Remember that I promised some backstory on Fawkes? Well, here it is. Updates will be coming less frequently now, as my final exams are in six weeks and I also have to write on my other story, 'River Styx'.
Thanks go to my beta rambkowalczyk!
Chapter Sixteen : Dumbledore’s Worst Memory
Harry and Professor Dumbledore had reached the stone gargoyle and mounted the stairs to the office together. Harry was now almost as familiar with the office as with any classroom. It was a place of very mixed feelings and memories. Mostly he had been here when he was in trouble, or when bad things happened. Here he had learned about the prophecy, he had felt the first shock and anger about Sirius’ death. But on the other hand it was the place where Dumbledore was to be found, a sanctuary and a place of fascinating things like Fawkes and the Pensieve.
Fawkes sat on his perch, a little less beautiful than usual as he had just been recently reborn and was now growing up. He squawked cheerfully at Harry. The beautiful bird remembered him of everything that was good about Dumbledore: that he gave people hope and protected them and cheered them up with his words as did Fawkes with his song. Harry was able to see that now. He had always trusted Dumbledore and that was why he had felt so deceived when Dumbledore had not been able to save Sirius and when he had revealed the secret prophecy.
The portraits were not all in their frames, but those, who were, greeted Dumbledore in a friendly manner and threw curious glances at the student who was here during the summer.
“You must be the only student who manages to cause trouble even in the summer,” Phineas Nigellus drawled, but instead of feeling annoyed at the portrait, Harry felt a sudden surge of affection for him. He was a relative of Sirius and Harry couldn’t be fooled to believe that Nigellus had hated his Great-great-grandson so much, when he remembered his shocked reaction to Sirius death.
“Harry hasn’t caused trouble,” Dumbledore explained kindly.
“Hi,” Harry said sheepishly. Phineas scoffed and turned away, vanishing in the dark background of his painting.
“Sit down please.” Harry sat down in the soft chair and looked around. The Sorting Hat, Gryffindor’s sword, the silver instruments, and even the things he had destroyed in his surge of anger a few weeks before was in its rightful place. Where was that anger now? He wasn’t feeling it anymore. There was only the nagging question of why Dumbledore “ and everybody else “ hadn’t seen what kind of a dangerous mood Sirius had been in. So much could have been prevented if he wasn’t confined at Grimmauld Place all year!
Dumbledore sat down behind his desk and folded his hands, peering over them at Harry. His expression was thoughtful but gentle.
“Harry, you probably feel that you failed to learn Occlumency. But I think you really cannot be blamed. I was wrong to expect you to learn it so easily, and I was certainly wrong to believe that Professor Snape would be willing to teach you.”
Harry felt Dumbledore’s all-knowing eyes on him like hot coals. Yet he couldn’t keep himself from saying, “Snape hates me. Although... now I think I know why.”
“Is that so?” Dumbledore asked, raising a brow.
Harry bit his lip. Dumbledore would hate him for this “ but probably he already knew it.
“I saw one of Snape’s memories. A memory of my father.” Dumbledore looked strangely at him, and not a little astonished. He didn’t seem to have known this before. But now Harry couldn’t take back what he had already revealed.
“In Professor Snape’s mind?”
“In his Pensieve,” Harry admitted guiltily. This time, he couldn’t read the look on the headmaster’s face at all. He took it as a bad sign.
“Harry, a Pensieve is a very private thing. It’s more than a diary. I may have allowed you to look into mine in the past, but maybe I should have been more careful. You’ve got to learn to respect other people’s secrets. Otherwise I cannot teach you Legilimency.”
It was like a verbal slap. Never had Dumbledore so seriously reprimanded him. And Harry didn’t know what to say. Of course, Dumbledore was right. He knew shouldn’t have looked into Snape’s pensieve.
“Harry?” Dumbledore’s eyes bore into his. “Do you understand this? This is what Voldemort does. He abuses his powers and breaks into people’s minds. He tears out their innermost secrets, feasts on their fears and possesses them.”
“But..! But ... yes, Sir.” Harry lowered his head. “I promise not to do it again.”
Dumbledore nodded. “I know that you’re not like Voldemort. Voldemort tries to find out people’s weaknesses to be able to use them “ you were just overly curious.”
The old wizard sighed and stroked his beard. “It’s kind of hard to ask you to be so responsible. Your father certainly wasn’t responsible at that age, neither was Professor Snape “ nor even I!” Dumbledore chuckled quietly.
“Oh no, I wasn’t responsible at all. Did you know that Nicholas Flamel threw me out on the street because he couldn’t stand me anymore? At the time, of course, I confused being responsible with being boring and serious.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled at his memories, and he seemed to be very far away with his mind.
“I was nearly a hundred years old before I completely managed Occlumency and Legilimency which both require a lot of concentration and discipline.”
Harry couldn’t quite believe this. Dumbledore? Who could do just about everything..? Even Snape had learned these things far more quickly, and Voldemort also wasn’t much older than sixty-something and was master at it. And he, Harry, was supposed to learn them at fifteen! Again he realised how much he didn’t know about Dumbledore. Of course, his headmaster hadn’t always been a wise old teacher. There was the fleeting memory of Tom Riddle’s diary, yet that was as clear and familiar in his mind as if it were his own: of a younger Dumbledore with auburn hair and beard. Yet who that person really was, was still a riddle to him. Harry sighed.
“I just don’t see how I can defeat Voldemort! I mean ... he’s had so much time to learn and prepare ... and how does one defeat an evil wizard, anyway? I mean, that may sound stupid, but how do I do it? It’s not as if anybody has told me yet. It’s not the stuff we learn in classes. How did you defeat Grindelwald?”
A smile had begun to build on Dumbledore’s face during Harry’s outbreak, but at the mention of Grindelwald it suddenly faltered.
Virtually everything Harry knew about Grindelwald was the one sentence on Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog Card. Dumbledore is also famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945. He had only a vague idea of Dumbledore battling a villainous old wizard, much like Dumbledore’s duel with Voldemort that he saw a few weeks ago. They hadn’t yet covered any of this in History of Magic “ either that or he had slept through it.
“Usually, when I’m asked about Grindelwald by reporters or textbook writers, or even Chocolate Frog Card makers,” Dumbledore said with a wink, “I just tell them to use their artistic license. It’s not the kind of story people want to hear about their heroes... and there’s not much to be learned from it. I set out to save a man, but in the end I was nothing but a terrified, helpless man. It was luck that saved me.. and hope.”
Dumbledore paused, and then went on. “But maybe this is the kind of story I should tell you. You must know Dark Magic is not vanquished or defeated by heroic deeds, in the end, only our heart can save us, Harry, like it saved you when Voldemort possessed you.”
“The story of Grindelwald began during what the Muggles called World War One. You are sufficiently aware of Muggle history, aren’t you?” Harry nodded. He didn’t have that many Muggle history classes before he went to Hogwarts, but he knew his share from books and movies.
“Grindelwald was a British wizard, and a patriot. He wanted the wizarding community to take part in the war, but that would have meant that we wouldn’t have been living in secrecy anymore. So Grindelwald went to fight in the war as an ordinary soldier. He became a Muggle doctor, and saved many lives “ but just as many died under his hands and on the battlefield and those who survived had injuries not even magic could cure. He saw how the viciousness of war could corrupt innocent people but was not aware of how it was affecting him. He became a bitter man, lost his belief in mankind, but stayed fascinated with Muggle medicine and science.”
“Did you know him?” Harry asked.
“Oh no. I didn’t meet him till 1945. During the First World War I was in India and China working with Nicholas. It was before he threw me out on the street. Which happened in 1927. I was a reckless and whimsical person, gifted with way too many talents and given too few challenges. Nicholas Flamel wasn’t the first to take such drastic action with me. I gave the people from the Department of Mysteries quite a scare back in the 1870s.” He chuckled.
“But back to Grindelwald. When the Second World War started, Grindelwald again petitioned for an intervention. But he gave up fairly quickly when he didn’t succeed. He disappeared from public life soon afterwards. He wanted to change humanity, to create a new, better kind of wizard. A kind of wizard that would be unable to die under his hands or kill each other, a kind of wizard that would be immortal and flawless. But in his search for the necessary power to create such beings, he combined the worst of science and magic.”
Now, Harry’s mental image of Grindelwald changed. He became less like Voldemort and more like a mad scientist from an old Muggle movie. Dumbledore went on with his story. While he was talking, his gaze rested on Fawkes most of the time.
“At the end of the war, in 1944, more than a hundred wizards went missing from everywhere in Britain, but mostly in London. Our community panicked. But I, far away at Hogwarts, wasn’t all that concerned until a friend of mine vanished as well. Hector had gone to school with me, and we were very close. So I investigated his disappearance. My search lead me to the London Underground .”
“Armed only with a map of the Underground and my wand, I went into the labyrinth. After a very long time, I found him, in an unused part of the tubes: Grindelwald. I didn’t recognise him but when I discovered who he was, I challenged him to a duel, confident that I would win easily. He refused to battle me though, instead he tried to win me over with logical explanations and flattery. I followed him inside to his underground laboratory, where he had combined the high technology of Muggle science with Magic and was working on a new race of human beings.”
Suddenly, an image flashed in Harry mind that hadn’t come from his own imagination.
...a fair-haired wizard on a metal gurney, staring at the ceiling with dead, unseeing eyes... a hole in his chest ... darkness spilling out of his heart... a fountain of blackness ... indescribable fear ...
And Dumbledore in shock with no thought at all but to stop this torture…with fierce eyes and still holding a map of the London Underground, he whisked out his wand and aimed at a furtive elderly wizard, but before he could speak, a spell hit him, burning the map into the flesh of his knee ... throwing him down on the floor... and still the indescribably darkness poured out of the fair-haired man’s open heart ...
Harry recoiled in his seat, stifling a gasp. The icy feeling of despair he had when he saw that man with the darkness flooding out of his heart had felt like the presence of a Dementor, but a hundred-times worse. Dumbledore was looking at him with haunted blue eyes. Harry wasn’t sure if the old wizard was really seeing him.
“What was that?” Harry asked uncomfortably.
“That was my friend Hector, as I found him in Grindelwald’s laboratory. And with him more than a hundred other wizards and witches, mutilated in the same way. They weren’t human anymore. Their hearts were infused with darkness, their souls had been turned inside out ... in his quest for an enhanced human race, Grindelwald had created horrible monsters. Immortal they were, indestructible, unfeeling ... he had created the Dementors, Harry.”
“The Dementors were human once?” Harry felt sick. Dumbledore nodded gravely.
“All of them. Grindelwald had made a pact with a powerful demon. This demon had been created by all the fear, pain and hatred men have felt during those wars that Grindelwald hated so much. The demon promised to help him, but in reality it poisoned Grindelwald’s soul. He fed all the souls of those poor witches and wizards to the demon, and they were made into lesser demons themselves. Of course, I was horrified. It was the first time I met true evil. I tried to fight Grindelwald, but he had already lured me into his trap.”
... the younger Dumbledore, caught in a cubic glass cage, unable to do magic, strapped onto a metal gurney, screaming in rage and fear... Grindelwald came inside, shaved his head and beard until Dumbledore himself looked like a corpse... he was alone in the cage ... the only thing he could see was a flicker of red and gold in the corner of his eye ...
Again, Harry gasped for air, when he was released from the memory. His head shot around and he looked at Fawkes, who sat serenely on his perch.
“There was a Phoenix in Grindelwald’s lab!” he called out.
“It was Fawkes, Harry. That was where I met him for the first time. He belonged to Grindelwald for many years, and was almost as loyal to him as he is to me. Grindelwald sold that first feather to Ollivander, who made Tom Riddles’ wand out of it. I donated the second feather, many years later. In the beginning, Grindelwald was a white wizard, but then...he should have died rather than cause such senseless suffering, but as I said the demon he made a pact with had poisoned his mind and heart”, and again Dumbledore channelled Harry a glimpse of his memory.
... there was a hissing sound inside the glass cage... suddenly the ground of the glass cube started to fill with a black smoke or gas. Dumbledore on the gurney struggled against his restraints but he couldn’t move... the smoke rose higher... Dumbledore yelled in terror as he laid on the gurney... the black smoke touched his hands and arms, and yet it rose higher, threatening to fill the whole cage... It touched his chest and Dumbledore was desperately trying to raise his head just a little bit, so he wouldn’t have to breathe in the smoke, for it would kill him, surely... And there was the glimpse of red feathers again, outside the glass cube, and a faint note of song... tears were running down Dumbledore’s face and when they met the smoke they froze...
“A few minutes later, I would have died.” Dumbledore’s voice brought Harry back to the present.
“The darkness was meant to turn me into a Dementor, too, but I think I had too much white magic in me. To have my soul corrupted so terribly would have killed me in an instant. And so it did. But while I died, I listened to Fawkes song of compassion and it carried me far away from my fear and pain. In the same moment that I died, I turned into my Animagus for the first time: a Phoenix.”
The haunted look had vanished from Dumbledore face. His eyes were twinkling brightly behind half-moon glasses. They were full of emotion as he stared at Fawkes.
“Instead of dying, I burst into flames and became ash, and out of the ash I was reborn, just like the real phoenix. That was how I survived the cage and the smoke “ and what happened after that I barely remember. I must have gone completely mad from fright, because when I was found by Medi-wizards and Aurors a few hours later, a giant magical explosion had destroyed Grindelwald’s underground lab and himself. The only survivors were me, Fawkes, and the hundred or more freshly-made Dementors.”
“Doesn’t that mean that you’re immortal?” Harry asked alarmedly.
Dumbledore smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know, Harry. We’ll see, won’t we? But when death comes, I won’t fear it. I’m old; I have seen many of my friends age and die. I have no desire for immortality.”
Harry thought he understood. When he had heard those voices behind the Veil, he too had thought that death might not be so bad after all.
“Why did they make the Dementors the wards of Azkaban?” Harry asked. It didn’t seem very logical to him.
“Well, they were immortal, inhuman and dangerous. They were also an unbearable presence “ well you know that. So people didn’t want them to walk around everywhere in London. And some ingenious wizard from the Ministry made the suggestion to bring them to the island of Azkaban and make it the new high-security prison. Some fifty years before, the wizard death-penalty had been abolished ““, Dumbledore paused a moment in his explanation, as if he wanted to add something, but then he went on.
“It was convenient. People had been asking for a stricter punishment for ages. I would have protested, but for some years after the incident, I wasn’t able to do so. I spent many months recovering in St. Mungo’s. They even consulted Muggle psychology. Severe shock and post-traumatic stress, the Muggle doctors said. But I had friends who helped me recover. Fawkes here and Professor McGonagall, my brother ““
But before Dumbledore could finish the sentence, the flames in the grate went green, and someone stumbled through the fire.
+++
“Severus, what happened? I haven’t seen you for days!”
Harry watched as Dumbledore jumped from his seat, all sentimentality gone. He rushed to the grate to pick up a dust-covered and swaying Snape. The potions master looked worse than ever. The knuckles on both his hands were bruised and bleeding. His sallow face was coated in a wet sheen, his hair damp.
Snape shook his head when Dumbledore tried to help him into an armchair but didn’t answer. He smelled slightly of a sharp alcohol. Finally he let himself fall into the chair.
It was the first time Harry saw Snape since the end of his fifth year. The seething hate for the man was still there, worse than ever. He blamed Snape for Sirius’ death and he hated to see how worried Dumbledore was about the man. Had Dumbledore ever worried about Sirius like that?
But the worst of his hatred was subdued by his curiosity. What was up with his Potions teacher? Snape was a horrible person, but he usually kept his composure. Being drunk was very unlike him, Harry thought. And it reminded him painfully of the fact that Sirius had sometimes been drinking, too, and that confused him. But Sirius had been drinking because of his frustration and pain. What reasons could Snape have to drink? He was a miserable git and probably no one liked him, but that was his own fault.
“Lord Voldemort,” Snape said in a hollow voice that seemed to echo in the room. Harry caught himself staring at Snape but couldn’t stop himself. What about Lord Voldemort? He willed Snape to continue, but Snape didn’t seem very coherent.
“I’m sorry, Severus. I wish I ““ Dumbledore started to apologise. Why did Dumbledore have to apologise?
“I’m sorry too. For myself.” Snape groaned bitterly. Harry got the impression that Snape hadn’t noticed him yet.
“I think you should see Poppy,” Dumbledore suggested, totally ignoring Harry as well.
“See Poppy? Damn ““Snape sagged forward and buried his head in his hands with an angry, exhausted snort. He had completely lost control, just like in Third Year, when Sirius had escaped, but now he was less angry and more despaired. Shaking his still hanging head, so that his black hair tumbled around him in a lank curtain, he said:
“I’m drunk, that’s all. You know I never drink. I can’t believe I’m drunk.”
And somehow, this statement shocked Harry. He had never heard Snape sound so human and vulnerable. He realised that it was because Snape hadn’t spotted him yet that he was being so open.
+++
Dumbledore felt the urge to comfort, to at least put a hand on Severus’ shoulder or say something. But he dared not touch the man. Snape hated physical contact unless he himself initiated it, as much as he hated showing weakness. And he certainly detested his current state of inebriation. His statement was true; he never drank, not even when life was hard on him. He wasn’t the kind of person who tries to drown sorrows in drugs because that would be admitting to have them.
The reason for all that was Snape’s twisted combination of stubborn pride and low self-confidence. And even deeper than that, was the hate for his own father. What his father called stern discipline others called cruel punishments. Since Snape’s father was known to be drunk all the time Severus was especially careful not to drink.
Had it been the murder of Karkaroff that had disturbed Snape so much? Or something that had happened during his meeting with Voldemort?
Dumbledore procured a sobering potion which cured effects from spells and potions as well as ordinary drugs. It was useless to try and comfort the man, as he would feel mortified in front of Potter.
“Take that.” Snape drained the vial, leaving his eyes closed for a moment, looking drained himself.
“It’s all about Potter again, isn’t it?” Snape seemed to be returning to his usual, sober and sour self again. “Tell me “ how could I ever become the servant of a supposedly Dark Lord who gets all crazy over James Potter’s offspring?” he asked in a mocking voice.
Dumbledore raised a brow but was glad to have restored the usual Snape. He was also glad that Harry, although looking angry, was not loosing his temper yet.
“Voldemort tried to attack Harry, but we were prepared,” he explained to Snape, who hadn’t been at Hogwarts during the last days and knew nothing of the assault on Privet Drive. Snape didn’t seem too interested.
“I’m sure that boy would have found a way to survive. He does so to spite me,” Snape mumbled.
“He’s figured out the blood problem,” Dumbledore added, as to get him interested. Snape nodded; he still was not quite able to concentrate properly. He should send Harry away, Dumbledore knew, but he was waiting for the right moment.
“The rebirth ritual. Potter’s blood. Well, I do understand his rage now. He was so close to being able to kill him and it didn’t work,” mused the potions teacher. Dumbledore turned around at Harry.
“Harry, would you please leave Professor Snape and me alone? We’ll continue the day after tomorrow.”
Snape almost jumped from his chair, and whirled around in a second, realising that Harry was present. Dumbledore instantly realised his mistake. He should have warned Snape not to let his guard down so much. Now Snape would feel mortified and furious. Harry also looked scared.
“Potter,” Snape hissed. “Why are you gawking at me like that? Don’t like what you see? I thought you loved to pry into other people’s private affairs?”
Harry seemed unable to answer, and Snape got even more heated up. He suddenly stood before Harry’s chair, menacingly. Dumbledore wanted to intervene, but by doing so would have embarrassed Snape even more.
“What is it? Answer me, boy! But you can’t, can you? You’re too much of a coward!”
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape went on. He was pale and shaking, as always when he lost control. Harry flinched away from his gesticulating hands.
“You’re an ungracious brat! You think everything is about you, but did you ever consider being grateful? Always it’s Potter, Potter, Potter, everywhere I go! Even Lord Voldemort talks about nothing else! Get out of my sight!” And Harry did jump from his chair, pale at Snape’s fury.
“Why is it my fault?” he cried. “I didn’t ask for all this!”
“GO! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”
“Stop it!” Dumbledore suddenly said, and he said it with such a volume and authority that both of them stopped instantly. “Harry, please leave us alone. We’ll see each other the day after tomorrow.”
Harry said nothing. He nodded curtly at Dumbledore and left, but obviously was resentful at being sent away like this and angry at Snape. The Headmaster turned to the man.
“Calm down, will you please? He has told me about what happened between the both of you. Be assured that I have chastised him.” That was an overstatement, Dumbledore felt, but would hopefully satisfy Snape.
His spy said nothing in response. Snape just smoothened out his black robes and sat down again, his face stony and bitter, his black eyes glittering with repressed anger.
+++
“I brought Voldemort Karkaroff’s wand, but he was occupied with something else. He seemed extremely frustrated at something and hexing random people.”
Snape was reporting about his last meeting with Voldemort, the first since he had killed the Headmaster of Durmstrang. What Dumbledore had told him about Voldemort’s attempt to kill Potter explained the rage of the Dark Lord. But right now, Snape would have preferred to think of neither of them.
“Have you been reaccepted in his inner circle?”
Ever since Voldemort’s resurrection, Snape’s status had been more than difficult. He had hoped to restore his trust by killing Igor. But his answer remained a shrug. He didn’t fool himself into believing he knew what was going on in Voldemort’s head.
“It’s not like the Dark Lord tells me things like that. But yes, I think he trusts me, or at least is assured of my fear of him. It’s hard to tell.”
“What else did you notice? Who was there?”
“Bellatrix Lestrange, Pettigrew and a lot of new faces “ he’s recruiting again. Young people, mostly not British.”
“And Voldemort himself?”
Snape remained silent for a long instant. He pushed a stray hair out of his face, and stared at the empty portrait frames. None of them were allowed to stay when Snape reported and they had quietly left with Potter.
Voldemort had been most peculiar. This meeting had been the first time the Dark Lord had really talked to him since the year in which he had tried to steal the Stone, when Snape had to keep up a semblance of loyalty without really helping Voldemort. Since his resurrection, Snape had attended Death Eater meetings, but the only thing Voldemort had done was to punish him. But now Voldemort was back in power and interested in what Snape had to offer. He showed that interested by prying into his servant’s mind and torturing him there, a thing he always liked to do with his followers. But unlike most of them, Snape was able to mask his secrets and see some of Voldemort’s own.
“He’s different,” he finally answered. “The Dark Lord is ... not a person anymore. There’s nothing left of his elegance, his brilliance. He’s become void, single-minded.”
Dumbledore leaned closer, finally interested. “Tell me more about that, Severus.”
“Most of his first followers, the first Death Eater generation, were attracted by his charisma, his brilliant mind, his personality. He was everything the pureblood aristocrats and would-be aristocrats had aspired to: refined manners, a cultivated evil mastermind, an inspiring leader, a great wizard. He perfected Slytherin virtues. He made you fear him “ but it was a delicious fear, fear mingled with adoration. He managed to make us love him.”
Snape laughed dryly. “Now only a deranged loon like Bellatrix Lestrange could feel love for him. There’s only the fear that remains. The new followers are different, too, no class, they’re working-class wizards, the unemployed, the frustrated, the dull.”
“But he’s still as powerful as before.”
“More than that. I’d say... he consists only of magic. Magic without a character, without real feelings, without humanity. He’s not a wizard anymore. And something else: it feels different now, when he invades my mind. Like he’s somehow less. As if he’s lost essence.”
Snape looked up and perceived a look of triumph and awe in Dumbledore’s bright eyes. He’d seen that look before. He just wished it would have consequences some time soon...
+++
The snow was so soft and deep that Harry sunk into it with every step. It was grey, like dust, like ashes, like burnt bones ...
Was it snow? Was it bones? Was it ground teeth?
The quicksilver sky hurled thunder at him, thunder and snowy ashes, whipped ice into his face. He couldn’t go on, he was frozen on the spot, the storm would throw him down, and he would drown in the ashes. His feet were pulling him down like leaden weights...
But the light. The light he was carrying in his hands...
He couldn’t let the light go. He had to protect it, to carry it to where the sky was open and bright...
He was completely alone.
Harry was carrying an incredibly bright light over an endless plane of human ashes...
With a start he woke up. He had been dreaming of the white light again ... and now he realised that he had had that dream every night since he wrote the letter.
What did it mean?
TBC