Dumbledore's Doubts

"A transaction?"

Snape frowned slightly.

"Yes, a transaction." Dumbledore gazed into the Pensieve, its shallow, clear water reflecting his bright eyes. "He will help me train Harry, provide assistance within his means, and stand against Voldemort..."

"Vol..." Snape's cheek twitched, and he stopped himself before finishing.

As if aware of the turmoil within him, Dumbledore murmured, "Yes, just as I told you before, Severus, Tom is not dead!"

As he spoke, he beckoned Snape over. "Come, watch with me. Vaughn provided his memories of the battle in the Third Floor Corridor... Oh, and I've restored the corridor, but there may still be places I failed to notice. Go inspect it again tomorrow."

Snape said nothing. He silently walked to the Pensieve and released his Occlumency.

With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, his thoughts suddenly plunged into the basin. Countless ink-like traces descended with them, turning into mist.

In an instant, a corridor formed before his eyes.

Harry clutching his head and screaming in agony; Hermione, weeping in fear yet still standing before Harry; Vaughn loudly casting "Sectumsempra."

And in the middle of the corridor, at the center of the entire memory, that dark, twisted, evil Black-robed Man, and the green light blooming from his Wand!

Clap!

Dumbledore, standing beside him, clapped his hands. The people in the memory, like insects encased in Amber, abruptly froze. The scene was suspended!

In the frozen image, the face of the Black-robed Man who had cast the Killing Curse could vaguely be seen.

Quirinus Quirrell!

Yet neither Dumbledore nor Snape focused on that face. Their gazes seemed to pierce through it, looking into his body, behind him!

The memory restored by the Pensieve carried a hazy glow, and that light seemed to make Snape uncomfortable.

His gaze drifted, his pupils trembling.

"You saw it, Severus. Tom has returned..." Dumbledore said in a low voice. "Though he is now only a Remnant Soul, parasitizing a cowardly soul like a parasite. But he truly did not die, and he is preparing for resurrection."

It was as though distant memories of fear toward his former master were crashing into Snape's mind.

Even though he had sensed the other party's Magic Power fluctuations before and was mentally prepared, when he truly faced it—even if it was merely a memory—Snape still found his throat so dry that he could not speak.

Countless emotions boiled within him: admiration, fear, and above all, hatred!

Only when Dumbledore clapped again did the frozen scene resume. They watched Vaughn's "Sectumsempra" pierce through the Shield Charm and wound Voldemort.

Dumbledore's tone turned cheerful again. "I must say, Severus, you developed a very powerful spell, and taught an excellent student as well—there are not many people who can injure Tom."

Snape's face remained wooden. "...The one injured was Quirrell, not him. But he must hate Vaughn to the core now."

Dumbledore knew who Snape meant by "him." Smiling, he said, "At least until he truly returns, Vaughn is very safe. And we all know that the one he hates most will always be Harry."

The brief memory soon ended, and their thoughts returned.

But Snape's expression had not improved in the slightest. With a stiff face and his usual mocking tone, he said, "Yes, one is the Savior who killed him, and the other is a Young Wizard who inexplicably stopped him from taking the Philosopher's Stone, wounded him, and humiliated him... What a perfect combination. In a few years, after he revives, he may forgive everyone else, but he will never forgive those two."

"The perfect candidates to oppose him!"

Dumbledore listened in silence. Only after Snape had finished did he sigh helplessly. "You suspect I arranged this?"

Snape gave a meaningless chuckle. "I never said that."

But his expression was more than enough to reveal his suspicion.

Dumbledore knew that Snape had always held prejudices against him, because the methods he had used to coerce him had indeed been rather despicable.

He had exploited the last remnants of Snape's love and goodness, forcing him to linger on the boundary between life and death.

Though in Dumbledore's view, there was no right or wrong in this matter—Snape had once been a Death Eater and had committed countless evil acts for the Dark Lord. Forcing him now was merely making him atone.

But today was not the time for an argument. Dumbledore sighed. "Everything that happened today, aside from Quirrell bringing the Troll into Hogwarts, was an accident... Do you remember what I told you? Destiny—the Destiny of Tom and Harry."

"This invisible force influences all things in the world. The destinies of all things Intertwined into an enormous web, yet sometimes, certain unique individuals of Destiny are born."

"Tom and Harry's destinies are like that. They are entangled with one another. Once they begin to draw close, they become like iron balls caught in a net. Wherever they roll, the net there sinks and collapses with them. The destinies of many people are involuntarily swept along by them, until one side dies and this great iron ball finally breaks apart."

"What happened today was the disturbance of Tom and Harry's destinies."

Destiny...

Listening to Dumbledore's metaphor, Snape could offer no judgment. He had never seen Destiny, but he knew it truly existed.

Otherwise, there would be no prophecies or divination in the Wizarding world.

He even knew that Dumbledore himself had once been an "iron ball."

But he did not want to continue this incomprehensible, mystical topic. After a moment of silence, he asked, "Since it is a transaction, Vaughn helps you train Harry. What do you have to give in return?"

Dumbledore, who had been absorbed in "Destiny," came back to himself at those words, and his tone became cheerful once more. "Ah, speaking of that, I must say, Vaughn's desire for fame and fortune astonished me. He asked me to find a way to raise his reputation!"

Snape: "?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard in distress. "He proposed a whole list of conditions. For example, I am not allowed to show favoritism toward Gryffindor by giving them points lavishly; if he accomplishes anything noteworthy, I must help publicize it; if he achieves something in potions, I must personally nominate him for an Order of Merlin honor..."

Listening to Dumbledore's incessant complaints, Snape suddenly wanted to laugh.

Vaughn's first condition had already ruined Dumbledore's plans—this old man had previously intended to award Harry points at the end of term, establishing Harry's leadership in Gryffindor.

But what puzzled Snape was that Dumbledore seemed to have agreed to Vaughn's conditions.

Why?

What had Vaughn said to make this old man abandon his favoritism toward the Savior? Even by the time Snape left, he could not think of an answer.

Watching Snape's retreating back, the smile vanished from Dumbledore's face. He looked into the Pensieve and switched to another memory—

The conversation between him and Vaughn when they watched the memory of the battle in the Third Floor Corridor.

"Albus, have you ever considered why Voldemort did not die?"

"Oh, I have always been searching for the answer. Do you have any thoughts, Vaughn?"

At the time, he had asked that question with a smile, never expecting to receive any answer.

Then Vaughn's words froze that smile on his face:

"Horcrux!"

The scene froze.

Dumbledore paced through the illusory corridor constructed by this memory.

He looked at his own stunned expression from that moment, then at the way Vaughn had looked toward Harry when he spoke that word.

All kinds of unspoken thoughts rose within him.

Hesitation, uncertainty, fear... and sorrow...