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Blair was about to lead him to the hospital wing when Harry shook his head. "Not there. I need to go to Dumbledore." Blair nodded and changed direction. 

As they walked, Blair glanced at him. "Are you alright, Harry?" 

"No." Both of them looked surprised at his answer.

Blair spoke carefully. "You can tell me if you want to." Harry hesitated before telling her about his dream. 

Blair's eyes widened as she listened carefully to every detail. How Wormtail made a blunder, how someone was dead, how Harry himself was going to be fed to the snake, how the weapon was proving to be powerful as expected and the Cruciatus Curse being used on Wormtail. After a while, they finally arrived at Dumbledore's office. 

"Well, we better get to him quick then." Blair turned to the gargoyle. "Do you know the password, Harry?" 

"Sherbet lemon?" Harry tried tentatively. The gargoyle did not move.

"Okay," said Blair, staring at it, "Pear Drop?" 

"Er — Licorice Wand. Fizzing Whizbee. Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans... oh no, he doesn't like them, does he? Oh just open, can't you?" Harry said angrily. "I really need to see him, it's urgent!" The gargoyle remained immovable.

Blair kicked it, achieving nothing but an excruciating pain in her big toe with Harry stifling his laughter. 

"Chocolate Frog!" she yelled angrily, standing on one leg. "Sugar Quill! Cockroach Cluster!" 

The gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside. Blair blinked. "Cockroach Cluster?" she said, amazed. "I was only joking..." 

"Well, he is quite odd." Harry said and the two of them laughed as they went up the spiral stone staircase.

Blair and Harry exchanged glances. They could hear voices from inside the office. They stepped off the moving staircase and hesitated, listening. 

"Dumbledore, I'm afraid I don't see the connection, don't see it at all!" It was the voice of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. "Ludo says Bertha's perfectly capable of getting herself lost. I agree we would have expected to have found her by now, but all the same, we've no evidence of foul play, Dumbledore, none at all. As for her disappearance being linked with Barty Crouch's!"

"And what do you thinks happened to Barty Crouch, Minister?" said Moody's growling voice. 

"I see two possibilities, Alastor," said Fudge. "Either Crouch has finally cracked — more than likely, I'm sure you'll agree, given his personal history — lost his mind, and gone wandering off somewhere —" 

"He wandered extremely quickly, if that is the case, Cornelius," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Or else — well..." Fudge sounded embarrassed. "Well, I'll reserve judgment until after I've seen the place where he was found, but you say it was just past the Beauxbatons carriage? Dumbledore, you know what that woman is?" 

"I consider her to be a very able headmistress — and an excellent dancer," said Dumbledore quietly. 

"Dumbledore, come!" said Fudge angrily. "Don't you think you might be prejudiced in her favor because of Hagrid? They don't all turn out harmless — if, indeed, you can call Hagrid harmless, with that monster fixation he's got —"

"I no more suspect Madame Maxime than Hagrid," said Dumbledore, just as calmly. "I think it possible that it is you who are prejudiced, Cornelius." 

"Can we wrap up this discussion?" growled Moody. 

"Yes, yes, let's go down to the grounds, then," said Fudge impatiently. 

"No, it's not that," said Moody, "it's just that Potter and the Little B want a word with you, Dumbledore. They're just outside the door."

The door of the office opened. "Hello, Potter, Little B," said Moody. "Come in, then." 

Blair and Harry walked inside, and though she had been in Dumbledore's office before, she couldn't help but marvel at the sight. She looked at the wall, lined with pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, all of whom were fast asleep, their chests rising and falling gently.

Cornelius Fudge was standing beside Dumbledore's desk, wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat. "Harry! Blair!" said Fudge jovially, moving forward. "How are you?" 

"Fine," Harry lied. 

"All good, sir." Blair smiled politely.

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

"Yes," said Blair. Then, feeling it was pointless to pretend that she hadn't overheard what they had been saying, she added, "I didn't see Madame Maxime anywhere, though, and she'd have a job hiding, wouldn't she?" Dumbledore smiled at Blair behind Fudge's back, his eyes twinkling. 

"Yes, well," said Fudge, looking embarrassed, "we're about to go for a short walk on the grounds, Harry, Blair, if you'll excuse us... perhaps if you just go back to your class —" 

"I wanted to talk to you, Professor," Harry said quickly, looking at Dumbledore, who gave him a swift, searching look then glanced at Blair with the same look.

"Wait here for me, Harry, Blair." he said. "Our examination of the grounds will not take long." They trooped out in silence past him and closed the door. 

After a minute or so, Blair heard the clunks of Moody's wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below. She looked around and smiled. "Hello, Fawkes." The phoenix nuzzled into her hand.

Blair sat down beside Harry in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. For several minutes, she roamed her eyes around then saw the Sorting Hat and the sword of Godric Gryffindor. She smiled at the memory of pulling it out of the hat. 

Then, she noticed a path of silvery light, dancing and shimmering on the glass case. She and Harry looked at each other before curiosity got the best of them, and they looked around for its source.

"Hey, Aika. Here." Harry called out. Blair turned around and walked over to him as he pulled open the cabinet door. 

A shallow stone basin lay there, with odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols that Blair did not recognize. The silvery light was coming from the basin's contents, which were like nothing Blair 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.

Blair pulled out her wand and motioned Harry to do the same. "Come on, James. We go together." Harry chuckled, and they prodded the contents of the basin. The surface of the silvery stuff inside the basin began to swirl very fast. The two bent closer and looked down to see closer.

Blair 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 she seemed to be looking through a circular window in the ceiling. The room was dimly lit; she 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.

Blair started lowering her face so that her nose was mere inches away from the glassy substance, Blair 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.

Blair's breath hitched. She thought the room was familiar, but she forgot where she had seen it. Then, Blair leaned closer. The tip of her nose touched the strange substance. She managed to take Harry's hand before Dumbledore's office gave an almighty lurch — 

Harry and Blair were thrown forward and pitched headfirst into the substance inside the basin —

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

Blair found herself sitting on a bench at the end of the room inside the basin, a bench raised high above the others. Harry soon fell beside her.

Blair looked around and yelped. Albus Dumbledore was sitting right next to her. "H-Harry!" 

Harry turned to follow her sight and let out a loud cry of surprise. "Professor!" Harry said in a kind of strangled whisper. "We're sorry — We didn't mean to — We were just looking at that basin in your cabinet — We — where are we?"

Blair frowned when Dumbledore ignored Harry and didn't move or speak. Like every other wizard on the benches, he was staring into the far corner of the room, where there was a door.

Blair looked around, still confused. Harry tugged on her arm. "Blair. We're in a memory." 

Blair's eyes widened. She raised her right hand, hesitated and then waved it energetically in Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore did not blink, look around at Blair or Harry, or indeed move at all. 

"So, where are we? Or should I say, when are we?" Blair's light joke made Harry chuckle.

"It doesn't seem too long ago. He looks the same." Harry said. 

Blair looked around more carefully then it dawned upon her. "Harry, we're at the Ministry. I forgot what room this is, but we're at the Ministry." Harry was about to speak when 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. Blair gripped her wand tightly. Her insides felt cold. 

Though she hadn't heard yells like Harry did, the dementors still affected her and made her faint. Remus Lupin told her that besides happiness, dementors also fed on sources of great power. And Blair apparently had both.

The dementors — tall, hooded creatures whose faces were concealed — were gliding slowly toward the chair in the center 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 to faint, and Blair couldn't blame him. She was relieved that they were only in a memory.

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. Blair gasped. The man 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 Blair 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," said a curt voice to Blair's left. Blair looked around and saw Mr. Crouch standing up in the middle of the bench beside him. Crouch's hair was dark, his face was much less lined, he looked fit and alert. "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," he said, and his voice was very scared, but Blair 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, others with pronounced mistrust. 

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

"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.

"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, 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, from 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. Blair chuckled slightly. He was still the same even then. 

"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 didn't look it. Blair 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 come quietly and was killed in the struggle." 

"Took a bit of me with him, though," whispered Moody to Blair's right. Blair looked to see the familiar chunk off his nose. He told her the story countless times already.

"No — no more than Rosier deserved!" said Karkaroff, a real note of panic in his voice now. Karkaroff's eyes darted toward 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! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!"

Blair could tell that, this time, Karkaroff had struck gold. The watching crowd was all murmuring together. 

"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-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information —"

"But Travers and Mulciber we have," 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!" "Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"

Blair and Harry looked at each other, surprised. "Snape has been cleared by this council," said Crouch disdainfully. "He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore." 

"No!" shouted Karkaroff, straining at the chains that bound him to the chair. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"

Dumbledore had gotten 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." Blair turned to look at Mad-Eye Moody. He was wearing a look of deep skepticism behind Dumbledore's back.

"Very well, Karkaroff," Crouch said coldly, "you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime..." Mr. Crouch's voice faded.

Blair and Harry held each other's hands; the dungeon was dissolving as though it were made of smoke; everything was fading; they could only see their own bodies — all else was swirling darkness... And then, the dungeon returned.

Blair and Harry 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.

Blair scoffed. A younger Rita Skeeter halfway up the rows of benches opposite was there. Blair looked around; Dumbledore was sitting beside her again, wearing different robes. Mr. Crouch looked more tired and somehow fiercer, gaunter... 

Blair understood. 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.

"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," 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 judgment?"

Blair and Harry looked at each other again. Ludo Bagman, a Death Eater? Is that why he kept on helping them? 

"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 behind Blair and Harry. She 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..."

"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 favor of imprisonment..." Blair 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.

"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 his feet and bowed, beaming.

"Despicable," Mr. Crouch spat at Dumbledore, sitting down as Bagman walked out of the dungeon. "Rookwood got 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, Blair looked around. She, Harry 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.

Blair 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.

Blair gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, not noticing she had Harry's hand in one of hers. 

"Blair?" Harry gasped out in pain. 

Blair finally noticed it and let go of Harry's hand. "Sorry." 

Harry looked at her worriedly. "Are you fine?" 

Blair simply nodded. She glared at the four people, who were placed in the four chairs with chained arms. They were the ones who destroyed Neville's life and childhood.

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. Blair recognized them as Rodolphus, Rabastan and Bellatrix Lestrange. Blair felt relief through her body at the thought that they were in Azkaban. 

Then, 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. It was Barty Crouch Jr. Blair's eyes softened. He was said to be innocent, a good kid. Wrong place at the wrong time. No one really knew the truth, but Blair still felt sadness for him. 

The wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief. Blair realized that must have been Crouch's wife. 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 Barty Crouch Jr. "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 — 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 —"

"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 backward and forward.

Harry suddenly realized why Blair had reacted like that and looked at her with worry and understanding. Blair smiled reassuringly as she turned her attention back to the trial. 

"Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!" Barty Crouch Jr. pleaded. 

"I now ask the jury," shouted Mr. Crouch, "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; Bellatrix Lestrange 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!" Blair glared at her. She had probably been laughing when she tortured Neville's parents, and it sickened Blair that they were proud of it.

But Crouch's son was trying to fight off the dementors, even though Blair could see their cold, draining power starting to affect him. The crowd was jeering, some of them on their feet, as Bellatrix 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!" Crouch's wife beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed.

"Take them away!" Crouch roared at the dementors, spit flying from his mouth. "Take them away, and may they rot there!" 

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

"I think, Blair, Harry, it is time to return to my office," said a quiet voice in Harry and Blair's ears. Blair looked around, and she saw a Dumbledore on her right, watching Barty Crouch Jr. being dragged away by the dementors and a Dumbledore on her left, looking right at her.

"Come," said the Dumbledore on her left, and he put his hands under Blair and Harry's elbows. 

Blair felt herself rising into the air; the dungeon dissolved around her; for a moment, all was blackness, and then she felt as though she had done a slow-motion somersault, suddenly landing flat on her feet, in what seemed like the dazzling light of Dumbledore's sunlit office. The stone basin was shimmering in the cabinet in front of her, and Albus Dumbledore was standing between her and Harry.

"Professor," Harry gasped, "I know we shouldn't've —" 

Blair started panicking. "We 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, placed it upon the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He motioned for Blair and Harry to sit down opposite him.

Blair did so, staring at the stone basin. The contents had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath her gaze. "What is it?" Blair asked shakily. 

"This? It is called a Pensieve," said Dumbledore. "I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind." Blair didn't know that feeling at all.

"Er," said Harry awkwardly. 

"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 your thoughts?" Blair said, 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. When he took the wand away, hair seemed to be clinging to it — 

But then Blair saw that it was in fact a glistening strand of the same strange silvery-white substance that filled the Pensieve. "Does it come in different colors?"

Harry and Dumbledore chuckled. Dumbledore looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "I suppose you'd like yours to be red, Blair." Blair grinned back. 

Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin, and Blair saw her own face 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 Blair saw her own face 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." He peered over the top of his halfmoon spectacles at Blair and Harry, who were gaping at Snape's face, which was continuing to swirl around the bowl. "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 and Blair 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 about sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of Blair, Harry or Professor Dumbledore. 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?"

"Bertha?" Blair 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." 

The silvery light from the Pensieve illuminated Dumbledore's face, and it struck Blair suddenly how very old he was looking. She knew, of course, that Dumbledore was getting on in years, but somehow he never really thought of Dumbledore as an old man.

"So, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "Before you and Blair got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something." 

"Yes," said Harry. "Professor — I was in Divination just now, and — er — I fell asleep." 

Blair held back her chuckle, but Dumbledore merely said, "Quite understandable. Continue."

"Well, I had a dream," said Harry. "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 suddenly became happy because he read from the letter that the weapon was powerful as expected. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail — and my scar hurt," Harry said. "It woke me up, it hurt so badly."

Dumbledore merely looked at him before staring at Blair. Blair was confused to see him stare at her as if he could find something out from Blair. 

"I see," said Dumbledore quietly, looking back at Harry but still stealing glances at Blair. "I see. Now, has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer?"

"No, I — how did you know it woke me up over the summer?" said Harry, astonished. 

"You are not Sirius's 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 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 Blair couldn't make out anything clearly: It was merely a blur of color.

"Professor?" Blair said quietly, after a couple of minutes. Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry and Blair. 

"My apologies," he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk. 

"D'you — d'you know why my scar's hurting me?" Harry meekly asked. 

Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry for a moment, and then said, "I have a theory, no more than that... It is my belief that your scar hurts 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. "I would say — probable. Harry — did you see Voldemort?"

 "No," said Harry. "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?" Harry said slowly. 

"How indeed?" muttered Dumbledore. "How indeed..."

Blair, Dumbledore and Harry did not speak 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. 

"Professor," Blair said at last, "do you think he's getting stronger?"

"Voldemort?" said Dumbledore, looking at Harry and Blair over the Pensieve.

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

"Once again, Harry, Blair, 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 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."

Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry and Blair. "These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees — as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office." Blair and Harry nodded. 

Silence fell between them again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. 

Harry spoke up again. "Professor, do you know anything about the weapon?" 

This time, Dumbledore looked taken aback and looked at Harry and Blair with an expression of slight confusion, realization and uncertainty. It was silent. Harry and Blair waited for his answer when Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid I do not know, Harry. But I hope whatever it is, it wouldn't be taken by Voldemort."

Blair's confusion grew. Dumbledore looked at her as he said that. Silence again then...

"Professor?" Harry said again. 

"Yes, Harry?" said Dumbledore. 

"Er... could I ask you about... that court thing I was in... in the Pensieve?" Blair looked down sadly. She knew Neville didn't want others knowing about his parents' tragic fates.

"You could," said Dumbledore heavily. "I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than others... particularly now..." 

Harry glanced at Blair before he said. "You know — you know the trial you found me in? The one with Crouch's son? Well... were they talking about Neville's parents?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a very sharp look. "I'm sure Blair knows, but Harry. Has Neville never told you why he has been brought up by his grandmother?" he said. 

Harry shook his head and looked at Blair. Blair just smiled sadly at him. 

"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, Harry," said Blair with a bitter tone. "They were tortured to insanity. They are both in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Neville visits them with his grandmum, but they don't recognize him. They're shells of their past selves." Harry sat there, horror in his eyes. 

"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." 

Blair didn't say anything and watched the contents of the Pensieve swirl before she said. "Professor, Mr. Bagman..." 

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

"I see." Blair said hastily then caught sight of Snape's face swimming on the Pensieve's surface.

Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry and Blair. "No more has Professor Snape," he said. 

Blair watched Harry look into Dumbledore's light blue eyes before Harry said quietly. "What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"

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

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

"Harry," he said as Harry and Blair reached the door. "Please do not speak about Neville's parents to anybody else as Blair and their other friends did. He has the right to let people know, when he is ready." 

"Yes, Professor," said Harry, turning to go with Blair.

"And —" Harry and Blair 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 Harry for a moment then at Blair with the same piercing gaze he had given Harry a moment ago, and then said, "Good luck with the third task."

Harry and Blair said their thanks before going out the door. They walked in silence before Blair smiled at him. "Don't worry, Harry. I won't tell Gramen that you know. And I know you will keep the secret." 

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief as he smiled back at Blair. "Thanks, Blair."

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