The Potter Twins and the Goblet of Fire

Chapter 20: The Pensieve

The door of the office opened.

Moody, "hello, Potters. Come in, then."

Harry and Michael walked inside.

Cornelius Fudge was standing beside Dumbledore's desk, wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat.

Fudge, "Harry, Michael. How are you?"

Michael could see a look of slight disgust when Fudge looked at him.

Harry, "fine."

Michael, "yeah, just peachy."

Fudge, "we were just talking about the night when Mr. Crouch turned up on the grounds. It was you two who found him, was it not?"

Harry, "yes."

Michael, "indeed we do."

Then, feeling it was pointless to pretend that they hadn't overheard what they had been saying, Michael added, "we didn't see Madame Maxime anywhere, though, and she'd have a job hiding, wouldn't she? Especially if she were with Hagrid."

Dumbledore smiled at Michael behind Fudge's back, his eyes twinkling.

Fudge, "yes, well…. We're about to go for a short walk on the grounds, boys, if you'll excuse us…. Perhaps if you just go back to your class-"

Harry, "we wanted to talk to you, Professor."

Michael, "it's important."

Dumbledore gave them a swift, searching look.

Dumbledore, "wait here for me, you two. Our examination of the grounds will not take long."

They trooped out in silence past them and closed the door. After a minute or so, the twins heard the clunks of Moody's wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below. They looked around.

Michael, "hello, Fawkes."

Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, was standing on his golden perch beside the door.

Michael pet the magnificent bird.

Harry sat down in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk as Michael continued to pet Fawkes. For several minutes, the brothers waited for their headmaster.

Both of them looked around the room. They saw the sorting hat and the sword Harry had used against the Basilisk two years prior.

But there was some sort of light glinting off of it.

The twins looked around for the source of the light and saw a sliver of silver-white shining brightly from within a black cabinet behind them, whose door had not been closed properly. Harry hesitated, glanced at Fawkes and Michael, then got up, walked across the office, and pulled open the cabinet door. Michael walked over to Harry to see what it was.

A shallow stone basin lay there, with odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols. The silvery light was coming from the basin's contents. The twins 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. It looked like light made liquid, or like wind made solid.

They both wanted to touch it, to find out what it felt like, but nearly four years' experience of the magical world told them that sticking their hands into a bowl full of some unknown substance was a very stupid thing to do. They therefore pulled their wands out, cast some nervous looks around the office, looked back at the contents of the basin, and prodded them.

The surface of the silvery stuff inside the basin began to swirl very fast.

The brothers bent closer, their heads right inside the cabinet. The silvery substance had become transparent; it looked like glass. They looked down into it, expecting to see the stone bottom of the basin…. And saw instead, an enormous room below the surface of the mysterious substance, a room into which they seemed to be looking through a circular window in the ceiling.

The room was dimly lit; they thought it might even be underground, for there were no windows, merely torches in brackets such as the ones that illuminated the walls of Hogwarts. Lowering their faces, they saw that rows and rows of witches and wizards were seated around every wall on what seemed to be benches rising in levels. An empty chair stood in the very center of the room. There was something about the chair that gave Harry and Michael an ominous feeling.

Chains encircled the arms of it, as though its occupants were usually tied to it.

Where was this place? It surely wasn't Hogwarts; they had never seen a room like that here in the castle. The crowd seemed, they thought, to be waiting for something; even though they could only see the tops of their hats, all of their faces seemed to be pointing in one direction, and none of them were talking to one another.

The basin being circular, and the room he was observing square, the twins could not make out what was going on in the corners of it.

They leaned even closer, tilting their heads, trying to see….

The tip of their noses touched the strange substance into which they were staring.

Dumbledore's office gave an almighty lurch!

Harry and Michael were thrown forward and pitched headfirst into the substance inside the basin!

But they did not hit the stone bottom. They were falling through something icy-cold and black; it was like being sucked into a dark whirlpool!

And suddenly, they found themselves sitting on a bench at the end of the room inside the basin, a bench raised high above the others. They looked up at the high stone ceiling, expecting to see the circular window through which they had just been staring, but there was nothing there but dark, solid stone.

Breathing hard and fast, they both looked around him. Not one of the witches and wizards in the room were looking at them. Not one of them seemed to have noticed that two fourteen-year-old boy's had just dropped from the ceiling into their midst. The brothers turned to the wizard next to them on the bench and uttered loud cries of surprise that reverberated around the silent room.

They were sitting right next to Albus Dumbledore.

Harry, "Professor!?"

Michael, "we're sorry, we didn't mean to…. We were just looking at that basin in your cabinet- I- where are we?"

But Dumbledore didn't move or speak. He ignored the twins completely. Like every other wizard on the benches, he was staring into the far corner of the room, where there was a door.

The twins gazed, nonplussed, at Dumbledore, then around at the silently watchful crowd, then back at Dumbledore. And then it dawned on the twins.

They had fallen into some distant memory, like with Tom Riddle's diary!

Michael waved his hand in front of Dumbledore's face.

He didn't react at all.

Harry then felt an arm go through his stomach like a ghost!

Michael and Harry looked around in confusion.

That's when they saw someone entering the room.

Or rather, someone being flanked by two Dementors.

Harry and Michael were still frightened of the ghastly creatures.

They then looked down at the man now sitting in the chair and saw that it was Karkaroff.

Unlike Dumbledore, 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 the brothers watched, the chains on the arms of the chair glowed suddenly gold and snaked their way up Karkaroff's arms, binding him there.

"Igor Karkaroff…."

Harry and Michael looked around and saw Mr. Crouch standing up in the middle of the bench beside them. Crouch's hair was dark, his face was much less lined, he looked fit and alert.

Crouch, "you have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us."

Karkaroff straightened himself as best he could, tightly bound to the chair, "I have, sir. 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, others with pronounced mistrust.

Then Harry and Michael heard, quite distinctly, from Dumbledore's other side, a familiar, growling voice saying, "Filth."

The twins leaned forward so that they could see past Dumbledore.

Mad-Eye Moody was sitting there, except that there was 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.

Moody, "Crouch is going to let him out. 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.

Moody, "ah, I was forgetting…. You don't like the dementors, do you, Albus?"

Dumbledore, "no. I'm afraid I don't. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures."

Moody, "but for filth like this…."

Mr. Crouch, "you say you have names for us, Karkaroff. Let us hear them, please."

Karkaroff, "you must understand, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy…. He preferred that we- I mean to say, his supporters- and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them-"

Moody groaned, "get on with it."

Karkaroff, "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, from turning all of them in", muttered Moody.

Mr. Crouch, "yet you say you have some names for us?"

Karkaroff, "I- I do. 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-"

Mr. Crouch, "these names are?"

Karkaroff drew a deep breath, "there was Antonin Dolohov, I- I saw him torture countless Muggles and- and non-supporters of the Dark Lord."

Moody, "and helped him do it."

Mr. Crouch, "we have already apprehended Dolohov. He was caught shortly after yourself."

Karkaroff, "indeed? I- I am delighted to hear it!"

But he didn't look it. The twins could tell that this news had come as a real blow to him. One of his names was worthless.

Mr. Crouch, "any others?"

Karkaroff, "why, yes…. There was Rosier. Evan Rosier."

Mr. Rosier, "Rosier is dead. He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."

Moody, "took a bit of me with him, though."

The twins looked around at him once more, and saw him pointing to the large chunk out of his nose to Dumbledore.

Karkaroff, "no- no more than Rosier deserved!"

Mr. Crouch, "any more?"

Karkaroff, "yes. There was Travers- he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber- he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!"

Mr. Crouch, "Rookwood? Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?"

Karkaroff, "the very same. I believe he used a network of well-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information!"

Mr. Crouch, "but Travers and Mulciber we have. Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide-"

Karkaroff, "not yet! Wait, I have more! Snape! Severus Snape!"

Mr. Crouch, "Snape has been cleared by this council. He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."

Karkaroff, "no! I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"

Dumbledore had gotten to his feet, "I have given evidence already on this matter. 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."

Harry and Michael turned to look at Moody. He was wearing a look of deep skepticism behind Dumbledore's back.

Mr. Crouch, "very well, Karkaroff. You have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime…."

Karkaroff yelled, "no! Wait! Wait! I have one more name! Someone who has been slowly making their way up within the circle of Death Eater's!"

Mr. Crouch, "ugh, fine. What is this last name you have!?"

"BARTY CROUCH…. JUNIOR!"

The whole room grew silent as the dead as the world around Harry and Michael dissolved as though it were made of smoke; everything was fading; swirling into darkness….

And then, the dungeon returned. The twins were sitting in different seats, 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 one another, almost as though they were at some sort of sporting event. The brothers noticed a younger Rita Skeeter sitting near them.

Michael tried to slap her, but his hand went right through her cheek like smoke.

Michael, "sigh, worth a shot."

Dumbledore was sitting beside them again, wearing different robes. Mr. Crouch looked more tired and somehow fiercer, gaunter…. It was a different memory, a different day…. A different trial.

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 muscular. Bagman looked nervous as he sat down in the chained chair, but it did not bind him there as it had bound Karkaroff, and Bagman, perhaps taking heart from this, glanced around at the watching crowd, waved at a couple of them, and managed a small smile.

Mr. Crouch, "Ludo Bagman, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters. 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 judgment?"

Harry and Michael couldn't believe their ears. Ludo Bagman, a Death Eater?

Bagman, "only, well- I know I've been a bit of an idiot-"

"You never spoke a truer word, boy", someone muttered dryly to Dumbledore behind the twins. They looked around and saw Moody sitting there again, "if I didn't know he'd always been dim, I'd have said some of those Bludgers had permanently affected his brain…."

Mr. Crouch, "Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort's supporters. 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.

Bagman, "but I've told you, I had no idea! 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.

Mr. Crouch, "it will be put to the vote. The jury will please raise their hands…. Those in favor of imprisonment…."

The twins looked toward 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.

Mr. Crouch, "yes?"

"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 his 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 sad day indeed for the Ministry…."

And the dungeon dissolved again. When it had returned, Harry and Michael looked around. They and Dumbledore were still sitting beside 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.

Harry looked up at Crouch and saw that he looked gaunter and grayer than ever before. A nerve was twitching in his temple.

"Bring them in", he 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. Harry saw the people in the crowd turn to look up at Mr. Crouch. A few of them whispered to one another.

The dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch; a thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose 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; and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his straw-colored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. The wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward 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.

Mr. Crouch, "you have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law, so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous-"

"Father", said the boy with the straw-colored hair, "Father…. Please…."

Mr. Crouch, "- that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court. We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror, Frank Longbottom, and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…."

The boy, "Father, I didn't! I didn't, I swear it, Father, don't send me back to the dementors-"

Mr. Crouch, "you are further accused 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 backward and forward, "Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

Mr. Crouch, "I now ask the jury to raise their hands 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.

"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 dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys' 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 off the dementors, even though the twins could see their cold, draining power starting to affect him. The crowd was 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!"

Mr. Crouch, "you are no son of mine! I have no son!"

The wispy witch beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed.

Mr. Crouch, "take them away! Take them away, and may they rot there!"

"Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"

"I think it is time to return to my office", said a quiet voice in Michael and Harry's ears.

Harry and Michael looked around. Then they looked on their other side.

There was an Albus Dumbledore sitting on their right, watching Crouch's son being dragged away by the dementors, and there was an Albus Dumbledore on their left, looking right at them.

"Come", said the Dumbledore on their left, and he put his hand under Harry's elbow. Harry felt himself rising into the air, as did Michael as Harry grabbed onto him; the dungeon dissolved around them; for a moment, all was blackness, and then they felt as though they had done a slow-motion somersault, suddenly landing flat on their feet, in what seemed like the dazzling light of Dumbledore's sunlit office.

"Professor", Harry gasped, "we know we shouldn't've…."

Michael, "we didn't mean- the cabinet door was sort of open and-"

Dumbledore, "I quite understand."

He lifted the basin, carried it over to his desk, placed it upon the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He motioned for the twins to sit down opposite him.

They did so, staring at the stone basin. The contents had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath their gaze.

Harry, "what is it?"

Dumbeldore, "this? It is called a Pensieve. I sometimes find, and I am sure you two know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."

Harry, "er…."

Michael, "I guess…. Sometimes…."

Dumbledore, "at these times. 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."

Michael, "you mean…. That stuff's your thoughts?"

Dumbledore, "certainly. 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. When he took the wand away, hair seemed to be clinging to it, but then they saw that it was in fact a glistening strand of the same strange silvery-white substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin, and the twins, astonished, saw their own faces swimming around the surface of the bowl.

Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would pan for fragments of gold…. And the brothers saw their own faces change smoothly into Snape's, who opened his mouth and spoke to the ceiling, his voice echoing slightly.

"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. 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."

Harry, "I'm sorry."

Michael, "me too."

Dumbledore, "curiosity is not a sin. 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 about sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of anyone around her. When she spoke, her voice echoed as Snape's had done, as though it were coming from the depths of the stone basin.

"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 greenhouses 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?"

Harry, "Bertha? 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."

The silvery light from the Pensieve illuminated Dumbledore's face, and it struck Harry and Michael suddenly how very old he was looking.

They knew, of course, that Dumbledore was getting on in years, but somehow they never really thought of Dumbledore as an old man.

Dumbeldore, "so, Harry, Michael. Before you got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something."

Michael, "yes, Professor, we were in Divination just now, and- er- we fell asleep."

He hesitated here, wondering if a reprimand was coming, but Dumbledore merely said, "quite understandable. Continue."

Harry, "well, I had a dream. A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail…. You know who Wormtail-"

Dumbledore, "I do know. Please continue."

Harry, "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 and Michael to it, instead. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail- and my scar hurt. It woke me up, it hurt so badly."

Michael, "I had a dream too. But it wasn't as clear. I was dancing with someone…. And then I saw someone being hut with a bunch of different curses…. The unforgivable kind…. And then I woke up with my scar hurting."

Dumbledore merely looked at him.

Michael, "er, that's all."

Harry, "yeah, that's everything."

Dumbledore, "I see. I see. Now, have your scars hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you two up over the summer?"

Harry, "no, we- how did you know it woke us up over the summer?"

Michael, "yeah, I'd like to know that too."

Dumbledore, "you are not Sirius's only correspondent. I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I who suggested the mountainside 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 the twins couldn't make out anything clearly: It was merely a blur of color.

After a few minutes, Harry asked, "Professor?"

Michael, "are you okay, sir?"

Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at the boys. He sat back down at his desk and said, "my apologies."

Michael, "d'you know why our scars are hurting us?"

Dumbledore looked very intently at the twins for a moment, and then said, "I have a theory, no more than that…. It is my belief that your scars hurt both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."

Harry, "but…. Why?"

Dumbledore, "because you and he are connected by the curse that failed. That is no ordinary scar."

Michael, "so you think…. Those dreams…. Did they really happen?"

Dumbledore, "it is possible. I would say…. Probable. Harry, Michael, did you see Voldemort?"

Harry, "no. Just the back of his chair. 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?"

Michael, "and how could he have been standing around? Pointing his wand at me? It was his laughter I heard as he cast his curses…. How could he do that?"

Dumbledore, "how indeed? How indeed…."

Neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, and, every now and then, placing his wand tip to his temple and adding another shining silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.

Harry, "Professor. Do you think he's getting stronger?"

Dumbledore, "Voldemort?"

Dumbledore looked at the twins over the Pensieve. It was the characteristic, piercing look Dumbledore had given them on other occasions, and always made them feel as though Dumbledore were seeing right through them in a way that even Moody's magical eye could not.

Dumbledore, "once again, I can only give you my suspicions."

Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older, and wearier, than ever.

Dumbledore, "the years of Voldemort's ascent to power, were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch too has disappeared…. Within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, do not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort's father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends. These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees- as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office."

The twins nodded. Silence fell between them again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. The brothers felt as though they ought to go, but their curiosity held them in their chairs.

Michael, "Professor?"

Dumbledore, "yes?"

Michael, "er…. Could we ask you about…. That court thing we were in…. In the Pensieve?"

Dumbledore, "you could. I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than others…. Particularly now…."

Michael, "you know, you know the trial you found us in? The one with Crouch's son? Well…. Were they talking about Neville's parents?"

Dumbledore gave a very sharp look, "has Neville never told you why he has been brought up by his grandmother?"

Harry and Michael shook their heads, wondering, as they did so, how they could have failed to ask Neville this, in almost four years of knowing him. Michael himself was shocked the most.

Dumbledore, "yes, they were talking about Neville's parents. 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."

Harry, "so they're dead?"

Dumbledore, "no. They are insane. They are both in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognize him."

Michael and Harry sat there, horror-struck. They had never known…. Never, in four years, bothered to find out….

Dumbledore, "the Longbottoms were very popular. 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."

Harry, "then Mr. Crouch's son might not have been involved?"

Dumbledore shook his head, "as to that, I have no idea."

Harry and Michael sat in silence once more, watching the contents of the Pensieve swirl. There were two more questions they were burning to ask…. But they were concerned about the guilt of living people….

Harry, "er. Mr. Bagman…."

Dumbledore, "... has never been accused of any Dark activity since."

"Right", said Harry hastily, staring at the contents of the Pensieve again, which were swirling more slowly now that Dumbledore had stopped adding thoughts.

Michael, "and…. Er…."

But the Pensieve seemed to be asking his question for him.

Snape's face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry.

Dumbledore, "no more has Professor Snape."

Harry and Michael looked into Dumbledore's light blue eyes, and the thing they really wanted to know spilled out of Michael's mouth before he could stop it.

"What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"

Dumbledore held Michael's gaze for a few seconds, and then said, "that, Michael, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."

The twins knew that the interview was over; Dumbledore did not look angry, yet there was a finality in his tone that told them it was time to go. They stood up, and so did Dumbledore.

"Boys", he said as they reached the door, "please do not speak about Neville's parents to anybody else. He has the right to let people know, when he is ready."

Harry, "yes, Professor."

The twins began to leave.

Michael, "and…."

They looked back. Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from beneath by its silvery spots of light, looking older than ever.

He stared at them for a moment, and then said, "good luck with the third task…."

….

Reviews:

Canadude2029: Yeah they are, and something is indeed coming...

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