The Divine Temple

The lights in Dumbledore's office all came on the instant they stepped inside, while the portraits of former headmasters snored softly in their frames. While Harry was still taking in the office's furnishings, Dumbledore had already directed the Pensieve to fly onto the desk.

"Harry, the memory I am going to show you tonight was not easy to obtain. I believe it is the most important of all the memories I have collected." From the shelf that resembled a magnificent castle, where he kept many memories, Dumbledore took down a small crystal vial.

Harry noticed that the contents of the vial did not pour easily into the Pensieve. They seemed slightly congealed, and doubt crept into his mind. Could memories go bad too?

Dumbledore gestured toward the Pensieve, inviting Harry forward. Harry approached the stone basin, bent obediently, and plunged his face into the memory. Once again, he experienced that familiar sensation of falling through emptiness.

"I would very much like to know where you get your information. You are better informed than most of the professors at Hogwarts." The voice belonged to a much younger Horace Slughorn.

Six or seven boys sat around him, all fifteen or sixteen years old. Harry recognized Riddle at once; his face was the handsomest of them all. Looking the most relaxed, he smiled faintly and said, "Professor, is it true that Professor Mellors is retiring?"

"Oh, Tom, I certainly can't just tell you what I know, now can I?" Slughorn's hand rummaged through a box of Pineapple Candied Fruit and picked out a piece. His eyes were wide, his face beaming; he looked full of energy, with a thick, glossy head of yellow hair.

"And thank you for the pineapple. It really is my favorite. But how did you know?" Slughorn asked suspiciously,