Many thanks to my daily reader Princess Twila, whom without their help, I would have never been posting as often as I do! All stories after this are hereby dedicated to her!
Prompt: Pensieve
Rating: G
Pairings: N/A
Word Count: 149
The Pensieve, such an extraordinary piece, the ability to view ones memories from a different point of view. The silky texture of a memory, ever flowing, there to be used, there to be observed, the power in a memory was incomprehensible. And yet, very few teachers had one, a coincidence it may be, it appears only teachers whose past was difficult or dark possessed one.
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live," Albus once said. Was he also referring to the memories as he carefully avoided catching a glimpse into the mirror of Erised? Was it he, who was so old, so wise, so careful and clever, still pained? Still feel regret? Still feel the darkness crawl and spread from one's heart to their entire body, numbing them? The Pensieve wasn't just a tool for glimpsing at memories; it was to forget them entirely.