The attic was the most cluttered place Harry had ever seen. There were musty, dusty tapestries littering the walls and floors, potion bottles, both broken and whole littering the shelves and floor, and more silver dishes than he had even imagined existed. Wishing secretly to himself that Dung had gotten to it before him, he dug into the mess.

Five hours later, a considerably dirtier Harry was still clearing the filthy attic of Number 12, Grimmald Place. Hermione and Ron made their way up the stairs. Ron clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Still at it, mate?" he asked. Harry nodded, coughing at the cloud of dust that Ron's hand had stirred up off of his robes. Hermione shook her head at him.

"I don't know why you insist on going about this without magic. You're filthy."

Harry shrugged. "It just seems right. But… you could give me a hand with those potions. I haven't quite gotten to those yet."

He was also quite obviously not looking forward to it. With a victorious grin, Hermione began to clear the odd-smelling mixtures of brews off the attic floor. Ron looked to Harry. "It's not right to make her do your work."

"She asked."

Suddenly, they heard a gasp from Hermione. "You two need to come here right now!" Ron blanched and Harry jumped up, and they both ran as fast as they could to her side.

"What is it? Are you ok?" sputtered Ron

"I'm fine. Harry, did you know Sirius had a pensive?"

Harry shook his head as the trio leaned over the shimmering pearly liquid. Suddenly, just as it had happened all those years ago in Dumbledore's office, they felt a pulling begin at their scalps…