which was an old stone bowl of sorts, embellished about the rim with glowing white figures of some long-forgotten language. Harry hefted the Pensieve out of the cupboard, placing it as gently as he could onto the oak desk.
Dazed for a moment, he peered into the swirling gray contents of the bowl. Mysterious shapes and figures appeared at the surface for no more than a few seconds, and then were whisked away as if caught in a cyclone. Drawing the mystery vial from his pocket, he uncorked the bottle and gently emptied its insides into the basin. The newly added memory swirled with vigor into the silver. Without further hesitation, Harry plunged his head into the bowl.
What met him was almost complete darkness. It was too dark to see what was happening below him, so without any other options, he pulled himself up, over, and dove into the Pensieve.
The damp, salty smell of the sea drifted into his nose almost immediately. Harry could hear waves breaking extremely close by. Overhead, the only source of light came from a sky dotted with stars and the sliver of a white moon. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could just barely make out two figures standing just ahead of him on another rock ledge.
Icy dread flooded through him as an unwanted realization hit him. His heart skipped. He knew this place. This place… this hell…
Harry barely noticed the flicker of movement as one of the figures withdrew a wand and ignited it. The area was bathed in an eerie green light, and his fears were confirmed.
He found himself standing on the very ledge that he and Dumbledore had Apparated to only several months ago. Memories that Harry had tried so hard to block from his mind were now undoubtedly surrounding him. He wanted desperately to leave.
He was awoken from his momentary panic when he noticed the sphere of light was now bobbing away and heading downward. From his distance several meters behind, he was unable see exactly who or what the two figures were, so he hurried along behind them, careful not to slip on the wet stone.
He came nearer to the two figures, both of whom had already reached the lowest ledge of rock and were now preparing, it seemed, to dive into the water. Straining to get a better look, Harry half-expected to see himself and Dumbledore. That particular fear was vanished, however, when he noticed the smaller figure was only perhaps four feet tall, and its movement seemed hardly human. The larger of the two held the lit wand over his head. Harry saw that he or she was wrapped in thick cloaks, and that their head was hidden by a hood.
It was then that the taller figure spoke. “In.” The instruction came as a command. The voice was male, and gruff, tired. Harry could barely hear it over the crashing waves. He struggled on the rocks to get closer.
Without protest, the smaller figure dove into the waters.
In his rush to get near the tall figure, Harry nearly slipped on the moss-covered boulders. The taller one said something, but because of Harry’s frantic scramble to maintain his footing, he hadn’t heard. This figure must have deemed it was safe to swim, however, for he held his wand high and leaped into the water. As he broke the surface, he began swimming towards a familiar fissure in the cliff across from them. Harry barely noticed the smaller silhouette struggling to keep up.
Gracelessly, Harry jumped to the rock the mystery figures had been standing on just moments before. Tucking his wand within his robes, he took a deep breath, and plunged into the dark sea. As he hit the water, a rather strange sensation enveloped his body. It felt, he thought, as if he had jumped into a sea of silk, and he was now pushing his way through the velvety folds. For one thing, though he was swimming through what was indeed water, he didn’t feel wet. And for another thing, although when he and Dumbledore had come here, the water was frigid, he felt no coldness now. He didn’t have much time to ruminate on the matter, however, for the two figures were making their way into the fissure. Harry pushed to keep up.
Just as he remembered it, they maneuvered their way through a wet cave in the side of the cliff, presumably one that would be filled completely during high tide. It took several minutes for them to reach the small alcove hidden at the end of the cavern. As soon as the taller figure reached the sand in the circular niche, he swished his wand, drying his clothes. The smaller figure, who arrived several seconds later, tripped, and began spluttering and gasping for air. It choked several times, the third cough causing a rather large amount of water to be heaved up. Harry reached the land at last and found that he wasn’t wet at all. He suddenly felt sympathy for the small creature that sat, shivering with his back towards Harry, only several feet away. This pity, however, evaporated the instant he could see the thing’s face.
While the tall outline of a man swept the walls of the grotto, Harry tried to catch his breath (though he was completely dry, he still felt the exhaustion of fighting through the current of water). In this time, the man had been raising and lowering his wand about the rocky surroundings, mumbling incoherently to himself. It was when he turned about, wand ignited, that Harry was forced to shield his eyes, and consequently, saw quite clearly the identity of the small creature. For when the pale green light of the wand was directed inward and was able to light the whole of this stony cave, Harry could very easily recognize the ugly, wrinkled face of Kreacher the House Elf.
His stomach twisted into a knot. Could this be Kreacher’s memory? It could, however, just as easily be the remaining figure, he reasoned. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the sudden light of the wand, he looked up to see another face that surprised him perhaps even more than Kreacher’s.
A tall and gangly Sirius Black looked down on the House Elf. At least, he looked almost identical to Harry’s godfather. His nose wasn’t as crooked, hair not as long, and he was definitely taller, but the resemblance was undeniable. Harry’s mind reeled. Who was this? What was going on? This had to be a relative of the Blacks, but who? A brother? Father? Cousin?
The Sirius-look-a-like spoke. “What do we do to pass? Tell me.” His sallow eyes looked about the room with a cold, shifting glance.
Kreacher’s face contorted, as if what he was doing was causing him physical pain, but he gasped, “Blood. The wall… needs blood,” but a moment later he added, “YOU ARE A BAD MAN, MASTER. HE WILL GET YOU! HE WILL KNOW IT WAS A BLACK WHO DEFIED HIM!”
Black had turned towards the wall again, and without turning around he shouted “Shut up!” Kreacher fell silent immediately, though his face betrayed all sorts of angry emotion.
For another minute or more, the man continued to feel the wall with long, dirty fingers. He seemed to be satisfied, and then said. “Cut yourself. Wipe the blood here,” and he pointed to a spot. Harry felt a dreadful familiarity with this scene.
Kreacher’s face twisted in revulsion. He held up a finger, at the point of which a glowing red light had appeared. Stretching out his other forearm, he slowly brought the finger down and traced a line in his skin, yelping with pain. He needn’t smear the cut along the rock, however, for several drops of dark, reddish-brown blood had spurted out and landed in the correct spot. Just as Harry remembered it, a burning white outline appeared in the stone, and without a warning, a portion in the shape of an arch disappeared.
The man stepped through, wand lit, with Kreacher behind him. As Harry followed, he thought he heard the House Elf mutter something about “the family name” under his breath.
They had arrived at the cavernous inner section of the hollow cliff. Standing what seemed to Harry to be dozens upon dozens of meters away was the golden pedestal. Inside it, Harry knew, was the basin filled with sickly green poison, and the Horcrux inside.
The man began to walk around the outside of the lake. They walked, Harry following behind, for several minutes, until Black stopped. “Check here,” he commanded.
Kreacher closed his eyes and raised both arms in front of him. Small, scaly fingers seemed to probe the air, as if feeling for something. With a sudden urgency, the Elf grabbed something in thin air, and pulled hard. The man helped, and in a few moments a small, eerie boat rose out of the water.
“In,” said the man, when the boat was ashore. Kreacher scrambled inside. Harry pulled himself up, squeezing in at the very tip of the canoe. As soon as they were all in, the boat glided away soundlessly, scarcely leaving behind a ripple in the surface of the glassy water.
Harry had almost forgotten how large the cave was. The only source of light came from the man’s still-lit wand, and the mysterious shaft of luminance that focused on the small island in the center of the lake. A couple of minutes into the ride, the man spoke up. “Inferi,” he spat with disgust, staring into the depths. Kreacher remained silent.
It took several more minutes to reach the small island. “Don’t touch the water,” said the man. Without waiting to help the Elf get out of the boat, he turned and strode towards the pedestal. Harry approached him and took a more careful survey of the man’s face. It reminded him of a smoker, or someone who got early gray hair, as if they should have looked younger, but because of some outside force, their face had taken on the semblance of a much older person. This man had dark rings under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept in days. He peered into the basin, and Harry watched as he too, like Dumbledore, attempted all means of getting rid of the liquid.
“What do I do?” he inquired, never looking away from the potion.
“You’ll need to drink it,” rasped Kreacher. As he said this, he looked fearfully over his shoulder into the murky waters.
“Fine…” began the man. “You do it.”
A noise escaped the small thing, like a panicked growl from his throat. Wordlessly, the man conjured a glass, much like Dumbledore had done, and dipped the cup into the liquid. When it was full, he passed it to Kreacher, who accepted it without choice.
“Drink.”
The House Elf gulped down the first cupful. And the second. The third was done in several smaller swallows, and by the fourth, he was getting hesitant. “Drink!” ordered the man. Between screams, Kreacher was able to get the fourth and fifth glass down. He began wailing.
“No! Don’t make me! Please, I don’t—it’ll kill me! Don’t do this, master!” The man forced the cup into the quivering hands of the Elf. “Please—stop!” Six glasses down. “STOP IT! I’VE BEEN GOOD! DON’T MAKE ME!”
“SHUT UP!” roared the man ferociously, tipping the glass into Kreacher’s mouth. Instantly, the House Elf’s eyes and mouth closed shut, but unnatural noises escaped him. He moaned and cried and sobbed, but dutifully, he drank. Harry watched without blinking.
As the eighth glass was downed, the man yelled triumphantly. “Yes!” He lowered his hand into the basin and pulled out a shimmering silver locket. Harry’s heart beat faster. This was one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. A real one. It was just in front of him, and yet at the same time, so very far away.
Kreacher continued to wail, beating his fists into the stone ground. His eyes had opened, and he now saw what his master was holding up. “NO!” he shouted maniacally. “He’ll know! He’ll know! LORD VOLDEMORT WILL KNOW THAT REGULUS BLACK HAS BETRAYED HIM!”
A ringing sounded in Harry’s ears. Blood rushed to his face. It made sense now. All of it. He watched as the man, now clearly Regulus Black, brother of Sirius Black, withdrew another locket from his cloak, placed it within the basin, swished his wand to replace the potion, and strode off towards the boat.
R. A. B. Regulus Black. By now, Harry’s heart was hammering within his chest. Muddled emotions flowed through him, as if a dam had broken somewhere within. He barely was aware of his surroundings, even as he watched Regulus pick up the now unconscious Kreacher, dump him into the boat, and set off, with Harry having to leap to catch up. They returned to the other side of the cavern. No Inferi attacked, because Kreacher had not gotten a drink of water from the lake. All the same, however, Regulus was running, Kreacher floating behind him. Harry raced to keep up. They reached the small alcove, and leapt into the water. Once again, the strange feeling of being in water in the Pensieve enveloped his body.
When they arrived at the rock ledge again, Regulus scrambled up the rocks, dried himself with a flick of his wand, and Disapparated. For Harry, the world went black.
that was good.....but i would like to pointout that kreacher would have mentioned mored about how he would be ruining the black's noble bloodline by defying the dark lord
__________________ fear the epic might of Jack Stills
I'm sure Kreacher would have loved to go on a long rant about how Mr. Black was defying Voldemort, but let's not forget he's still a house elf, and it was all he could do to utter a few sentences after just about ignoring a direct order of "Shut up."
i'm still loving the story but this thread has just hit a stand still you need to post alot more so now that school is over (unless your in summer school) get your ass in front of your computer and start typing
KMC Community Forums
Jun 1st, 2007 10:56 AM
:laughing: 
