Chapter 11
Learning
"Ms. Granger! What a pleasant surprise!" Albus Dumbledore's voice floats over me like a comforting blanket as I take a seat in front of his portrait.
"What, may I ask, has brought you to me at this time of night?"
I raise my head to face him with a sigh. His smile falters a bit at the sight of my still tear-filled eyes.
"Ah, and what is it that our Mr. Potter has done?"
As in depth as I can manage, I explain the night's events: Harry's confrontation with Darren, the burning, Harry's reaction, and my journey through Harry's Pensieve. Dumbledore's _expression remains neutral until I mention my struggle to detach myself from the memories and my sharp transfer to Harry's memory of the Final Battle.
"I believe what you experienced is called a Necessary Memorandum Paradox. There are many similar recorded instances of this phenomenon. Have you read any of them?"
I scrape my mind, vaguely remembering the term.
"I think so. Someone compiles a collection of memories in a Pensieve. When the memories are reviewed, one specific memory must always be relived for you to be released from the Pensieve."
"Correct, as always, Miss Granger. However, do you know why?"
"No, Professor."
"In most cases, the memory has tragically imprinted itself upon the owner's mind. Thus, the memory never really leaves the person when they put it into the Pensieve. It's always there, in the back of their mind."
Dumbledore's eyes burn into mine, much like they did six years ago when I sat in this very seat.
"In every scene you observed tonight, the conversation revolved around you; or Harry was watching you with someone. The last memory, the one of the Final Battle, depicted Harry's performance of the Resurrection Charm on you. Perhaps you saw the memory that you did because that is what Harry sees every time he looks at you..."
*
He's wrong.
This has gone through my mind for the last four hours as I swirl my long-gone-cold tea in its cup. As far back as I can remember I have always seen Albus Dumbledore as an infinite source of optimism, both in life and in death. Yet, after tonight, I'm not so sure about that anymore.
I swipe at my weary eyes angrily with my handkerchief. I've been crying on and off since I got out of the Pensieve, and the continual wiping away of tears has made my eyes raw and swollen. The candle on my desk flickers for a moment in the breeze of the opened window, casting peculiar shadows against the walls of my study. Emotional exhaustion sweeps over me, and I let my eyes flutter closed, sinking into the soft leather of my couch.
Thump.
My ever-cautious reflexes, honed by years of being on guard in case of a sudden Death Eater attack, spring to life. In half a second, my wand in clutched confidently in my fist and pointed at the closed door.
Thump...thump...
Footsteps. They continue steadily down the stairs, and then slow their pace as the distance between their owner and my study is closed.
Wait...down the stairs? No intruder would scale a four-story mansion; they would get in from the bottommost floor of the house.
I will my pounding heart to calm itself, listening more closely to the approaching footfalls: the sound, the time between each step, the care that the person takes to avoid the boards that creak. When the steps cease outside of my door, I lay my wand down on the table and walk to the door with a sigh. The knob turns easily in my hand, and I push against it to find Harry on the other side, looking quite startled to see that I'm still awake. Instead of calming my nerves, the sight of him seems to spike the tension in the room ten-fold.
"I...I was just...I thought that I'd..."
I reach out my left hand and let it enclose Harry's wrist.
"...see how I was doing?"
He nods, his eyes studying the floor as if it holds the interest of a Picasso original. Gently, I tug at his hand, and he sort of stumbles into the room. I guide him to the couch, then let go of his wrist to go back and shut the door. The latch slides into place, and I pause, leaning my back against the dark wood as I turn to face him.
"What are you doing up?" I ask, "The sleeping potion--"
"--guarantees that your sleep will be dreamless; it doesn't guarantee a full night's sleep in itself."
I nod in understanding, grabbing my handkerchief as I pass my desk on the way to the couch. I sit next to him, only to have him get off and kneel in front of me in response.
"Sit back," he commands lightly, and I instantly recognize the clinical air in which he is conducting himself. I acquiesce, allowing his hands to run along my forehead and down my neck, putting pressure on various spots.
"Your glands are still a bit swollen. Do you feel any pain anywhere?"
"No."
"Any sort of pressure around here?" he questions, his fingers sliding along the bottom of my jaw.
"No, I-"
"Did it hurt?"
The sharpness with which he delivers this question startles me into silence, and it takes a few moments for me to catch my breath and answer.
"Not really. It was like...well, it only lasted a second or two, but it...it felt..." I sigh in exasperation, "I don't really know how to describe it..."
Harry's hands glide back up to my neck, but not in the same physician-like way that they had gone down. His fingertips seem to linger on the hollow of my throat, the pulse-point not far from it, and the patch of skin just below my ear.
"Try," he insists, his gaze making me shiver slightly with its intensity.
What's going on? I wonder, my stomach doing somersaults when one of his fingers brushes against my bottom lip.
"Well...um...it was like...like I was standing in the middle of a strong fire...but it didn't hurt exactly...it felt like...like..."
My voice chokes mid-sentence when I allow my gaze to meet his. For a fleeting moment, it seems as if his emerald irises are replaced with flickering jade flames.
"Like this?" he breathes, before his lips crash against mine and fire blazes through me.
A/N::: I know, I know, I know; it's short to the extreme. So pretty please keep the "write longer chapters" to a bare minimum.
I'm a writer who generally takes things slow, so in response to many (and I mean MANY) reviews asking for the romance---Ta Dah! Hope you all enjoyed the start of the good stuff! I promise the next chapter will be longer, being that it's summer and all that jazz.
Toodles,
Mandy
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