An old mage with a painted face led Harry and the Blacks into a large cave with a high ceiling. The cave was dimly lit by torches, with a massive stone table in the center, its entire surface carved with inscriptions. There was a strong smell of herbs. The shaman pointed Harry to the table and gestured that he needed to lie down. Sirius jerked toward Harry, but the shaman pressed his hand against his chest and drew a line on the floor in front of him and Rita with his staff. "No further," he said with a terrible accent. He set his staff aside and returned to the table with wide straps covered in unknown symbols. He began thoroughly strapping Harry down: arms and legs in several places, across the stomach and armpits, then the head. "For safety," the shaman muttered. As he worked, numerous amulets on his neck and wrists jingled and clattered against each other.
The shaman walked to the wall and returned with some strange crooked construction made of twigs in the shape of a cone. The structure was human-height—either a decorative hut or a cage. "Spirit trap," came another reluctant explanation. That's a spirit trap? Doesn't look very reliable. On both sides of Harry's head, censers were placed, emitting thick yellowish-green smoke. The shaman returned for his staff, which had nothing in common with the staffs of Durmstrang students. It was uneven, decorated with bunches of hair, feathers, predator fangs, and carved wooden figures, topped with a human skull. One last time, the shaman leaned over Harry, looked into his eyes and, pressing a finger with a black nail to his forehead, said: "Remember, all lies. Truth—only you!" Then he began walking around Harry, rhythmically tapping his staff and monotonously chanting something in an unknown language. Harry's eyes began to close and soon shut completely.
Harry suddenly found himself on a lawn near Hogwarts. The castle was half-destroyed, fires blazing somewhere and everything in smoke. As if ordinary people were fighting here, not wizards with wands. However, no one was fighting now. Not a single living soul except Harry. On the ground were corpses of students and teachers, some horribly mutilated. Harry slowly walked forward and stumbled upon Molly Weasley, who sat on the ground before the corpses of her children. The dead eyes of the redheads stared at the sky, Molly howled and tore at her cheeks with her nails. At some point she noticed Harry and screamed: "This is all you! All because of you! You could have prevented this!" Blood flowed from under her nails. Harry recoiled in horror and ran away. He ran without looking where he was going, stumbled over something and fell. He turned around and saw that he had tripped over half of someone's body. This girl had studied at Hogwarts in the younger years.
The picture changed. He was again on the lawn near the castle. But the castle was intact and no one was there except Harry.
"Hello, Harry."
The boy jumped in surprise and spun around sharply. The Headmaster smiled at him pleasantly.
"I see you're still hesitating. Even after everything you've seen."
"Why are you showing me this, Headmaster?! This won't happen, Voldemort is dead!" the national hero cried in despair.
"In 1981 everyone also thought Voldemort had perished. But you know, my boy, he returned. And he will return again."
"What do you want from me?!"
"Help me, Harry. I can't manage without you. You are strong enough, but too young, my boy. You cannot defeat Voldemort on your own and cannot escape from him."
After all the conversations about Horcruxes, even Harry, who trusted the Headmaster more than himself, had drawn some conclusions.
"I know everything about Horcruxes, Headmaster! I know what you want from me! But what about me? I'll die then!"
"I'm sorry, my boy, I had no other choice. When I found you, crying in your crib, next to your mother's body, I understood that you were the child from the prophecy. And that Voldemort would come back for you. I'm very sorry, but that very evening he took away your chance to live a long and happy life. You only received a reprieve."
"Why didn't you tell me right away? Didn't I deserve to know?!"
"I'm sorry, I couldn't. You were so young. Eager to live. How could I take away your joy and hope? Poison your soul with the knowledge that your death was inevitable? I just wanted you to be happy. As long as you could be."
Dumbledore spoke for a long time, and it seemed he could explain any nonsense and villainy with good intentions. Harry interrupted the Headmaster with a cry. He argued, accused, proved...
"You cling to life so much that you're ready to let hundreds of wizards die for it. But for whose sake don't you want to go further? For family, friends?" Dumbledore asked gently. "What about your parents?"
Familiar people began to appear around the Headmaster. Sirius, Ron, Ginny... Hermione. God, what disgusting faces they all have! More precisely, facial expressions. That's what it is: "Looking at someone like shit." Their faces showed contempt or even outright hatred.
"Well hello, dear godson," Sirius said with an evil smirk. "Even here there's no peace from you. When will you finally understand that everyone is sick and tired of fussing over you? Always problems with you. I can't even be alone with my wife, had to bring you along even on our honeymoon. When will it finally get through to you that it's long past time for you to clear off?"
"Sirius, I..." Harry began.
"And what about you?" Rita interjected. "Sirius has his own children. And he keeps fussing over you and wiping your snot, you overgrown failure. If you only knew how tired we all are of you!"
"Sirius..."
But the fake Sirius embraced his wife and looked at Harry hostilely.
"What, Sirius? Well what, really like Nymphadora, spreading snot? What else do you want?"
"Haven't you realized yet that people only fuss over you out of pity?" fake Hermione cut in. "You're completely useless. I understood that from the first glance when I saw you, helpless and pathetic, at the station. You're not capable of anything on your own, so we all had to take turns babysitting you."
"He won't understand that, Hermione," fake Ron interrupted her. "For Potter the whole world revolves only around him and is just waiting to fall at his feet in admiration."
"Ron! You know I never wanted that!" Harry cried in despair.
"You!" Ron continued with hatred. "Got everything in life undeservedly! Just like that. Fame, inheritance, power—everything fell at your feet, and you did nothing for it. Yes! I was envious. If you only knew what it was like for me to constantly live in your shadow. I had to achieve everything myself, when everything fell into your hands! Girls ran after you. What makes you better? Think you killed Voldemort from your baby crib? That's a lie! Moreover, he's still alive anyway. Weakling!"
"Ron, come on, be quiet," Ginny chimed in playfully. "I still have to marry this loser, and you're ruining everything for me."
"Ginny, you're dating Dean?" Harry for some reason continued talking to them.
"Well of course I am," Ginny laughed. "That's why I want to marry you, what other husband would let me do whatever I want and date other men? And we'll find somewhere to spend your money with Dean, don't worry."
"You have disappointed me greatly, Mr. Potter," McGonagall pursed her lips. "You are nothing like your parents. They were talented students, and you..."
"Freak! Scoundrel! Worthless ungrateful boy!" Petunia shrieked. "You should have died along with your slutty mother!"
They surrounded Harry from all sides. And they talked, talked...
Harry spun in a whirlpool. He found himself in a cramped closet. On an old mattress sat a boy, his nose buried in his bruised knees. He rocked slightly and sobbed.
"God, take me to Mum and Dad! I'm a freak. No one here needs me. I only get in everyone's way. I can't, I can't help being a freak! Why should I live? No one loves me. Please, take me to you, I don't want to stay here!"
Harry froze. Minutes passed, and Harry just stood there listening to the little boy.
"And it's true," Harry quietly mused aloud. "I always knew it. I always felt abnormal."
The illusion on the mattress fell silent and raised tear-stained green eyes to Harry.
"Does anyone love you?" the illusion whispered.
"I don't know," Harry answered thoughtfully. "I used to think they loved me... But it turned out that in the wizarding world they love me because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived," he smiled sadly, "and not because I myself am needed by someone. And Sirius loves me because I look like my father."
"Mum and Dad love me," said the small copy of Harry. "But they're dead. It's a pity they're not around."
"Yes, I'm sorry too."
"Do you want to see them? Shall we go together?" The boy sniffled and extended his hand to Harry.
Harry, like a sleepwalker, took a small step forward and reached out his hand in response. Their fingers almost touched, but a second before, Harry suddenly got scared, jerked his hand back and recoiled, hitting the wall of the cramped closet hard.
"No!" The real Harry tumbled out the door with a cry, but found himself not in his aunt's house, but in a Hogwarts corridor. His closet was now in place of Filch's cupboard. Fake friends approached the room from all sides. Fake Harry was also in the corridor.
Harry finally realized that talking was useless and pulled out his wand.
"Stupefy!"
The first spell flew at fake Potter. The evil doubles also drew their wands. Harry, as a Seeker, had excellent reflexes, so he dodged fake Hermione's Sectumsempra and fake Sirius's Bombarda, which accidentally hit the defeated double of Harry. The double seemed to be made of clay, pieces flying in all directions, but there was no blood... You can't simply dodge Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex, there are many bats, they need to be burned. Harry jumped around the corridor, waving his arms, and landed right at Petunia's feet, who tried to hit him on the head with a frying pan. By a miracle protecting his head, Potter substituted his shoulder. The blow was strong. Fake Ron rushed at Harry with his fists and broke his nose. Harry released his injured shoulder and, forgetting about his wand, also punched Ron in the face. Fake Ron's face crumpled under the blow, as if his head was made of papier-mâché, while his body continued to move and tried to hit Harry back.
Potter twisted away impossibly and broke into a run.
"It's all fake, it's all not real," he whispered jerkily as he ran.
The endless corridors of the castle, the familiar path led to the wrong place time and again, routes learned over many years had turned into a confusing labyrinth. Harry was out of breath from running fast. Around the next corner he nearly ran into a crowd of evil doubles. They had somehow ended up here. Even fake Harry and fake Ron were whole and unharmed. Behind him rose the majestic figure of the Headmaster:
"Seize him!" commanded Albus Dumbledore.
The doubles advanced. Harry looked around, but saw that where he had come from was now a solid wall. He was cornered. There was no way out. His face took on a determined expression, he wouldn't surrender without a fight.
"Adesco Fire!" It seemed all the strength he had left was put into this spell.
Raging flames burst from his wand, spreading across the walls, engulfing the figures of the doubles, grinning with monster faces. Harry's features sharpened, he paled and bit his lip until it bled, but stubbornly maintained the flames. Just a little more, and he himself would perish in the fiery element. But the thick stone walls suddenly crumbled, sprayed in all directions as thin glass shards and flew off into the void. The flames went out. Beyond the walls there was nothing. Darkness.
"Where am I?" asked Harry, hanging in the middle of nothing.
A light appeared in the black void. The light rapidly approached, caught up and blinded him. When his vision returned, Harry found himself again in the shaman's cave. He lay strapped to the table and breathed hoarsely. Somewhere in the background Rita was sobbing, and Sirius was swearing.
"Done," the shaman muttered, whose mood seemed not to have improved at all from the successfully performed ritual. He was in no hurry to free his patient from the straps. Then he waved to the Blacks that they could approach. Sirius ran up and squeezed Harry in an embrace, making the boy involuntarily groan.
"Everything hurts..."
"You were thrashing so much, was it very painful?" pale Sirius peered into his godson's face.
"It was scary. It was very scary, Sirius."
Then Rita, who had been trying to soothingly stroke Harry's head, let out some sort of gasp. Harry and Sirius followed her gaze.
"Albus?" stunned Black peered at the spirit trap. Inside behind the bars hung a transparent Headmaster in the air.
"What the hell, Albus?!" Sirius grew furious, gradually understanding.
The Headmaster's spirit ignored the question, obviously more occupied with his trap.
"What's going on here?" Black turned to the shaman. "Can he answer us?"
"Spirit doesn't want to," the shaman replied after looking carefully at the trap.
"Can you make him?!"
"Wasn't in agreement."
"Then let's make a new one, Mordred take you!"
"One year of life," the old mage was brief.
"What?"
"One year of life. You," he poked his palm into his chest for emphasis, "age, I get younger. Or him," he pointed at Harry. "Or her."
"Sirius, don't!" Rita tried to stop him.
"Alright, I agree," Black in his usual style, didn't even think it over.
The shaman placed one hand on Sirius's heart, held the other palm open before his face. And recited some incantation. Sirius swayed but was caught by Rita.
"My head spun for a second. Everything's fine," he said. There were no visible changes. The shaman had none either.
The old mage approached the spirit and directed his staff into the trap. The transparent Dumbledore stopped trying to escape and hung indifferently in the center of his cage.
"Answer them," the shaman commanded.
"When I found the dead Potters and Voldemort's remains, I understood that he would return," the Headmaster began emotionlessly, "and would kill little Harry, because he is the child of the prophecy. I didn't have long to live, I was afraid I wouldn't make it in time. Tom Riddle had to be stopped at any cost. But there were no wizards in Britain capable of this. Harry, to my regret, was doomed, Tom would have pursued him until he found him. Therefore I placed my Horcrux in the child. It was not an easy decision, but there was no other way. I sacrificed my immortal soul for the greater good. The Horcrux was supposed to remain dormant until my death. While alive, I would not have allowed Harry to be killed. After my death, when Tom killed Harry, I was supposed to take his place."
"Why did Severus Snape kill you?" Rita interjected while the men had lost the power of speech.
"The Death Eaters couldn't penetrate Hogwarts, and Severus learned of their plan to take hostages. When he reported that only a few days remained, I gave my wand to Aberforth with a request to pass it to Harry Potter when he asked for it. My brother hated me, but couldn't refuse a dying request. I didn't know where I'd be buried and wasn't sure of the wand's safety. For several days I pretended to cast spells with an ordinary stick. I always had enough power for wandless magic. And then the Death Eaters took hostages, and I understood it was time. My death at Severus's hand strengthened his position among the Death Eaters. When the hour came to face Voldemort, Severus was supposed to tell Harry the truth about the Horcrux. The truth he believed in... Harry was supposed to meet with Tom. If the Chosen One hid, Tom Riddle would create evil, and no one would stop him. You made a monstrous mistake. Sometimes for the good of many, the good of the few must be sacrificed, and because of your selfishness you doomed all of England to death," the spirit continued to drone on just as indifferently.
"Enough," the shaman made another pass, and the spirit fell silent.
"What will happen to him now?" Harry asked.
"Spirit—payment, you—leave," the host cut off and imperiously waved toward the exit from the cave.
Sirius clearly wanted to say something else.
"Leave," the shaman repeated and gripped his staff more firmly.
"Let's go. Let's go quickly," Rita grabbed both of them and pulled them toward the exit.
***
I emerged from the Pensieve and swore heartily.
"I bet that's something terribly obscene," Sirius winked. "I cursed for a long time myself after such news."
Harry chuckled. After the ritual he had changed greatly. He had matured significantly and seemed to have grown taller. Harry's glasses were no longer needed. Of the crude, perpetually inflamed scar, only a thin light line remained.
At the beginning of the evening, Potter had decisively announced that it's better to see once than hear a hundred times, and after a brief backstory invited me to stick my head in the Pensieve. Indeed, such things are hard to convey in words!
Today is the last day of summer. I'm visiting the Blacks at their French cottage, and we're celebrating Harry's "second birthday." Sirius decided to call the holiday exactly that. Right on target.