38: The Darkest Secret

"So did you snog her?"

Hermione punched him on the arm. "RON!" she bellowed, turning the "o" into three distinct syllables. "Don't mind him, Harry," she said, glowering at Ron as though daring him to say another word. Naturally, as soon as she looked away, Ron's freckled face lit up with mischief, and he waggled his eyebrows imploringly.

Harry simply shook his head, hoping the warmth in his face stemmed from the brisk London air, and not from blushing. "No snogging," he mumbled a bit sheepishly, then added, "Though that's not what I hear about you and Luna Lovegood."

Ron's grin turned a tad sharper. "Ah-ah-ah, this is a You thing, not a Me thing," he chided, though his smile revealed that Harry had struck close to the mark. Ron elbowed him as they walked along. "Besides, you ought to, Harry. I've got a feeling about you two."

Hermione threw her hands in the air, exasperated. "I should think so, too, Ron, seeing as everyone else has known about them since Christmas! But she's a professor, for goodness sake; it wouldn't be proper until the term's over." She turned back to Harry with a warm, indulgent smile. "It's sweet, Harry, that you're so kind and patient with her. She needs that."

Hermione's praises only reminded Harry how little he deserved them. He shrugged and began searching for a new topic. Luckily, they were nearly at their destination: the Visitor's Entrance for the Ministry of Magic.

Harry-and-Viktor, Ron, and Hermione made their way to Level One, where Percy met them at the elevator. The reception witch gave Viktor a smile cold enough to freeze time as they passed her desk. No one said a word until they were locked, warded, and otherwise ensconced in Percy's office, which was strewn with even more paper than before. Percy looked tired but cheery, and he hugged Ron's shoulders playfully when he finished setting the silencing spells on the door.

"Nice of you to visit. Are you down here for the holidays?"

"Just today," said Ron. "Harry's got lessons with Ondossi all week." He leered, which made Hermione scowl and Harry briefly consider wringing his neck. Percy was, as usual, completely oblivious to the entire exchange and only nodded distractedly.

"How's the work?" Harry asked him.

Percy flopped into his chair, but with an air of well-deserved relaxation rather than defeat. "That depends on which project you mean. The Azkaban/traitor business is easy to summarize: dead end. I only hope that if I ever commit a crime, I cover it up half as well as this bloke. Father decided to continue to play ignorant; last month's food shipment was sent to Azkaban as if nothing was wrong, and it disappeared without so much as a trail of bread crumbs." Percy shook his head, seemingly disapproving of this course of action, but showing a new level of diplomacy by keeping his opinion to himself.

"Then there's Black, which was of course the original point of this inquest. I can state unequivocally that not a single shred of evidence remains that Black killed Peter Pettigrew. We also have proof that prior evidence was removed from storage, in a way that suggests a deliberate attempt to obscure the facts. This raises doubts about the validity of the previous trial. And since you and others have deposed that Peter Pettigrew is, in fact, still alive, that rather implies that the primary murder for which Black was convicted never actually occurred in the first place! I haven't studied to enter the Wizengamot, but from what little I know of wizard law, if Black were to receive a retrial, he could not be convicted of any crime."

Percy leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. "My report will therefore conclude that if Black were alive, he could successfully demand a retrial by the Wizengamot. Furthermore, if he were to do so, he would certainly be deemed innocent of the murder of Peter Pettigrew. Assuming, of course, that your testimony wouldn't change under a Binding Oath in the Wizengamot."

Passion blazed in Harry's eyes. "It wouldn't. Pettigrew's alive."

Percy nodded. "Just so. I only have to write the formal documents for Father and that aspect of the inquest is closed. Such a travesty, that Black was imprisoned that way. He was no older than I am when they took him to Azkaban! Yet it's little comfort to him now, rest his soul. A bit late to exonerate the poor chap, but perhaps it'll lead to some justice reforms."

"Yeah, well, good work is its own reward, Percy," said Harry, hoping he could be the first to tell Sirius the news.

"And then there's this odd business with the imposter Baby Who Lived. I think I know where the baby came from, but I can't be sure. And of course, the traitor covered his tracks perfectly once again; it didn't lead me anywhere on that trail. But it's all inconclusive, I'm afraid, there's only--"

Harry interrupted him, leaning over the desk. "What did you find?"

For a moment, Percy made an indignant face and seemed on the verge of telling Harry just where he could go with his nosy questions. But one benefit of being a Legilimagus (indeed, one which Harry enjoyed profoundly) was that no one seemed able to stare him down anymore. With a nervous gulp, Percy's haughty look disappeared, and he found a new fascination with his coffee mug.

"Mind, Harry, this is mostly conjecture," he muttered uneasily. "I had Tonks investigate all the seventh-year students at Hogwarts. It stood to reason; the traitor would probably choose a wizard baby, and close to you in age. There were no reports of a missing child, as I told you before, but I told Tonks to look for anything strange or suspicious around that time. She went down to Mysteries and had the divination geeks run a pattern analysis of that whole week.

"Obviously, the death of a Dark wizard by his own curse affected all the magical harmonics of that period, but Tonks apparently has a friend among the house-elves up at Hogwarts. It stole some hair for her, from every male student in your class." Percy stopped to shake his head and grin. "Resourceful girl, really. Anyway, that allowed the divvies to 'narrow the band' or something; only they understand that mumbo-jumbo. The net result being that they were able to identify magical anomalies around but a handful of boys at that time."

Percy sighed and looked up at Harry again. "You have to understand, though, nothing's set in stone here. I could only track down concrete evidence on one anomaly. There are three other boys with evidence of unusual magic during that week that I couldn't trace. Even though the one I did trace is suspicious, it's by no means conclusive. The other boys--"

"Fine, we get it: it's only a hunch," interrupted Ron. "Who was it, already?"

Percy looked like he wanted to make a rude gesture at his little brother, but he took a deep breath and continued. "Very well. It was Neville Longbottom."

An uncomfortable twist seemed to pass through Harry's throat. He swallowed hard to clear it, then asked, "And what was the evidence you found?"

More comfortable discussing data and facts, Percy rummaged on his desk and pulled a small pile of parchments from beneath some scrolls. "Just this: Neville's parents were Aurors. Neither of them showed up for work on November 1 or 2, 1981." He handed Harry a yellowed Ministry payroll sheet from Gringott's. One of the columns beside the list of names was titled "Absences, Unpaid;" many names had a tiny "11/1" scratched into that column. A few, including the Longbottoms, also had "11/2" penned beside it.

"I noted, however, that this was their first unpaid leave in the six years they'd been employed as Aurors," he continued, flipping through the rest of the parchments as if proving to Harry that he had researched this statement. "They had other absences, but each one was accompanied by a notation from the MLE secretary--they weren't the type who simply didn't show up for work without an explanation. To disappear two days in a row without so much as a 'we celebrated a bit too much' seems most odd to me. Particularly since very few Aurors skived either of those days--the entire department wanted to round up the Death Eaters before they had time to regroup after You-Know-Who's death." He picked through the parchments again, to flash a piece with the Law Enforcement heraldry printed at the top, though he set the whole pile down again before Harry could look at it.

"I can't ask the Longbottoms, obviously, what they were doing for two days, but I did speak to two of their old colleagues. One recalled only that the Longbottoms had seemed a bit out of sorts, but he'd assumed they'd had a bit too much Firewhisky the day before. The other remembered that they kept insisting it was Tuesday, not Wednesday, when they--"

Harry leapt to his feet, startling Percy into silence. "That's it," he said, turning quickly to Ron and Hermione. Ron nodded vigorously, and though furrowed her brows, she, too, nodded. "That's the traitor's M.O." he growled for Percy's benefit. "Cuts out the memories so clean, it's as though the day never happened. He must have stolen away Neville that night and taken him to the Ministry, but when your--uh, employee complained that it wasn't me, they just slipped Neville back home and Obliviated his parents. He probably meant to murder them to cover the whole thing up, but didn't have time before the hoax was revealed."

Hermione let out a small yelp, muffled by her hand, which she'd thrown over her mouth in shock. Harry lowered his voice in concern at her obvious alarm. "What is it?"

"Harry! Death Eaters captured and tortured Neville's parents soon after that happened! They said they were looking for Voldemort, but maybe they were looking for the traitor themselves! But more importantly, Memory Charms need time to heal; we just studied it in Arithmancy! Erasing a memory, particularly without replacing it, stuns the parts of the brain that create long-term memories. If they were put under the Imperius curse that soon after a two-day Obliviation... Oh, Harry, that may be why they cracked under torture!"

Ron, Percy, and Viktor all leapt to their feet as well. "She is right," said Viktor. "Lunacy is vell-known effect of Imperius too soon after Obliviation. Longbottoms vere doomed if traitor had done this."

Harry stood clenching his fists for some time before speaking, and when he did, his voice was deep and cold. "This guy better hope the Aurors find him before I do."

Harry's mood was not improved when he arrived at Grimmauld Place, only to discover that Sirius had been dispatched to the Siberian wilderness to hunt for Voldemort's hidden enclave. "Come now, can you think of a more perfect job for him?" Lupin had said. "Out of the house, and not a soul around to recognize him. And you're lucky--you can send him some post, your owl won't attract attention."

Harry grudgingly accepted that Sirius was much better off bounding through the snow on Order business, but he returned to Hogwarts in a brooding funk. He stomped down to the dungeons and found Ondossi in a similar mood, snarling over a cauldron in the Potions laboratory. The door was ajar; she looked up at him when he pushed it open.

"Hey," she said, returning immediately to her stirring. "I thought you were in London."

"I was. Sirius is in Siberia. I came back early."

"Okay. Sit a minute and don't bug me. This is Wolfsbane; I'm almost done."

Harry sunk into what he took for a beanbag chair, but was actually a pile of furs. They were soft and warm but not particularly comfortable. He nearly asked if Tura had something against chairs, but the look of irritable concentration on her face dissuaded him. He finally spread them out in a thick mat and laid upon them flat on his back, staring at a collection of cobwebs on the ceiling. A steady, quiet stream of Inupiaq words issued from the lab bench, then finally stopped.

"Make yourself at home, why don't ya?" said Tura, nudging his ribs with her bare toes.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, arching away from the cold foot to make some more room on the fur mat. She sat beside him, wriggling her toes into the fur. "This is the seal you killed, isn't it?"

"Gussuk," she smirked. "That was years ago. This one's totally different."

Harry raised himself on his elbows and appraised the fur. It looked like a big silvery mass, just like the seal in her memory. "Whatever you say," he shrugged. "Look, I've been thinking."

"Congratulations" she deadpanned. Her sauciness made him want to catch her by the shoulders and tickle her without mercy amongst the furs; the fact that he didn't dare raise even a finger toward her only made his mood worse.

Sighing, he sat up. "I talked to Percy Weasley this morning. He's going to exonerate Sirius in his report. But he also turned up something new about the Ministry traitor: that he's probably responsible for Neville's parents. He Obliviated them, which left them vulnerable to torture."

The impish spark left her eyes. "Another reason you can't let this one get away. I see. Well?"

"So it occurred to me today that there's someone who's never been questioned properly, who might have some answers about this traitor."

She peered at him skeptically. "And this is...?"

"Myself."

"Come again?" said Tura.

"Me. I was there, that night when my parents were killed. I remember parts of it. Who knows what else I might have seen? I need you, Tura, to help me remember. To come into my mind."

She stood up and headed for the lab bench. Harry started to protest, but she raised her hand for silence and began adding ingredients to the cauldron. She stirred it a moment, then returned with a dark scowl.

"You're talking about serious Legilimency, Harry. The kind that borders on Dark magic. Digging out ancient and repressed memories is just what you do to drive someone mad. Should I remind you that when the Dark Lord stirred up those memories of yours, you got a little unhinged? So much that you fell into a trap and nearly killed the pooch? Bad idea, hotshot. I won't do it."

"What do you mean, you won't? I don't think it's your decision, Tura."

"No?" she squawked. "I think I'm in charge of what I do with my magic, bucko."

"You also vowed to defeat Voldemort. This might be the most important step you'll ever take. I'm doing this, Tura. If you won't help me, then I'm going to use the Pensieve, but it'll be easier if--"

"A Pensieve?" she interrupted. "Are you crazy? Those are dangerous, not to mention they don't work!"

Harry straightened his spine. "What do you mean? Dumbledore's works; I've used it myself. It's almost better than Legilimency! Anyone can join you in the memory, and it looks like you're standing right there."

Ondossi rolled her eyes. "Look, hotshot, even assuming there really is a working Pensieve, it can only display what the observer took in. It can't just create something out of nothing. You were asleep in your crib until the very end. You didn't even see the car, let alone who was driving. If we put your memory in the bowl, all we'll see is the ceiling light up green, and then collapse."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but he realized she was probably right. It made sense--if he hadn't seen it himself, however briefly, how could the Pensieve possibly reconstruct it? "We should still try," he insisted. "The driver came in to recover the body--maybe I caught a glimpse of him at some point!"

With an angry huff, Ondossi returned again to the lab bench. She stirred the Wolfsbane as she spoke. "Harry, this obsessive streak of yours is really starting to annoy me. You listen to me now. Lupin's going to be here in a few hours to take his potion. We'll explain it to him and see what he says."

Harry considered for a moment. "And if he sides with me, you agree to help?"

"If he sides with you, I'm going to make this the nastiest-tasting potion he's ever taken, but yeah, I'll help. And only to keep you out of trouble--I'm not gonna help you hurt yourself. You're plenty good at that without me along."

Lupin came into the Great Hall just as supper began, bringing Mad-eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt with him. Harry followed them to the staff table, glaring at Ondossi, who stuck out her chin defiantly. "Forewarned, then?" he said when he caught up.

Moody twisted his scarred face in what was clearly meant as a smirk. "An' forearmed. But I side with you on this score, Potter; Dumbledore's Pensieve is safe and sound, I'm sure of it."

Ondossi waved her hand impatiently. "Oh, come on. His little baby bed was underneath a ton of rubble." She reached over and, using her fingers like a comb, lifted away the hair flopped over Harry's scar. "Even if you didn't get knocked cold when you got this, you couldn't see diddly."

Hagrid, who had followed the conversation over a goblet of pumpkin juice the size of a garbage bin, nodded. "She's right, yeh know. Yeh wern' even cryin' when I got there, not 'til after I'd traced the path lef' from haulin' the body. An' you were buried unner part of the roof. Yeh din' see nothin,' Harry."

"But you don't know!" Harry nearly shouted. "There may have been a little gap that I peeked through... all I needed was a glimpse! I just want to try it. What's the harm in trying?"

They all fell silent for a moment. Lupin stared at the tabletop, running a finger slowly over an irregularity in the surface. It didn't take a Legilimagus to understand the morose expression on his face: he had no desire to review Lily Potter's last moment in life.

"I really can't concentrate on this until I take that potion," he finally said. "Moonrise is in less than an hour."

Ondossi pushed back her chair immediately. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to bring it to my office, Professor," said McGonagall firmly, which earned her a scathing look from Tura. Harry had to smile; she obviously caught wind of her own defeat in this round. As she departed for the Potions laboratory, the rest of them climbed the marble stairs to the seventh floor.

Once Lupin had received his Wolfsbane, he was visibly calmer. "Much better, thank you, Madam Ondossi." He ignored Tura's bashful giggle at being addressed as "madam," and asked the Headmistress to bring out the Pensieve. "I also agree with Harry. Dumbledore told me about this Pensieve, and despite their bad reputation, he was quite certain this one works."

Tura clicked her teeth in exasperation and gave Harry a dirty look. You're not the only one who can use a Floo, you know, he projected, but instantly regretted using such a smug tone.

Moody had his wand in hand. "I can extract the memory from you, Potter, if you'll cooperate. But Missy'll do a better job of it, if she'll cooperate." He peered down what remained of his nose at Ondossi.

Tura was red in the face, and she glowered at everyone in turn. "Fine," she finally grumbled. "If you're all bent on dragging this up, I'll do it myself." Taking Harry's chin in her hand, she turned his head toward her. "Just promise not to let me blather afterwards, okay?"

Harry gave a nearly imperceptable nod, and she speared into his mind.

There was a doggy, and the nice lady named Birdy who always smelled like dirt. The doggy was running away and barking at Birdy and she was trying to catch him. She fell down but she didn't get an owie. Then she couldn't get back up. He knew how that felt, he often fell down and needed help to find his feet again, but it was very funny to see a Grown-Up to do that. Then the little doggy turned into a very big black doggy, and it nudged her with its big nose and she was up again. That was funny, but scary too. Big things were scary if they weren't Mumma.

"Now for you, boy." Something small and cold touched his forehead, making his arms and legs bounce up from the bed. It wasn't nice to be startled like that. "Avada Kedavra." A blinding green flash, and the cold thing became a bad, bad owie, so bad he couldn't even cry, it was so wrong, so bad... and there was a sound, like laughing, and then it all went black.

Harry. Ondossi's voice, within him. Harry tried to open his eyes and failed. He couldn't find them. He had no eyes, no limbs, no body, as far as he could tell. "Am I dead?" he wondered soundlessly.

You are so paranoid! No, you're not dead. We're in a quiet part of your mind. Or mine. I'm not really sure anymore. It doesn't matter. I had to get us out of that memory.

Harry could see why, and he was grateful that she'd pulled them out, though his thoughts were too scattered to express it properly. The memory had been disorienting in its intensity. There was more to it than he had ever recalled, even under a Dementor's influence, but he was certain it was all accurate. It felt utterly familiar, like seeing a room in old photograph and realizing he'd been there before, even though it was long forgotten.

"Let's go back, Tura. I need to see it again, now that the shock of it's passed. Help me--slow it down the way you did that time with Hagrid."

No. You shouldn't see it again, Harry. Once was enough.

"What are you talking about? I need answers. Come on! It's just a memory, Tura, it can't hurt anybody!"

I said no! Put it in the Pensieve, Harry, and let the others see it.

"That's what I wanted to do in the first place!" But there was no point in arguing; he felt her presence disappear and then he was standing in the Headmaster's office again. Ondossi was swaying slightly on her feet before him, her eyes rolled back in her head. He felt the cool tip of his wand touch his temple without any awareness of raising his arm to put it there. Harry understood immediately that she was still in his mind, guiding him through the spell to extract the memory. It was strange, a form of posession, but it was the quickest approach. Harry had watched others withdraw memories with their wands, but he had never learned how to do it.

It felt strange, as though hundreds of threads were being tugged throughout his head. The memory seemed to come from everywhere at once, as the threads yielded to the gentle pull of his wand and drew together into a strand. Then many strands came together into a rope, and so on, until the whole mass gently eased its way from the center of his head to the surface. As it touched the tip of his wand, Harry's stomach gave a sickening jolt. He recognized that the cool pressure against his forehead in the memory had been the tip of Voldemort's wand, just as his own wand was now resting inches from that same spot.

Harry expected some sort of snapping sensation as the last tendrils of the memory were sucked into the wand, but there was no such thing. Ondossi stepped back from him and promptly slumped to the floor, her head striking the Headmaster's desk with a sharp thunk that produced grimaces on every face in the room. Harry gulped, realizing he ought to have anticipated that. "Ooh, she'll feel tha' later," said Hagrid sheepishly.

"We might as well leave her laying down for now. She'll just fall over if we try to sit her up," said Harry, tipping his wand over the Pensieve and letting the silver honey of his memory pour into it.

"Going for the Pensieve, then?" said Lupin.

"Yeah. She said to let everyone see it. She was right, I didn't see anything, just heard... I heard a lot." The memory had stretched to a monofilament, barely visible above the stone bowl, then broke off at last. When the very end of it finally sank into the Pensieve, Harry looked up and glanced at each of them in turn.

Shacklebolt stepped forward. "Why don't I go first?" Lupin and Hagrid both appeared relieved, though neither made a sound. He gave Harry a reassuring nod and both of them leaned down to the surface of the bowl.

Reliving the memory had been an awkward experience, but viewing it from an external vantage point was downright disorienting. He and Shacklebolt landed right in the middle of his dream, with dear old Birdie looming impossibly large over both of them. The dog, a spaniel, had the tail of a horse and threatened to knock them over as it bounded past.

Harry glanced apologetically at Shacklebolt, who shrugged. "Dream?" asked the Auror. Harry nodded. "Interesting. I've never seen a baby's dream. Well, except for my own, I suppose, but I was too young at the time to pay much atten--"

"Lily, take Harry and go. It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off--"

The dream in the Pensieve stuttered and dissipated, replaced by total darkness. Sounds roared around them, though, strange and eerie, with barely perceptible basso undertones. Feet pounding on stairs, recognizable by the rhythm and context. Baby Harry must have opened his eyes at that moment, as the crib suddenly snapped into view. Then there was movement; a shadow traversed the bright outline around the nursery door.

Both Harry and Shacklebolt cringed when the light came on, but they adjusted to the sudden brightness much better than Baby Harry had. Lily ran to the baby and picked him up. She looked strange, as though reflected in some sort of fun-house mirror, large and distorted.

She picked up the baby and turned with a wild, terrified look in her eyes, but stopped short. Voldemort stood in the doorway. Harry realized that his father was already dead; one of those thumps earlier had been the sound of his body striking the floor. He suddenly felt lightheaded, but fortunately Shacklebolt's arm was already about his shoulder. Harry leaned against the Auror's big frame, glad for the support.

Voldemort's appearance was even more warped than Lily's; the baby obviously never got a good look at him. He ordered Lily to stand aside. Though her eyes were wide with terror, she held her ground. The visuals faded again as Baby Harry set his head down on his mother's soft shoulder and dozed for a few seconds. Voldemort repeated his orders as Lily begged for Harry's life. Harry realized that he could hear her pulse in the background, pounding rapidly.

"Set him down and stand aside, or I shall simply kill you both." Lily was shaking so hard that the baby woke and raised his head, rooting instinctively against her cheek.

"Not Harry! Not Harry! Have mercy... mercy... Please, I'll do anything! Not Har--"

"Petrificus Totalus."

Lily went still, impossibly still. Voldemort plucked the baby from her arms without so much as glancing at him, but he set the infant down gently in the crib. He even pulled the little blanket over the child before turning back to Lily.

"Yes, I believe you would, girl," said Voldemort, then he chuckled ruefully. "I'm not a monster, you know." He raised his hand to Lily's face, brushing a tuft of hair back from her eyes as he continued his soliloquy.

Shacklebolt tightened his grip on Harry as the visuals faded once again.

Voldemort made his comments and cast the curse, which produced a green flicker in the darkness. His boots creaked as he returned to the crib. "Now for you, boy." The visuals returned with a snap; Voldemort obviously woke the baby when he placed his cold wand on the little forehead. Voldemort's expression was flat; he looked downright bored. No anger, no passion, no vengeance--just taking care of one last bit of mundane business before calling it a night. Harry's whole body clenched with fury, that Voldemort regarded his life with such utter indifference.

As Voldemort uttered the curse, a familiar red/orange glow enveloped the baby like a second skin.

The green light of the curse had blinded the baby, so once again he and Shacklebolt had no visuals. The laughter that had haunted his dreams so many times poured out once more, then everything went black and silent. Baby Harry had lost consciousness, and the memory was over. Harry didn't even have the satisfaction of watching Voldemort die.

Harry raised himself from the Pensieve first and fumbled backward a few steps. His knees felt rubbery. Hagrid saw how pale he had become and had the good sense to catch him and steer him into a chair.

Shacklebolt looked a bit green as well, but his eyes were sharp and he spoke up quickly. "Nothing but Lily and You-Know-Who on visual. But there was someone else there."

All present lurched with shock at this statement, and Ondossi roused from her semi-comatose state to raise her arm and give a thumbs-up in Shacklebolt's direction. "What?" Harry sputtered.

Shacklebolt ran his hand over his bald pate, brushing away an invisible sheen of sweat. "That laughter. At the end. Someone had to be there, to laugh like that."

"That was Voldemort!" said Harry indignantly.

"No," replied the Auror. "He couldn't have. He was dead, remember? The curse had bounced off that... shield and killed him."

Harry stared at him, unable to speak. He'd heard that laugh in his dreams many times, and never had he once questioned that it was Voldemort. It had to be Voldemort; who else could it possibly be? Who but Voldemort would laugh under such circumstances? Any other suggestion was unthinkable.

And yet as soon as Voldemort cast the Kedavra curse at Harry, it had killed him. Or to be more precise, it killed Voldemort's physical body and cast out what was left of his soul. Either way, Voldemort could not laugh, any more than Cedric Diggory could have laughed after being struck down in that graveyard. Even if Voldemort had somehow managed to cling to his body for a few more seconds, he would not be in any mood to laugh. An outraged scream, perhaps a curse, but laughing at his own unexpected death? Not even Voldemort was that barmy.

"There was someone else there," Harry finally rasped.

Except for Ondossi and Shacklebolt, everyone in the room leapt to their feet and pressed against the Pensieve. "Hold on, now, don't everyone dunk in there at once!" shouted Lupin. As people's backs straightened, Lupin shook his head. "Give over, now; where's Moody?"

"Back here," said the grizzled old Auror from the corner of the room. "Figured I'd let everyone rush in and get their concussions, then I'd have a clear shot." Despite the circumstances, several people laughed; had Lupin waited another breath before calling a halt, their heads would surely have collided as they formed an unintentional human pyramid over the Pensieve.

Moody's wooden leg clunked on the flagstones as he crossed the room, and he beckoned to Harry. The two of them exchanged a determined nod as they stood over the bowl, then plunged into its depths at the same time. Moody tipped his head immediately and said, "Dream." He must have more experience at Legilimency than Kingsley does, mused Harry.

They sat through the memory together, Moody scowling in concentrating during the visual parts. The mad eye spun wildly during the laughter at the end. "Let's give it another go," he said when the Pensieve went silent. "Only got my bearings this first time round."

Harry didn't know how to restart the memory and assumed they had to come up for air, but Moody caught him by the shoulder. "Just give it a minute, it'll start from the beginning... There we are." The dream took shape again, Birdie and the spaniel towering overhead once more.

This time Moody ignored the drama unfolding by the crib, prowling intently along the periphery of the room. He stopped with a scowl and scratched his chin, then stepped out into the hallway. Apparently that didn't satisfy him, as his frown became even more pronounced and he stomped back in, walking straight through Voldemort as he set Baby Harry back in the crib. "I wonder," Moody grumbled thoughtfully, then held very still.

The green light flashed and the laughter began anew, and Moody closed his human eye in concentration. When it faded to black, Harry shrugged. "Well?"

"One more time, lad." He said nothing more, but turned to stare at the crib. After the memory had played out a third time, Moody simply pointed upward, indicating it was time to go.

One look at Moody and everyone knew he had solved the mystery. The old Auror was as white as a sheet. It was all Harry could do to keep from shaking him and demanding to know who was there, but he ground his teeth and waited for Moody to sink into a chair and catch his breath. Surprisingly, Lupin ran out of patience first. "For Merlin's sake, Alastor, who was it?"

"That wasn't laughter, Potter," began Moody hoarsely. "Crying. Easy mistake to make, they can sound the same."

"All right, fine, but whose?" said Harry.

Moody shook his head slowly, as though to negate his own words. "Even though I know that voice, I still wouldn't believe it, but I could see him. He was under an Invisibility cloak. Probably your father's. The baby could perceive just beneath it--he was too little to be fooled completely by the magic."

Moody's ragged face contorted even further as he took a deep breath and closed both eyes. "Are you going to tell it, or must I?" he said loudly. Harry frowned in confusion; was he supposed to know who was there? Moody may have been able to see past the Invisibility Cloak through the eyes of an innocent, but Harry hadn't discerned a thing.

It took a moment for him, and for everyone else present, to realize that Moody was not inviting Harry to answer his question. Moody was addressing someone in that very room, giving them one last chance to confess that they had stood at the head of Harry's bed the entire time. As each person caught on, they froze on the spot, soundless.

"You're quite right, Alastor; it would be best to hear it from me," came a weary voice from the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.