Harry Potter and the Great Old Ones

Chapter 619 Pensieve

December arrived quickly. When the first snow of the semester turned from a few scattered snowflakes into a heavy downpour, most of the Hogwarts students were still in Tyella's Dark Arts classroom and had no chance to witness the arrival of the first snow.

At this moment, a basin of silvery-gray water was suspended in mid-air in the very center of the Tyella Dark Magic Classroom.

The basin was so thin that it was like a mirror; if it weren't for the occasional ripples in the water, it would have been indistinguishable from a mirror.

Any student above the fourth grade is extremely familiar with this pool of water.

The Pensieve.

But now, the entire classroom is completely empty.

Inside the Pensieve, however, things were bustling with activity.

At the beginning of the class, Tiera brought out the Pensieve, and then, under Tiera's guidance, people lined up one by one, like dumplings being dropped into a pot, and entered the Pensieve.

They approached the Pensieve, their faces immersed in the cold surface of memory, before falling into darkness.

A few seconds later, their feet finally touched the hard ground.

“That’s Dumbledore,” Tierra said cheerfully, pointing to a tall figure in front of them who was crossing the road to a horse-drawn carriage.

Most students were still confused, only a small number of middle and upper grade students realized what was happening and looked in the direction Tiera was pointing.

The young Albus Dumbledore still had short hair and a full beard. His hair and beard were reddish-brown, and he looked haggard and hurried.

Upon reaching the side of the road where Thierrand and the students were standing, the young Dumbledore strode along the sidewalk, attracting many curious glances because of his ornately tailored velvet attire.

"Classmates." After everyone had regained consciousness, Thiele reached out and poked at the space in front of him—

Everything around us seemed to have been paused, frozen in place.

“Alright, now I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered the already divided practical classes, fast classes, regular classes, and slow classes back into one classroom, and brought everyone into this Pensieve,” Tiera asked, then paused, looking at the reactions of the hundreds of young wizards.

There was no noise, only low whispers.

After the whispers subsided, Tiera slowly spoke:
"Today I'm taking you into what's called the Pensieve."

"In case anyone still doesn't know what the Pensieve is for, let me explain," Tiera said slowly. "The Pensieve is an incredible tool used to preserve thoughts and memories in the mind. When adding new memories, simply point the tip of your wand near your temple and remove some shimmering silver memories from your head and put them into the Pensieve. Touching the substances in the Pensieve will allow you to enter that memory and see what happened in the past. The people appearing in this memory cannot detect your existence."

"So, does anyone want to guess whose memory we're entering today?" Tiera asked with a smile. "Students, raise your hands to answer, and you'll get extra points for participation."

“Dumbledore!” As always, Hermione was the first to raise her hand, then pointed to Dumbledore, who was attracting everyone’s attention on the street, and said, “I see Dumbledore.”

“Clever, Miss Granger,” Tierra said with a smile.

"Does anyone know why I specifically sought out Professor Dumbledore today to obtain this memory?" Tyra asked with a smile.

Everyone was stunned. They stared at each other, bewildered, clearly not knowing whose memory it was about.

“Voldemort,” Tierra uttered a single word in a deep voice.

"What? Voldemort?"

"The Dark Lord? These are memories about the Dark Lord?"

"Voldemort?"

The young wizards instantly erupted in chaos.

"Quiet! Quiet!" Tiera shouted, and it took several shouts to quiet the noisy crowd.

“I will teach you the principles of Dark Magic, I will persuade Dumbledore to openly teach Dark Magic at Hogwarts, and I will train you in Dark Magic skills, but that does not mean I will allow another Dark Lord to emerge among the students,” Tyella said. “This will be your homework for the Christmas holidays and your only Dark Magic homework for the foreseeable future.”

“This assignment doesn’t involve complex calculations or annoying magical constructs. Instead, it’s like a traditional course where everyone needs to write a paper,” Tierra said. “In this class, and in the classes leading up to Christmas, I will take you on a journey through Voldemort’s childhood, adolescence, and youth to observe parts of his growth trajectory. After that, around Christmas, I expect you to write a paper based on your observations and your accumulated knowledge.”

“Discuss the inner workings of the Dark Lord, Voldemort,” Tierra said. “The paper doesn’t need to be long, but it must be profound, it must come from the heart, and it must be a deep analysis.”

“And students whose papers are deemed unsatisfactory will not be allowed to attend the Dark Magic class next semester,” Tierra said. “They must all complete them on their own, and the same applies to those found plagiarizing.”

As soon as Tierra said this, the young wizards became noisy again. At first, they whispered among themselves, but then, seeing that Tierra didn't seem to be stopping them, they grew louder and louder.

"Quiet! Quiet!" Tiera had to shout again, and it took four or five shouts to quell the chaotic noise of the teenage boys and girls.

Once everyone had quieted down again, Tyrell waved her hand, bringing the world of her memories to life once more. She then turned and walked ahead, leading the young wizards along a short distance after Dumbledore had appeared in his youth. Finally, they passed through an iron gate into an empty courtyard, facing a more imposing, square building surrounded by high railings. Dumbledore walked straight to the door and knocked a few times.

A few seconds later, the door was opened by a disheveled girl wearing an apron. Her face was dirty, and her hair was loosely tied up with a hair tie.

“Good afternoon. I have an appointment with Ms. Cole, and I believe she is in charge here,” said the young Dumbledore.

“Huh? Oh?” The girl looked confused, staring at Dumbledore’s strange attire. “Um… wait, wait a minute… Ms. Cole!”

She turned around and called out.

Harry heard some responses coming from afar.

The girl turned to Dumbledore and said, "Come in, she's on her way."

Dumbledore walked into the black and white corridor; the space was old but clean.

Tierra and the others followed closely behind, with many even sticking their heads out from inside the wall to watch the scene.

Soon, a short, tired-looking woman rushed toward Dumbledore.

She had a sharply defined face that revealed more longing than ruthlessness, and as she walked toward Dumbledore, she turned back to speak to another assistant wearing an apron.

"...Take the iodine upstairs to Martha Stubbs to get his scab off, and Eric Halley got all that mud on his bedding—the rash is more important than anything else." She muttered to herself in detail, then her gaze fell on Dumbledore, and she stopped abruptly, staring in astonishment as Dumbledore passed by like a giraffe.

"Good afternoon," Dumbledore said, then politely extended his hand.

But Ms. Cole's response was simply a yawn.

“My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter hoping to meet you, and you kindly invited me to come here today,” Dumbledore said politely, unconcerned about Mrs. Cole’s attitude.

Ms. Cole blinked, making sure Dumbledore wasn't a hallucination, before saying weakly, "Oh, yes. Well then, you'd better come to my room. Yes."

She led Dumbledore into a small house that looked like part living room and part office.

The place was just as run-down as the hallway, and the furniture was old and mismatched.

She invited Dumbledore to sit in a wobbly chair, while she sat behind a messy table, watching him uneasily.

“As I said in my letter, I’m here to talk to Tom Riddle about his future plans,” Dumbledore said.

"Are you a family member?" Mrs. Cole asked.

“No, I am a teacher,” Dumbledore said. “I would like to invite Tom to our school.”

"What school is it?" Mrs. Cole asked.

“It’s called Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said.

"Why would you be interested in Tom?" Mrs. Cole asked warily.

“We believe that this is the quality we need in him,” Dumbledore replied.

"You mean he got a degree? How did he do that? He didn't take any exams." Mrs. Cole became even more wary.

"His name has been on our register since birth," Dumbledore explained patiently.

"Who registered it?" Mrs. Cole was clearly still uneasy and continued to ask cautiously.

She was clearly an overly enthusiastic and vigilant woman.

Dumbledore seemed to think so too. He quickly took his wand from the pocket of his velvet coat and grabbed a piece of paper from Mrs. Cole's table.

“Here, take a look at this,” Dumbledore said, subtly waving his wand as he handed over the paper. “I think it should explain everything.”

“Oh, this seems to be fine,” Mrs. Cole said calmly after quickly glancing at the contents of the paper, and handed it back.

“Um, would you like a glass of gin?” Mrs. Cole lowered her guard slightly, stood up gracefully, and said with a hint of enthusiasm in her eyes, as if she herself had wanted to drink that bottle of gin for a long time.

“Thank you very much,” Dumbledore said with a smile, then slowly put his wand back into his coat pocket.

(End of this chapter)