[ gif of vera ]
Sometimes, when Diana wasn't feeling okay, she'd look at the veins on the back of her hand.
Blood, she'd think, is full of hemoglobin and white blood cells that protect her from disease and red blood cells that carry oxygen, keeping her alive even when sometimes, she didn't want to be. And then, she'd remember that her blood contains iron. The same iron that is formed in the core of a dying star.
She'd just concentrate on the fact that the thing in something dying is something that is keeping her alive. She'd think that she is made of atoms that have come from stars and she shares atoms that once made dinosaurs. It would help her remember that she is here, and alive, and capable, and that she is as strong as the iron in her blood, as strong as the iron in the star. She was made of metal armor forged from the galaxy and she will not break.
This was what she was thinking of now, seated in her usual chair in Dumbledore's office mere days after the students had arrived. She hasn't slept since the night before September first. She had been living like a ghost, drifting through the castle like she had no purpose, no life to define, and she felt like she was wading through water. Her arms ached and her legs refused to move normally when she walked.
"How have the nightmares been?"
She could hear the ticking of the clock behind them. She counted nine seconds.
"I wouldn't know. Haven't slept since we last talked about them."
He frowned slightly, peering at her over his half-moon spectacles as if she was a bomb ready to blow, and he had only little time to diffuse it.
"Have you had any more hallucinations?"
She shook her head. Thankfully, since the night she saw the Quidditch pitch burning, she hadn't seen anything like that. She counted seventeen seconds of silence.
"I'd like to show you something," Dumbledore said, his voice loud in the thick silence. "A memory, from a long time ago."
"A memory of what?" she asked.
"Your mother and father."
Without another word, he strode to the cabinet containing the Pensieve and threw it like a disk toward the desk and it floated lazily over, settling itself on the desk at once. He pulled out a memory, as well, a little vial of silver strands of thought. The vial looked as if it hadn't been touched in years.
He strode back over, pouring the strands into the Pensieve and swirling it lightly with his wand.
"I obtained this memory from a reformed Death Eater. He had devised a plan that would help in the downfall of Voldemort. He had come to me, merely days before Voldemort killed him, and gave me this vial."
He gave one last hearty stir of the Pensieve and tucked his wand back into his robe.
"This Death Eater was Regulus Black."
It was like the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Her eyes welled with tears but she refused to let them escape as her hands began to shake slightly.
"Did--did Sirius know?" she whispered.
An expression of sorrow showed on Dumbledore's face as he gave a light shake of his head. "Regulus made me promise to keep it a secret. He didn't want anyone getting hurt because of his information."
"This plan...what was it?"
Dumbledore gave a dry chuckle. "I ask myself the same thing every day. He refused to reveal anything to me, even after he had given me this memory and I promised to keep it a secret."
Diana looked at her fingers. For a moment, she had felt a bleak ray of hope. It was gone now.
"This memory, interestingly enough, was not Regulus'. He had obtained this memory from one of the original Death Eaters many, many years ago. I have no clue how he managed to obtain it, but I decided that it wasn't important." With a clap of his hands, he smiled. "Now, let us delve into the history of your parents."
As soon as her face touched the liquid-y gas she was diving head first through a tunnel of swirling, cloudy darkness. Her feet hit solid ground right next to Dumbledore.
She looked forward. The memory that they delved into presented what looked to be a rarely-used corridor on the sixth floor of Hogwarts Castle. She recognized it, though in this memory it seemed to be slightly less rustic than it did now, and the shining armor lining the walls weren't as speckled with dirt and dust.
On the other end of the hall a group of rowdy boys clad in green accent pieces bounded around the corner and into the corridor, walking toward where Diana and Dumbledore stood. They laughed and shoved each other, rough-housing like normal boys tend to do. She recognized many of them as certain members of old, pure bloodlines: she saw Abraxas Malfoy, and many of the ancestors of other Death Eaters she is aware of.
"Shouldn't be long now," Dumbledore chirped cheerfully, and as if on cue, a beautiful brown-haired girl came around the corner that the Slytherins we're headed to. Her robes and uniform were accented with the familiar Ravenclaw blue, and her head was buried deep into an ancient, thick, leather-bound book.
"Dumbledore, is that--?"
"Yes, Diana. That is your mother," he said, his eyes twinkling as he looked at her.
Diana's eyes were glued to her teenage mother as Vera blindly walked down the corridor, oblivious to the Slytherins that were approaching.
Abraxas Malfoy exchanged a mischievous grin with his buddies and quietly approached Vera. With one glance toward his friends, he roughly bumped his shoulder into hers, causing her to fall to the floor and her book to land a few feet away. Malfoy laughed obnoxiously with his friends.
"Sorry, I didn't see you! It's like you're invisible!" he leered loudly, his lip curling in a malicious grin.
Diana turned her head back to watch Vera, who's actions stunned Diana to the point of gaping at her mother. Slowly pulling herself to her feet, Vera's face was completely void of any emotion, her eyes burning with so much power that Malfoy faltered slightly. Her gait was strong, confident, and powerful as she stood tall in front of them, her gaze unwavering.
"What?" Malfoy snapped, his tone hiding something akin to uneasiness as she glared forcefully. He took a step forward intimidatingly, but Vera stood her ground with an expression of almost boredom.
"Do you like doing that?" she accused in a dangerously low tone, taking a step forward with her eyes narrowed into slits. "Do you get off on being a complete prick?" she whispered as she took a step closer to him.
He pulled his wand out shakily and pointed it at her. "Take another step and you'll regret it," he hissed, but she was completely undeterred by the threat.
"What will you do, Malfoy?" she asked tauntingly. "Kill me?"
He was silent as he glared at her.
"Well come on!" she yelled, her voice bouncing off of the stone walls and her eyes glinting with maniacal determination. "Kill me, then!"
"Enough."
Tom Riddle stepped into the corridor from the direction that Vera had come, his eyes watching the scene with cold impassivity. His eyes landed immediately on Vera before sliding to the wand in Malfoy's outstretched hand. The moment Malfoy heard Tom's voice, his wand arm immediately fell limp and he took a step away from Vera.
"What is going on?" Tom asked, glaring at his Slytherin groupies as they cowered slightly under his fiery gaze.
"Just having a nice chat, Thomas," Vera said nonchalantly. His eyebrow twitched at the name, and Vera's lips quirked up slightly. "Nothing to worry about. Right, Malfoy?"
"Nothing to worry about," he bit out, and Vera raised an eyebrow tauntingly which only made him fume harder.
Her eyes connected with Tom.
"Just a little word of advice, Thomas: tell your friends to control themselves. Wouldn't want there to be..." she paused, thinking for a moment, "...any problems."
He narrowed his eyes at her slightly, but again, her expression remained calm and strong.
"Duly noted," he drawled, and she nodded, picked her things up from the floor, and without a second glance made her way down the hall in the direction that the boys had come from. Diana watched as Tom followed her retreating form with unreadable eyes.
The surroundings began to swirl and Diana and Dumbledore flew upward until they were launched back into reality.
"What was that?" Diana asked as she gasped for air.
Dumbledore laced his fingers in front of him and peered at her over his glasses.
"That, Diana, is an interesting encounter that I thought I'd show you," he explained. "There were many interesting things about this memory. I would like to hear some of your thoughts about it."
She thought for a moment, gathering her thoughts into concise ideas.
"Well," she began, "She was so...strong."
Dumbledore chuckled brightly and nodded with an admiring smile. "She was. You're a lot like her in that way; you both have such intense power. When she was in school, she was very well respected," he said. "That being said, the only students who dared to challenge her were those particular Slytherins," he added.
"She wasn't scared," she said in an admiring whisper. "I mean, when Malfoy pulled out his wand and when Tom arrived, she looked almost...bored." She gave a light chuckle. "She called him 'Thomas'! I'm surprised he didn't kill her right then and there for that."
Dumbledore chuckled along with Diana for a moment. "She always called him Thomas, ever since they were fifth years. Now, this is merely speculation, but I suspect she somehow figured out Tom's hatred for his name, so she began to call him 'Thomas' instead. He never stopped her," he said with a light, nostalgic smile. "He never corrected her or anything of the like."
Diana shook her head with a light smile. "Why was Tom kind to her?"
Dumbledore sighed and looked at his hands as if he had been expecting the question.
"As I have told you, Tom and Vera were brought together by a prophecy. It was told long before you were born, but Tom and Vera were fated from the beginning. I am speculating, of course, but I think they had an odd sort of pull to each other, like magnets, because of the foretold prophecy." He chuckled slightly and added, "Not that Tom would ever admit it, but I have a feeling that deep down he respected her. She was strong and powerful, which Tom was allured to ever since he was young."
"Will you show me more?" she asked eagerly. "Memories, I mean."
A knock on the wooden door echoed around the room.
"Another time, most definitely," Dumbledore assured, before calling for the visitor to enter.
Harry entered the office, closing the door shut behind him. He took a seat in the empty chair next to Diana and across from Dumbledore, his eyes filled with eager curiosity regarding the lesson.
"Ah, good evening, Harry," Dumbledore chirped. "I hope you've had an enjoyable first week back at school?"
"Yes, thanks, sir," Harry said.
"You must be busy," he mused, " a detention under your belt already!"
"How does that happen?" Diana muttered to him, and he glared at her.
"Er--"
"I have arranged with Professor Snape that you will do your detention next Saturday instead," Dumbledore waved, and Harry relaxed, though his face hadn't eased in terms of curiosity.
"So, Harry," Dumbledore began, "you have been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you during these--for want of a better word--lessons?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Well, I have decided that it is time, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you fifteen years ago, for you to be given certain information. I have already demonstrated to Diana how these lessons will present themselves, and I'm sure she will be a useful asset in understanding Voldemort in ways you or I cannot."
Harry glanced at Diana. "You said, at the end of last term, you were going to tell me everything, sir."
"And so I did," Dumbledore replied. "I told you everything I know. From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wild guesswork. From here on in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."
"But you think you're right?"
"Naturally I do, but as I have already proven to you, I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being--forgive me--rather clever than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."
"Sir," Harry said tentatively, "does what you're going to tell me have anything to do with the prophecy? Will it help me...survive?"
"Harry, It has everything to do with the prophecy," Diana said, pulling her knees to her chest comfortably. "Everything he is going to show us is going to be the key to defeating him."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement and he stood, placing the previous memory they had just watched into it's corresponding vial and stood to trot to the memory cabinet. He placed the memory in the cabinet and pulled out a new one, just as old as the last one, and strode back over to the desk. He poured the wispy strands into the Pensieve and prodded it gently with his wand.
"You look worried," Dumbledore commented to Harry. "This time you enter the Pensieve with us...and even more unusually, with permission."
"Where are we going, sir?" Harry asked.
"For a trip down Bob Ogden's memory lane."
"Who's Bob Ogden?"
"He was an employee for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Dumbledore explained. "He died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties. If you both will stand..."
They both stood, and Harry tentatively asked, "Sir--how did you injure your hand?"
"Now is not the moment for that story," Dumbledore said. "Not yet. We have an appointment with Bob Ogden."
The three of them dove into the murky blackness, falling freely until the three landed on their feet atop a country lane. A man, who Diana assumed was Bob Ogden, trotted ahead of them dressed in an odd and mismatched assortment of Muggle clothing, including but not limited to a one-piece bathing suit and very large trousers. He had thick, round glasses that made his small eyes appear significantly magnified. They followed Bob Ogden briskly in the direction of a town called "Little Hangleton," courtesy of the handy sign post with labelled arrows pointing in opposite directions.
They followed him up a steep hill for a little ways, suddenly reaching the top to have a clear view of the town below them; it was small and sparse, littered with quaint little cottages and in plain view was a great church with its respective cemetery. Across the valley of Little Hangleton sat a great Victorian manor surrounded by a vast lawn. Ogden, now reluctantly trotting down the steep hill, made his way down, down, down, until he finally reached the bottom with the three not far behind. He wheezed slightly due to the sudden exertion but was soon walking further into town.
Suddenly, Bob Ogden took a sharp turn into a nearly-hidden dirt path in between two unruly hedges, and followed on this deserted and unkempt path through messy thickets and untamed hedges and weeds. The path was crooked and rocky, proving to be slightly more difficult to navigate than their previous paths. They trudged down the uneven slope until they were in a very thick part of greenery; the sunlight was diluted through the thick canopy of dying trees, and among the thick forest of gnarled trunks perched a dirty and broken cottage. A thin stream of smoke wafted from the chimney on the roof, alerting them that someone must be home.
Ogden had stopped cautiously, eyeing his surroundings with slight hesitancy, and with a loud rustling sound someone jumped out of one of the trees and landed directly in front of Ogden. In fright, Ogden leapt back, nearly into Diana.
"You're not welcome."
The man before them looked more feral and animalistic than human; his thick, wild hair was unkempt and matted with a thick layer of dirt, he had several missing teeth, and those remaining were yellow and rotted. His eyes were dark and stared in separate directions and he was dressed in dirty rags.
"Er--good morning. I'm from the Ministry of Magic--"
"You're not welcome."
"Er--I'm sorry--I don't understand you."
"Parseltongue," Diana breathed as she peered curiously at the odd man.
"Good catch," Dumbledore praised. "Harry, I assume you understand as well?"
"He's speaking Parseltongue?" he said, and Diana nodded without glancing at him.
"Now, look--" Ogden began, but there was a loud bang and Ogden was on the ground clutching his nose which spurted yellowish goo.
"Morfin!" yelled a loud voice.
An elderly hurried out of the house and toward the man, and the dead snake that had been nailed to the door swung limply. Morfin, the man in rags, cackled at the man on the ground as the elder stopped beside Morfin.
"Ministry, is it?" the older man said gruffly.
"Correct!" said Ogden angrily. "And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?"
"Gaunt?" Diana muttered, glancing quickly at the ring on Dumbledore's blackened hand.
"S'right," the man said, "got you in the face, did he?"
"Yes, he did!"
"Should've made your presence known, shouldn't you?" said Gaunt aggressively. "This is private property. Can't just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself."
"Defend himself against what, man?"
Ogden's words fell upon deaf ears as Gaunt turned to the strange man beside him.
"Get in the house. Don't argue."
Morfin seemed to want to disagree, but with one threatening look from the man, he trudged through the door and slammed it behind him. The dead snake once again swung sadly.
"It's your son I'm here to see, Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said once the man was inside. "That's Morfin, wasn't it?"
"Ar, that was Morfin," Gaunt replied. "Are you pure-blood?"
"Neither here nor there," Ogden replied coldly.
Gaunt, sensing Ogden's obvious distaste, muttered in what he thought was an offensive tone, "Now I come to think about it, I've seen noses like yours down in the village."
Diana's attention was promptly pulled away from their conversation and she concentrated on the murky, clouded windows of the house. She could see two silhouettes behind the both of them: in the bigger window, she could see the outline of Morfin's large hair and tall frame, and in the smaller window, she could see the shadow of a much smaller figure, possibly a girl or a child.
Diana walked with the group as they all made their way inside the house; the interior was tiny and cramped and seemed to only contain three rooms. There was the main room, which served as both a living room and kitchen, and Morfin was sitting in one of the filthy armchairs near the fire as he idly played with a live snake in his hands.
"Hiss hiss little snakey / slither on the floor / you be good to Morfin / or he'll nail you to the door," he sang in Parseltongue. Diana eyed him curiously.
Near the smaller window Diana had noticed outside was a girl whose ragged, tattered dress was the same color gray of the stone wall behind her. She was fiddling with the stove. Her hair was dull and her face was pale and tired, and like her brother, her eyes stared in in opposite directions. She looked so exhausted and defeated and Diana winced at how pained she seemed.
Diana watched her ancestors in curious interest, and she couldn't help but be happy that she never had to live with such insufferable people.