"So, which house are you all hoping for?"
Now that they'd gotten to know each other, James took the lead in asking.
Remus Lupin, looking a bit frail, coughed and replied, "I'm not sure what house someone like me would belong in."
"What do you mean, 'someone like you'?" Sirius grinned. "Are you afraid you'll end up in Hufflepuff?"
Remus laughed. "I'm at least confident enough that won't happen."
Sirius's smile grew wider, and he turned to Tywin.
"What about you?"
Tywin gave a shy smile, stealing a quick glance at James before mumbling, "I… I hope to be in Gryffindor."
"Another Gryffindor," Sirius sighed.
James burst into laughter. "Tywin's destined for Hufflepuff—he's been a blockhead since we were kids.
"Once, Tywin and I went swimming in the river, and a Grindylow got ahold of him and dragged him under. I had to dive in to rescue him…"
As James recounted Tywin's clumsy mishaps, the others chuckled along.
Tywin's face flushed with embarrassment, tears welling in his eyes as his friends laughed at him.
Before long, the trolley came around with snacks.
James tugged Tywin toward the trolley, and Sirius followed.
But as the others rushed out, the scene stayed in place, with Lupin remaining alone in the compartment.
William now knew whose memory this was.
The train compartment scene faded, replaced by the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
He stood by the Ravenclaw table, watching as candlelit tables filled the hall, surrounded by rows of expectant faces.
Professor McGonagall called, "James Potter!"
James swaggered up to the Sorting Hat and sat on the stool.
As soon as the hat touched his dark hair, it called out, "Gryffindor!" in barely a second.
William heard a pained sigh from Tywin beside him.
Tywin had not been sorted into Gryffindor or even Hufflepuff but had surprisingly been placed in Ravenclaw.
James handed the hat back to Professor McGonagall, then ran over to join the cheering Gryffindors, sitting next to Sirius and diving into an animated conversation.
Tywin's gaze lingered on James, but James didn't look back, his attention fully on Sirius.
In Tywin's eyes, a flicker of jealousy and disappointment passed.
William frowned, an absurd thought creeping into his mind:
Could it be that Professor Tywin stole the Ravenclaw ring not to revive Voldemort but… to bring back James Potter, killed by Voldemort?
Was that even possible?!
"William, I think it's time for us to return." A voice spoke softly in William's ear.
Startled, William looked around, spotting another Dumbledore seated nearby, watching the Sorting Ceremony and applauding along with the students—while the Dumbledore next to him was observing him closely.
"Come now," the Dumbledore beside him said, gently taking William by the elbow.
William felt himself lift into the air as Hogwarts faded away into darkness. He turned in a slow-motion tumble until his feet landed back on solid ground, blinking against the light of Dumbledore's office.
The Pensieve gleamed in its cabinet, and Dumbledore stood beside him.
"Professor," William said quickly, "I didn't mean to see those memories—the cabinet door was open—"
"No harm done. You were bound to see them eventually," Dumbledore replied.
He lifted the Pensieve from the cabinet, carrying it to his desk, and sat down, gesturing for William to take a seat across from him.
William sat down, still staring at the Pensieve, his mind filled with the vivid images he'd just seen.
The silvery substance within had returned to its familiar, swirling state, casting ripples across its surface.
"I imagine you already know what this is?" Dumbledore asked.
"The Pensieve, Professor."
"Exactly. The Pensieve. A rare and valuable alchemical device. Sometimes, I find my mind crowded with too many thoughts and memories. You likely understand the feeling."
William nodded. His mind was indeed filled with questions.
"In times like these, I use the Pensieve," Dumbledore explained, gesturing at the basin, "to extract excess thoughts from my mind and pour them into this basin. When I have a moment, I can revisit them, often finding it easier to discern their shapes and connections."
It sounded a bit like Sherlock Holmes's memory palace, William thought.
Dumbledore drew his wand from his robes, touching its tip to his silver hair near his temple.
As he withdrew the wand, it seemed to carry a strand of silver thread with it—yet William soon realized that it was a small, silvery wisp of thought, much like what he'd seen in the Pensieve.
Dumbledore added the new memory to the basin, and Snape's face appeared in the swirling silver.
With careful hands, Dumbledore swirled the Pensieve as though panning for gold.
After a moment, Snape's face opened its mouth and spoke toward the ceiling, voice echoing slightly.
"Headmaster, I saw myself—but I'm certain it wasn't me.
"The other person smelled of Polyjuice Potion. He was injured, trying to break into my potions supply closet, but I stopped him… Then I followed the blood trail to the Ravenclaw entrance, where I found Robert, already dead."
Snape's face faded, replaced by that of Minister Fudge.
Red-faced, Fudge paced angrily in front of the hospital wing door.
At last, he turned and bellowed, "A student dead, a professor dead! We used Priori Incantatem, and found traces of Dark Magic in Snape's wand.
"I have no choice but to take him to Azkaban, Albus, no matter what you say!"
Dumbledore peered at William over his half-moon glasses. "When you arrived, I was reviewing these memories.
"The Grey Lady had raised an alarm, and I left in a hurry for Ravenclaw Tower, likely without shutting the cabinet properly. It's no surprise it caught your attention."
"Sorry," William apologized again.
Dumbledore shook his head.
"As I said, you would have seen these in time. Here, watch another one…" he murmured, frowning as he stirred the memories with his wand.
The silvery surface rippled, and a figure rose—a young Tywin, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, tall and thin, his face twisted with anger.
His legs stood within the basin, oblivious to William and Dumbledore watching him from above.
When he spoke, his voice echoed as if coming from the depths of the Pensieve.
"James is dating Lily Evans, Professor Dumbledore. I… I just got a bit angry. I didn't mean to curse her.
"I saw them last week at Madam Puddifoot's, kissing, and I… I couldn't hold back my anger…"
"Professor Dumbledore," William looked up at the Headmaster, speaking softly, "was Tywin… did he… have feelings for James Potter?"
"Feelings?"
Dumbledore repeated the word slowly, his eyes drifting as if recalling distant memories. He sighed deeply.
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