– Chapter Thirty-One –
Hard Memories
The door of the office opened.
"Hello, Potter. Black," said Moody. "Come in, then."
Romi glanced at Harry and then led the way into Dumbledore's office.
Cornelius Fudge was standing beside Dumbledore's desk, wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat.
"Harry! Romi!" said Fudge jovially, moving forwards. "How are you?"
"Fine," the twins lied together.
"We were just talking about the night when Mr Crouch turned up in the grounds," said Fudge. "It was you who found him, was it not?" he asked Harry.
"Yes," said Harry. "I didn't see Madame Maxime anywhere though, and she'd have a job hiding, wouldn't she?" Harry added. Romi exchanged a grin with Dumbledore.
"Yes, well," said Fudge, looking embarrassed, "we're about to go for a short walk in the grounds, Harry, Romi, if you'll excuse us… perhaps if you just go back to your classes…"
"I wanted to talk to you, Professor," Harry said quickly, looking at Dumbledore, who gave him a swift, searching look.
"Wait here for me," he said. "Our examination of the grounds will not take long."
Fudge looked from Romi to Harry suspiciously.
"Er, Dumbledore," Fudge started as Dumbledore started to move out of the office.
"I doubt that neither Romi nor Harry would be inclined to get up to anything," said Dumbledore. "I know them better than you might. If you please."
He held out an arm for Fudge to go first and then followed him out. After a minute or so, Romi heard the clunks of Moody's wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below. Romi took a seat as Harry looked around the room.
"Hello, Fawkes," he said.
Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, was standing on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet and gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at Harry.
"Is this what happens to you often?" Harry asked after a moment. "This having the Sight thing?"
"Not so much often," Romi replied with a sigh. Harry paced around the room again, then his purpose became direct and he walked straight to a cabinet that was slightly open.
"What is it?" Romi asked.
She got up and followed him to the cupboard. There was a shallow stone basin there, with odd carvings around the edge; runes and symbols that Romi didn't recognize. There was a silvery light coming from the basin's contents, which were nothing like Romi had ever seen before. She could not tell whether the substance was liquid or gas. It was a bright, whitish silver, and it was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly.
"Have you seen anything like it?" Harry murmured.
"No," Romi replied. "Never."
Harry pulled out his wand and poked the contents of the basin. The surface of the silvery stuff inside the basin began to swirl very fast.
Harry bent closer, his head right inside the cabinet, Romi looking over his shoulder. The silvery substance had become transparent; it looked like glass. She looked down into it, expected to see the stone bottom of the basin – and saw instead an enormous room below the surface of the mysterious substance.
"Harry, be careful," Romi said but Harry had turned his head, and the tip of his nose touched the substance. Then in an instant like a puff of smoke he was gone. Romi looked startled around the room and then looked in the basin again. The same enormous room was below the surface, and there was Harry sitting on a bench beside some of the wizards.
"Oh, bugger, Harry," Romi huffed. She looked around the room, but there wasn't anyone who could help; all the pictures were asleep and Fawkes just looked at her. Romi looked back to the basin.
"I'm going to regret this," she murmured and put her face into the liquid.
There was a whooshing noise in Romi's ears, and the world spun around her. When the world stopped spinning, she was sitting in a dimly lit room that might have been underground for there was no windows. There were torches like those that illuminated the walls of Hogwarts, but with the rows of witches and wizards that were sitting around every wall in rising levels told Romi that she was not in Hogwarts anymore.
However none of the witches or wizards seemed to have noticed her presence. There was an empty chair that stood in the centre of the room. There was something eerie about that chair. There were chains that encircled the arms of it, as though its occupants were usually tied to it. No one was talking with each other. Romi looked to her side and Harry was sitting there looking extremely pale and out of breath.
"What just happened?" he whispered.
"You touched the silvery stuff and you disappeared," Romi answered, "I thought I'd better follow."
Before Harry could reply they heard footsteps. The door in the corner of the dungeon opened, and three people entered – or at least, one man, flanked by two Dementors.
Romi's insides went fiery hot red, and she glared the Dementors down. The Dementors, tall, hooded creatures whose faces were concealed, were gliding towards the chair in the centre of the room, each grasping one of the man's arms with their dead and rotten-looking hands. The man between them looked as though he was about the faint, and Romi couldn't blame him. She knew the power of the Dementors even though it didn't have the same effect on her. The watching crowd recoiled slightly as the Dementors placed the man in the chained chair and glided back out of the room. The door swung shut behind them.
Romi looked down at the man now sitting in the chair, and saw that it was Karkaroff.
Karkaroff looked much younger; his hair and goatee were black. He was not dressed in sleek furs, but in thin and ragged robes. He was shaking. Even as Romi watched, the chains on the arms of the chair glowed suddenly gold, and snaked their way up his arms, binding him there.
"Igor Karkaroff," said a curt voice to Romi's left. She looked around, and saw Mr Crouch standing up in the middle of the bench beside her. Crouch's hair was dark, his face was much less lined, he looked fit and alert. "You have been brought from Azkaban to give evidence to the Ministry of Magic. We understand that you have important information for us."
Karkaroff straightened himself as best he could, tightly bound to the chair.
"I have, sir," he said, and although his voice was very scared, Romi could still hear the familiar unctuous note in it. "I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I –I know that the Ministry is trying to – to round up the last of the Dark Lord's supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can…"
There was a murmur around the benches. Some of the wizards and witches were surveying Karkaroff with interest, other with pronounced mistrust. Then Romi heard, quite distinctly from beyond Harry, a familiar growling voce saying "Filth."
Romi leaned past Harry just as he looked around as well. On Harry's other side was a Dumbledore who looked slightly younger than he was now. Beyond him was Moody though with a very noticeable difference in his appearance. He did not have his magical eye, but two normal ones. Both were looking down upon Karkaroff, and both were narrowed in intense dislike.
"Crouch is going to let him out," Moody breathed quietly to Dumbledore. "He's done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he's got enough new names. Let's hear his information, I say, and throw him straight back to the Dementors."
Dumbledore made a small noise of dissent through his long crooked nose.
"Ah, I was forgetting… you don't like the Dementors, do you, Albus?" said Moody, with a sardonic smile.
"No," said Dumbledore calmly, "I'm afraid I don't. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures.
"But for filth like this…" Moody said softly.
"Is this a memory?" Romi asked, curiously as none of them seemed to see Harry and Romi sitting among them.
"I don't have any other explanation for it," Harry replied, looking at her and shrugging.
"You say you have names for us, Karkaroff," said Mr Crouch. "Let us hear them, please."
"You must understand," said Karkaroff hurriedly. "That He Who Must Not Be Named operated always in the greatest secrecy… he preferred that we – I mean to say, that his supporters – and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them–"
"Get on with it," sneered Moody.
"We never knew the names of every one of our fellows – he alone knew exactly who we all were–"
"Which was a wise move, wasn't it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaroff, turning all of them in," muttered Moody.
"Yet you say you have some names for us?" said Mr Crouch.
"I – I do," said Karkaroff breathlessly. "And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely–"
"These names are?" said Mr Crouch sharply.
Karkaroff drew a deep breath.
"There was Antonin Dolohov," he said. "I – I saw him torture countless Muggles and – and non-supporters of the Dark Lord."
"And helped him do it," murmured Moody.
"We have already apprehended Dolohov," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after yourself."
"Indeed?" said Karkaroff, his eyes widening. "I – I am delighted to hear it!"
But he certainly didn't look it. Romi could tell that this news had come as a real blow to him. One of his names was worthless.
"Any others?" said Crouch coldly.
"Why, yes… there was Rosier," said Karkaroff hurriedly. "Evan Rosier."
"Rosier is dead," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after you were, too. He preferred to fight rather than coming quietly, and was killed in the struggle."
"Took a bit of me with him, though," whispered Moody and Romi watched him indicate the large chuck out of his nose.
"No – no more than Rosier deserved!" said Karkaroff, a real note of panic in his voice now. Romi could see that he was starting to worry that none of his information would be any use to the Ministry. Karkaroff's eyes darted towards the door in the corner, behind which the Dementors undoubtedly still stood waiting.
"Any more?" said Crouch.
"Yes!" said Karkaroff. "There was Travers – he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber – he specialized in the Imperius curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Charis Adams and Rookwood, they were spies and passed He Who Must Not Be Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself."
Romi was taken aback at the mention of her mother's name and Harry turned to look at her sharply. She stared at Karkaroff in complete disbelief.
"Rookwood?" said Mr Crouch, nodding to a witch sitting in front of him, who began scribbling upon her piece of parchment. "Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?"
"The very same," said Karkaroff eagerly. "I believe he used a network of well-place wizards, both inside the Ministry and out to collect information – Charis Adams used a different system, she–"
"Charis Black, is and always has been on our side," Crouch interrupted exhausted. "Reckless, she may have been, but a spy for He Who Must Not Be Named she most definitely was not. She's not even in the country anymore, she's in Canada raising her daughter, as she has been for the last year."
"And if the court will remember," said Moody loudly, standing up, "With Charis and Hector Black's assistance we would have never defeated the Giant Invasion in 1977; it was her information that led us to the weak spots in their defence; it was her skill that caused the invasion to fail and she still managed to keep You-Know-Who trust to give us further information."
The court murmured around them in agreement. Harry stared at Romi, while she stared at Moody, completely at loss for words.
"Noted," Mr Crouch said, tensely, staring at Moody. "As for Travers and Mulciber, we have caught them," said Mr Crouch. "Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide–"
"Not yet!" cried Karkaroff, looking quite desperate. "Wait! I have more!"
Romi could see him sweating in the torchlight, his white skin contrasting strongly with the black of his hair and beard.
"Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"
"Snape has been cleared by this council," said Crouch coldly. "He has been voiced for by Albus Dumbledore."
"No!" shouted Karkaroff, straining at the chains which bound him to the chair. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"
Dumbledore had got to his feet. "I have given evidence already on this matter," he said calmly. "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."
Romi looked at Mad-Eye Moody. He was wearing a look of deep scepticism behind Dumbledore's back. She wondered what her mother could have done to gain Moody's trust while her Godfather still alluded it.
"Very well, Karkaroff," Crouch said coldly, "you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime…"
Crouch's voice faded. Romi looked around, the Dungeon was dissolving, only she and Harry stayed solid.
"You're family has a more interesting back ground than I thought," Harry said as the dudgeon rematerialized, staring her down.
"I didn't even know," Romi replied. "You think she'd tell me that…"
"Why would see tell you that?" Harry asked, "If I were her, I'd try and forget about it, not tell my children."
Romi shrugged and looked around the room.
They were sitting in a different seat this time still on the highest bench, but now to the left side of Mr Crouch. The atmosphere seemed quite different; relaxed, even cheerful. The witches and wizards all around the walls were talking to each other, almost as though they were at some sort of sporting event. A witch halfway up the rows of benches opposite caught Romi's eye. She had short blonde hair, was wearing magenta roves and was sucking the end of an acid green quill. It was unmistakeably, a young Rita Skeeter. Romi looked around. Harry was still on her right side, and Dumbledore was sitting beside him again. Mr Crouch looked tireder and somehow fiercer, gaunter.
"I think it's a different trial," Harry muttered. Romi nodded, that was her thoughts exactly.
"These must be Dumbledore's memories," Romi said.
"What makes you say that?" asked Harry.
"Well, aside from the basin being in his office – we have sat beside him both times," Romi said, nodding to the younger looking Dumbledore.
The door in the corner opened, and Ludo Bagman walked into the room.
This was not, however, a Ludo Bagman gone to seed, but a Ludo Bagman who was clearly at the height of his Quidditch playing fitness. His nose wasn't broken now; he was tall and lean and muscly. Bagman looked nervous as he sat down in the chained chair, but it did not bind him there, as it had bound Karkaroff. Bagman, perhaps taking heart from this, glanced around at the watching crowd, waved at a couple of them, and managed a small smile.
"Ludo Bagman, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of Death Eaters," said Mr Crouch. "We have heard the evidence against you and are about to reach our verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgement?"
"Only," said Bagman, smiling awkwardly, "well, I know I've been a bit of an idiot–"
One or two wizards and witches in the surrounding seats smiled indulgently. Mr Crouch did not appear to share their feelings. He was staring down at Ludo Bagman with an expression of the utmost severity and dislike.
"You never spoke a truer word, boy," someone muttered dryly to Dumbledore. Romi looked up to see that Moody was once again sitting there, "if I didn't know he'd always been dim, I'd have said some of those Bludgers had permanently affected his brain…"
"Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort's supporters," said Mr Crouch. "For this, I suggest a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than–"
But there was an angry outcry from the surrounding benches. Several of the witches and wizards around the walls stood up, shaking their heads, and even their fists at Mr Crouch.
"But I've told you, I had no idea!" Bagman called earnestly over the crowd's babble, his round blue eyes widening. "None at all! Old Rookwood was a friend of my dad's … never crossed my mind he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought I was collecting information for our side! And Rookwood kept talking about getting me a job in the Ministry later on… once my Quidditch days are over, you know… I mean, I can't keep getting hit by Bludgers for the rest of my life, can I?"
There were titters from the crowd.
"It will be put to the vote," said Mr Crouch coldly. He turned to the right-hand side of the dungeon. "The jury will please raise their hands… those in favour of imprisonment…"
Romi looked towards the right-hand side of the dungeon. Not one person raised their hand. Many of the witches and wizards around the walls began to clap. One of the witches on the jury stood up.
"Yes?" barked Crouch.
"We'd just like to congratulate Mr Bagman on his splendid performance for England in the Quidditch match against Turkey last Saturday," the witch said breathlessly.
Mr Crouch looked furious. The dungeon was ringing with applause now. Bagman got to feet and bowed beaming.
"Despicable," Mr Crouch spat at Dumbledore, sitting down as Bagman walked out of the dungeon. "Rookwood get him a job indeed… the day Ludo Bagman joins us will be a very sad day for the Ministry…"
And the dungeon dissolved again. When it had returned, Romi looked around. Harry was still there, and Dumbledore and Mr Crouch. But the atmosphere could not have been more different. There was total silence, broken only by the dry sobs of a frail, wispy-looking witch in the seat next to Mr Crouch. She was clutching a handkerchief to her mouth with trembling hands. Romi looked to Crouch, he looked gaunter and greyer than ever before. A nerve was twitching in his temple. Romi exchanged a glance with Harry.
"Bring them in," Mr Crouch said, and his voice echoed through the silent dungeon.
The door in the corner opened yet again. Six Dementors entered this time, flanking a group of four people. Romi saw the people in the crowd turn to look up at Mr Crouch. A few of them whispered to each other.
The Dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms which now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch, a thinner and more nervous-looking man, who eyes were darting around the crowd, a woman, with thick, shining dark hair, and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne, Romi thought she recognized this woman but couldn't figure out where from, and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his straw-coloured hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. The wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backwards and forwards in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief.
Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face.
"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous–"
"Father," said the boy with the straw-coloured hair. "Father… please…"
"That we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," said Crouch, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice. "We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror – Frank Longbottom–"
Romi grabbed Harry's leg, her breath caught in her throat, staring at the four down below them, her heart pounding in her chest. Harry pried her hand off his leg, but held onto tightly, looking slightly confused between Romi and the people below.
Mr Crouch continued, "and subjected him to the Cruciatus curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He Who Must Not Be Named–"
"Father, I didn't!" shrieked the boy in chains below. "I didn't, I swear it, Father, don't send me back to the Dementors–"
"You are further accused," bellowed Mr Crouch, "of using the Cruciatus curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He Who Must Not Be Named to power and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury–"
"Mother!" screamed the boy below, and the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to sob, rocking backwards and forwards. "Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"
"I now ask the jury," shouted Mr Crouch, "to raise their hand if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban."
In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around the walls began to clap as it had for Bagman, their faces full of savage triumph. The boy began to scream. Romi could feel her eyes filling up and she squeezed Harry's hand hard. She stared at the four that had caused her best friend so much pain.
"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!" the boy shrieked.
The Dementors were gliding back into the room. The boy's three companions rose quietly from their seats; the woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban, we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"
But the boy was trying to fight the Dementors off, even though Romi could see their cold, draining power starting to affect him. The crowd were jeering, some of them on their feet, as the woman swept out of the dungeon and the boy continued to struggle.
"I'm your son!" he screamed up at Crouch. "I'm your son!"
"You are no son of mine!" bellowed Mr Crouch, his eyes bulging suddenly. "I have no son!"
Romi suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned her head to look. However, she was no longer in the dungeon court room, but back in Dumbledore's office, standing beside the cabinet with Dumbledore's hand on her shoulder.
"I think I'd best go and retrieve your brother," Dumbledore said with a small smile and went to stick his head in the wispy material in the shallow disk.
Returned to her proper body, Romi walked over to the chair in front Dumbledore's desk and plopped down in it. What she had just seen was racing through her mind. She leaned against the desk, putting her head in her hands.
A moment later and both Harry and Dumbledore had appeared again in the office.
"Professor," Harry gasped. "I know I shouldn't've – I didn't mean – the cabinet door was sort of open and–"
"I quite understand," said Dumbledore. He lifted the basin, carried it over to his desk, placing it upon the polished top, and sat down opposite to Romi. He motioned for Harry to sit beside his sister.
Harry did so, and Romi didn't move. She was staring at a point on the desk, thinking, seeing the other two only out of the corner of her eyes.
"What is it?" Harry asked shakily.
"This? It is called a Pensieve," said Dumbledore, motioning to the basin. "I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."
"Er," said Harry. Romi didn't say anything.
"At these times," said Dumbledore, indicating the stone basin, "I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."
"You mean… that stuff's you thoughts?" Harry asked, staring at the swirling white substance in the basin.
"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Let me show you."
Dumbledore drew his wand out of the inside of his robes, and placed the tip into his own silvery hair, near his temple. Romi lifted her eyes to watch. When Dumbledore took the wand away, hair seemed to be clinging to it, but then Romi saw that it was in fact a glistering strand of the same silvery white substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin, and Romi saw Harry's face swimming around the surface of the bowl.
Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it and Harry's face changed smoothly into Severus'. "It's coming back… Karkaroff's too… stronger and clearer than ever…"
"A connection I could have made without assistance," Dumbledore sighed, "but never mind." He peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Harry and Romi. "I was using the Pensieve when Mr Fudge arrived for our meeting, and put it away rather hastily. Undoubtedly I did not fasten the cabinet door properly. Naturally, it would have attracted your attention."
"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled.
Dumbledore shook his head.
"Curiosity is not a sin," he said. "But we should exercise caution with our curiosity … yes, indeed…"
Frowning slightly, he prodded the thoughts within the basin with the tip of his wand. Instantly, a figure rose out of it, a plump scowling girl of around sixteen, who began to revolve slowly her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of Harry, Romi or Professor Dumbledore. When she spoke her voice echoed as Severus' had done, rather echoey. "He put a hex on me, Professor Dumbledore, and I was only teasing him, sir, I only said I'd seen him kissing Florence behind the greenhouse last Thursday…"
"But why, Bertha," said Dumbledore sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, "why did you have to follow him in the first place?"
"Bertha?" Harry whispered, looking up at her. "Is that – was that Bertha Jorkins?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore, prodding the thoughts in the basin again; Bertha sank back into them, and they became silvery and opaque once more. "That was Bertha as I remember her at school."
There was silence in the room.
"So Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "Before you got lost in my thoughts, you and Romi wanted to tell me something?"
"Yes," said Harry, Romi lowered her eyes again. All she could see was those last four Death Eaters. "Professor – I was in Divination just now, and – er – I fell asleep."
He hesitated here, but Dumbledore merely said, "Quiet understandable. Continue."
"Well, I had a dream," said Harry, glancing to Romi, she didn't look up. "A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail… you know who Wormtail–"
"I do know," said Dumbledore promptly. "Please continue."
"Voldemort got a letter from an owl. He said something like, Wormtail's blunder had been repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn't be fed to the snake – there was a snake beside his chair. He said – he said he'd be feeding me to it, instead. Then he did the Cruciatus curse on Wormtail – and my scar hurt," Harry said. "It woke me up, it hurt so badly."
"And you Romi?" Dumbledore asked. She didn't answer. "Romi?" Dumbledore said slowly, looking at her concerned.
"How could anyone torture a person? Look them in the eye and just watch them just slip away into insanity?" she asked, looking up at Dumbledore, "How could someone do that?"
Dumbledore reached over and took one of her hands.
"Not everyone has such a kind heart as you do," he said, "They did not see Frank or Alice as people."
Romi shook her head and looked down.
"I am sorry that you saw them," Dumbledore said. "Of all the memories that you had to fall into, you had to fall into ones that deal with people close to you."
There was a long pause while Harry looked between Romi and Dumbledore.
"Could you please tell me why did you come with Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
"He wanted me too," Romi replied, "I didn't see anything to do with Voldemort."
"You said that someone told you that I was having a vision," Harry said, frowning slightly.
"Yeah," Romi answered, "that's really complicated."
Dumbledore watched her for a moment and then, releasing Romi's hand, leaned back and looked at Harry.
"Has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer, Harry?"
"No, I – how did you know it woke me up over the summer?" said Harry astonished.
"You are not Sirius' only correspondent," said Dumbledore. "I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I who suggested the mountain-side cave as the safest place for him to stay."
Dumbledore got up, and began walking up and down behind his desk. Every now and then, he placed his wand tip to his temple, removed another shining silver thought, and added it to the Pensieve. The thoughts inside began to swirl so fast that Romi couldn't make out anything clearly; it was merely a blur of colour.
"Professor?" Harry said quietly after a couple of minutes.
Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry and Romi.
"My apologies," he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk.
"D'you – d'you know why my scar's hurting me?"
Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry for a moment, and then said, "I have a theory, not more than that… it is my belief that your scar hurt both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."
"But… why?"
"Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed," said Dumbledore. "That is no ordinary scar."
"So you think… that dream… did it really happen?"
"It is possible," said Dumbledore. "Harry – or you, Romi – did either of you see Voldemort?"
"No," said Harry. "Just the back of his chair."
Romi shook her head.
"But – there wouldn't have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn't got a body, has he? But … but then how could he have held the wand?" Harry said slowly.
"How indeed?" muttered Dumbledore. "How indeed…"
None of the three spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, every now and then placing his wand tip to his temple, and adding another shining, silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.
"Professor," Harry said at last, "do you think he's getting stronger."
"Voldemort?" said Dumbledore looking at Harry, then at Romi. "Once again, Harry. I can only give you my suspicions."
Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older, and wearier than ever.
"The years of Voldemort's ascent to power," he said, "were marked with disappearance. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known last. Mr Crouch, too, has disappeared… within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance one which the Ministry, I regret to say, does not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village when Voldemort's father grew up, and he had not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends."
Dumbledore looked very seriously at the two of them. "These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees – as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office."
Silence fell again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then.
"Professor?" Harry said again.
"Yes, Harry?" said Dumbledore.
"Er… could I ask you about… that court thing we were in… in the Pensieve?"
"You could," said Dumbledore heavily. "I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than others… particularly now…"
"You know – you know the trial you found us in? The one with Crouch's son? Well…" Harry trailed off for a moment, he glanced at Romi.
"They were talking about Neville's parents," Romi asked quietly, answering Harry's question.
"Has Neville never told you why he has been brought up by his grandmother, Harry?" he said.
Harry shook his head.
"Yes, they were talking about Neville's parents," said Dumbledore. "His father, Frank, was an Auror just like Professor Moody. He and his wife were tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after he lost his powers, as you heard."
"So, they're dead?" said Harry quietly.
"No," Romi replied. "I've met them, a couple times now. I've gone with Neville on Christmas."
Dumbledore gave her an expression of pity.
"She's right," said Dumbledore, his voice full of a bitterness that Romi had never heard there before. "They are insane. They are both in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Correct me, if I'm wrong, Romi, but I believe they do not recognize Neville when he visits."
Romi closed her eyes and sighed, she nodded. "They have no idea who he is."
"The Longbottoms were very popular," said Dumbledore. "The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was – given their condition – none too reliable."
"Then Mr Crouch's son might not have been involved?" said Harry slowly.
Dumbledore shook his head. "As to that, I have no idea."
They sat in silence once more, watching the contents of the Pensieve swirl.
"Er," Harry started up again, "Mr Bagman…"
"… has never been accused of any Dark activity since," said Dumbledore calmly.
"Right," said Harry hastily, "and… er…"
But whatever Harry was going to ask, the Pensieve seemed to ask the question for him. Severus' face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry.
"No more has Professor Snape," he said.
Harry paused for a moment, and then said, "What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"
Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, then switched to look at Romi. Finally he said, "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."
"Right," said Harry.
"If it will help you," Dumbledore said. "You're mother trusted Professor Snape."
Romi smiled slightly.
"She did?" Harry asked bewildered.
"Yes." There was a sense of finality in Dumbledore's tone. Harry got to his feet and after a second so did Romi.
"Are you alright, Romi?" Dumbledore asked once she was standing. "You are remarkably quiet."
"No," Romi replied. "I'm fine."
"Very well. Don't let it bother you too much," Dumbledore said. "Please do not speak about Neville's parents to anybody else. He has the right to let everyone else know when he is ready."
"Yes, Professor," said Harry.
"And–"
They turned to look back. Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from beneath by its slivery spots of light, looking older than ever. He stared at them for a moment, and then said, "Good luck with the third task."