The Sugar Quill
Author: DobbysKnobblySox  Story: The Order of the Pensieve of the Phoenix  Chapter: The Pensieve
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The Pensieve of the Order of the Phoenix



Disclaimer: Pretty standard, These characters all obviously belong to Jk Rowling, not to me, or else I obviously would not be sitting at my computer writing fanfic. If I’m breaking any laws, don’t bother suing, I have nothing to pay you. Enjoy J

The Pensieve of the Order of the Phoenix




Harry couldn’t sleep. The air around him was ice-cold, the chill biting into his skin, despite the fact it was the middle of August. Pulling the covers tighter around him, he stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Ron’s quiet snores emanating from the bed next to him filled Harry with slight inner warmth, seeming to help protect him against the empty, lonely coldness.


He had arrived at twelve, Grimmauld Place the previous evening. Lupin and Tonks had arrived outside Harry’s bedroom window in the middle of the night, and had escorted him to Grimmauld place, on broomsticks of course. Tonks had used some nifty spells to make Harry’s Trunk and Hedwig’s cage to zoom along beside them. Lupin had explained to Harry that Dumbledore had spent months setting up dozens of spells to make additional protection against Voldemort. The order was also staying at Grimmauld place, as were all the Weasley’s – apart from Percy - and Hermione.


Truth to tell, Harry had not been as happy as he hoped he would feel as he entered the old, musty manor. Indeed, the moment the familiar smell entered his nostrils, he had felt nauseous. Something had told him he was an intruder in Sirius’s house. He had been so overcome with burning guilt and heart-wrenching sadness; he had made hurried excuses of feeling ill and had come straight to his old room.


            As he stared up at the black stone ceiling now, he tried to desperately ignore the agonising emptiness inside him. Being in Sirius’s old house was unbearable. He would even prefer being with the Dursley’s. Perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but he could almost sense Sirius’s presence beside him. It wasn’t a comforting feeling. On the contrary, it almost made Harry tremble with fear. Only Ron’s presence was stopping him from cowering in his bed, trying to hide from the coldness and oppressive air around him.


 He had not cried once since he had come back from Hogwarts. True, at night, he had nightmares that threw him into consciousness sweating, shaking, and sometimes even screaming, but he didn’t cry.


 Even now, as he felt the cool mattress and sheets pressing into him, he felt no trace of a tear in his eye. He missed Sirius so much he could not articulate his feelings into words. Sometimes it hurt so terribly badly he could do nothing but sit and think, trying desperately to keep his eyes dry. At times, it was so bad that he couldn’t stop himself retreating into the dark corners of his room, withdrawing into the inviting blackness in his mind, anything to stop the pain that came from thinking of Sirius.


He closed his eyes. Sometimes that was all he had the energy for.

He felt himself falling into unconsciousness, praying he would not have that nightmare, the same one he had had almost every night at the Dursley’s. But the chill around him was ebbing away – he was being enveloped in warm, plush velvet – it was so comfortable and warm…


He opened his eyes again. He was in that cursed room again. He knew it wasn’t a dream this time. All the previous times, it had just been a mere dream, but not this time. He could feel the hard stone under his feet; he could see every detail of the steps, every fold of that hideously beautiful black veil…


He walked forwards, hearing his footsteps echo around the chamber. He was alone, but not scared. He stepped onto the dais in the centre of the chamber. He crossed the few steps to the curtain. It’s gently pulsing material lured his eyes into the fabric. How wonderful it would be to touch it…

He reached out a hand and gently let his fingers brush against the black cloth. It fluttered gently. It was so soft yet so rough and worn. It was so dark and black, yet so translucent he could almost see through it… Reaching out again, he clasped his hand round a thick fistful of the material and yanked it backwards. He knew what was about to happen. He had dreamt it many times…


A gentle peach light shone though the archway. Someone stepped in front of the light and walked through the portico, his distinctive face staring down at Harry, expressionless. It took a moment to find his voice.

“Sirius?” Harry barely whispered. His chest convulsed. He felt ill, yet ecstatic. His godfather was here again – his beloved Sirius was back – right in front of him. Before Harry could draw in more breath to speak, Sirius’s strong hands had clasped the neck of Harry’s shirt and drew him upwards. Harry almost choked, terrified. Sirius’s face had twisted into a look of pure hate. His features seemed to have wasted into an even more haunting echo of the soul within, his skin dull and grey. He had never seen him like that before. Except of course, in his dreams. But never in real life. Harry felt his throat tighten.


“Look what you’ve done!” Sirius yelled in his face, his eyes wide and wild. They were no longer dead and empty, but full of hate and anger.  “Can you see what you’ve done to me?” He screamed. He shook Harry so hard, he could feel his teeth bite together.


“I’m sorry Sirius…I’m so sorry…” He was so frightened his voice came out as a half-sob.


“Sorry? You let me fall through this accursed veil… Do you see what you’ve done?”


“I never meant to let it happen…”


“You never tried! You never tried to save me! You’re not worthy to live on this side anymore…you’re worthless!” Sirius shrieked. His face was alive with ire.


“I wanted to… I swear… please let me go, Sirius…” He felt tears stream down his face in fear.


“Do you know where you sent me? To a hell! I live in the worst possible emotions. I live in guilt, in fear, in anger, in hate… I can’t feel anything except this violence inside me!” He spat. Harry panted for air. He gasped through his sobs, he needed to breathe.


“I’m so sorry…”


“You will be!” Sirius Flung Harry to the ground. Harry could not feel pain. He could feel nothing except this poisonous terror. Sirius stepped over him and ripped the veil from the archway. Harry couldn’t move. He tried to get up, but fell back to the ground like an invisible hand was forcing him down. He was trembling with fright. He watched, frozen, as Sirius stood over him, holding the veil. He noticed for the first time how drops of blood seemed to drip from the black curtain, slowly yet steadily, to the floor. “Enjoy Hell.” Sirius snarled. Trying to scream, Harry watched as Sirius through the black cloth over him. The chamber disappeared into blackness as pain seared through him, exploding on every inch of his skin…


“SIRIUS!” Harry let out a yell. Suddenly the blackness had gone. He heard his own voice, and felt cold sweat drip down his face. He was sitting in his bed in Grimmauld Place, shaking with fear. He had had the same dream, yet again. The same terrifying nightmare. He blinked to calm himself, before reaching to his bedside table and pushing his glasses to his face. He sat for a few minutes, trying to get the shaking to stop. He thought he heard Ron’s snoring stop for a few seconds, but then carry on. Something told Harry Ron was still awake and the snores were fake. No doubt Harry’s shouting had awoken him, and Ron did not think it best to act as though he had heard. Breathing deeply. Harry slid off the bed, the frosty air uncomfortable, even through his pyjamas. He could not stay in his bed tonight. Wiping the perspiration off his head, he stood up and walked to the door. The floor was like ice under his feet. He walked through the corridors aimlessly, not knowing where he was going. All he knew was that he had to walk, to clear his head. He reached the staircase, looking at the elf-heads as he walked down. Poor Sirius. Harry thought. Imprisoned in his home, in Azkaban, and then in his home again. And now he was dead. Killed by the murdering scum who had killed his parents and so many others. Harry punched the wall viciously in his anger. It was so… unfair. Sirius had been so young. So young and clever and kind. He did not deserve what he had got. For some reason, his thoughts turned to Snape as he turned a corner into a corridor off the main hallway downstairs. He wondered whether Snape was sorry Sirius was dead. It seemed unlikely. Still, Harry thought to himself, he couldn’t blame him, not really. Sirius was not just mean to Snape at school, he was cruel. Perhaps even worse. He had almost killed Snape by telling him to go near the Whomping willow. Suddenly, Harry felt sick with himself. How could a schoolboy prank justify the hate of an innocent man? How could he be reasoning Snape’s vicious loathing of Sirius? What was he turning into? Feeling very tired again, Harry turned into a room he hadn’t noticed in his other visits here. It was smallish, about the size of a small bedroom. There was a single cupboard in the far end. Sighing, Harry started to turn away. He just wanted to find somewhere quiet where he could sleep. However, something caught his eye. He turned back, and noticed a white piece of paper on the cupboard. He regretted not taking his wand with him – he could have done with the Lumos charm. It was so dark – he could barely see a thing. Squinting in the pale moonlight, he reached out and pulled the paper off the cupboard. It had been held on with Spellotape. Harry moved into a patch of silver light, trying to read whatever was written on the paper. In scrawled, unfamiliar handwriting, he read the words.




Confused, Harry reached out to open the door. He knew it was wrong, but then curiosity had always been his downfall. Instantly, a glittering, silvery light invaded Harry’s eyes. Looking away to let his eyes adjust, Harry blinked ferociously. He looked back slowly, feeling his insides squirm with excitement. On the base of the cupboard sat a shallow stone bowl, filled with a liquid, yet almost gaseous silvery substance.


A pensieve.


Throwing caution to the wind, he reached down to try and pick it up. It was as if the bowl was made of lead and was bolted to the cupboard base. It wouldn’t budge. Sighing again, Harry sat down on crossed legs and looked hard into the still Pensieve fluid. His own bespectacled green eyes looked back at him. His thoughts involuntarily flew back to Sirius. Something he had once said came into his mind, so clearly Harry almost believed Sirius was sitting next to him and had whispered it in his ear.

The risk would have made it fun for James.”


Smiling to himself, Harry leaned closer into the bowl. He knew Sirius would never advise him to do something so…invasive, so incredibly probing, but he also knew that Sirius would probably have done it at his age anyway. Shaking, Harry dipped the tips of his fingers into the substance. They came out perfectly clean and dry. Instantaneously, the silvery fluid started to swirl very fast. Harry felt vaguely surprised. He had always thought a wand was needed to set the silver contents moving. He carried on peering into the bowl, as the opaque silver turned into a clear liquid, like molten glass. Leaning in closer, he saw what looked like the Three broomsticks, although it was dark and empty. Before he knew it, Harry was falling through blackness.


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