Chapter 290: The Pensieve
"—stole the car! I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if they'd sacked you! You wait until I get hold of you! I don't suppose you even stopped to think what your father and I went through when we saw it was gone—"
Mrs. Weasley's voice, magnified a hundred times, made the plates and spoons on the table rattle and dance. The echoes rebounding from the stone walls were deafening.
The entire Great Hall turned to see who had received the Howler. Ron sank so low in his chair that only his beet-red forehead was visible.
Amidst the cacophony, Sean quietly pocketed his lens-tube and rose from the table. On his way out, he crossed paths with Professor Flitwick, who was moving along the Ravenclaw table. Like Professor McGonagall, the tiny charms master was busy handing out the new term's timetables.
Looking at the parchment, Sean noticed the study hours had been extended. The latest classes, which usually ended at half-past three, now ran until nearly five o'clock.
Ravenclaw had a free period this morning. The afternoon was packed with Transfiguration, History of Magic, and a session of Herbology. The latter was a joint class with the Slytherins; if the rumors were true, they would be repotting Mandrakes today.
Sean and his friends had encountered those peculiar plants last winter, though back then, they had merely been "dressing" the Mandrakes in tiny socks and scarves to keep them warm.
Timetable in hand, Sean made his way to the Room of Hope. Inside, the magical flora flourished, and a specialized cultivation rack stood at the far end of the room. As Sean approached, his modular wooden cabinet unfolded, transforming into a compact alchemical workbench.
Outside the window, a stray leaf drifted past, carrying a message: autumn had arrived, cool and bountiful.
As the season crept into the castle grounds, the needles of the fir trees began to yellow. Sean looked up from his work; his Refraction Spectacles were finally complete.
[Refraction Spectacles: Apprentice (20/90)]
The function was simple: the device took external light, passed it through multiple refractions, and delivered the final image into the wearer's pupils. In theory, one could achieve this without magic, but magical engineering had allowed Sean to compress the complex optics into a sleek, functional frame.
Now, he only needed to verify if his method would actually work against a Basilisk. To do that, he needed to recall every detail of the Chamber of Secrets. However, the passage of time had eroded the sharper edges of his memories, leaving only blurred outlines.
Sean had anticipated this. He had already prepared a solution.
A Pensieve.
The Pensieve was enchanted to recreate memories with perfect fidelity. It could faithfully reproduce any detail stored in the subconscious, allowing the owner—or an invited guest—to step into the memory and walk around within it.
Pensieves were exceedingly rare. Only the most powerful wizards tended to use them, and even then, many lacked the courage to confront their own thoughts so directly. Traditionally, a witch or wizard's Pensieve was buried with them, much like their wand, as it was considered a deeply private artifact.
Fortunately, as a rising star in the world of Alchemy, Sean always knew where to find a seller.
A shallow stone basin slid out from a hidden compartment in the wooden cabinet, its rim carved with ancient runes and strange symbols. The basin was filled with a silver substance—something that looked like liquid light or captured clouds.
Sean raised his wand to his temple. A silver thread of memory followed the tip, which he then dropped into the basin.
The silver liquid swirled. Sean leaned in, and suddenly, he was standing in the corridor on that fateful October night. He could see the petrified form of Mrs. Norris hanging from the torch bracket.
It was the night of Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party. The Basilisk would make its first strike, and the poor cat would be the victim.
By using the Pensieve, Sean could prepare. When the Basilisk moved in October, he would be there to save Mrs. Norris and, simultaneously, test if his Refraction Spectacles could nullify the killing power of the serpent's gaze.
The wooden cabinet folded back around the basin, swallowing it into its deepest recesses. Sean had even added a failsafe: an emergency self-destruction jinx should the cabinet be tampered with.
Sean stared at the cabinet for a moment. Is it just my imagination? he wondered. This thing seems to be getting more sentient by the day.
On the first day of term, while the first-years were still lost in the whimsy of the magical castle, something even more chaotic was happening: the Club Recruitment Drive.
Hogwarts clubs were usually sleepy affairs, relying on occasional word-of-mouth to find new members. But this year, a "dreadful" club had begun recruiting like a feverish cult, even poaching members from other organizations with ruthless efficiency. The pressure had forced every other club to step up their game.
"The Hogwarts Kneazle Society is the largest club in the entire school!"
Hannah Abbott was naturally a shy witch, but since becoming the President of the Kneazle Society, she had forced herself to be much more outgoing. She was currently surrounded by a group of wide-eyed first-year girls.
Beside her stood a red-faced Neville, his head buried so low he looked like a ripe apple.
Hannah wasn't lying—at least, not if you ignored the fact that they were aggressively poaching members from the Gobstones Club.
"I'll say it again," Hannah pitched. "You've all seen the 'Lucky Statue' on the third floor, haven't you? That's proof the Castle Kneazle exists... It's because of the Kneazle's luck that Mr. Green—our resident alchemy genius—is helping us all pass our exams! Even Professor Lockhart's arrival is said to be because he spotted a Kneazle on his way to the interview! Can you believe it?"
She spoke so fast and with such conviction that the first-years were left in a daze of "Kneazle-fever."
Sean, passing by the recruitment stalls, instinctively quickened his pace. The Great Hall was a battlefield of banners and speeches.
He saw the Gobstones Club stall. It was a niche sport, but one with history—Snape's mother, Eileen Prince, had been the President, and her name still graced the trophies in the display cases.
There was the Quidditch Club (which was really just an unofficial fan club for the house teams).
There was the Hogwarts Explorers' Club run by the Weasley twins, whose primary mission seemed to be mapping every secret passage in the castle.
Aside from the recreational groups, there were academic circles like the Charms Club and the Ancient Runes Society, almost all of which had been founded by Ravenclaws.
And then there were the Hufflepuffs, nearly all of whom had joined a club that actually piqued Sean's interest: The Gourmet's Guild (famously known as the Ever-Hungry Club).
"Sean! I heard you lot have Herbology next," a voice called out.
Justin Finch-Fletchley emerged from the crowd, holding a few shredded Mandrake leaves. "I don't suppose you'd let me see your Animagus form? I've been doing some reading on it, and I'm fascinated."
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