Dumbledore placed the silvery thread of memory into the faintly glowing Pensieve before him.
The silvery substance within the Pensieve began to swirl continuously. As it turned, the blurry figure of a little old man slowly emerged, becoming clearer and clearer amid the surging silver light.
Caractacus Bork rotated slowly within the Pensieve, pale as a ghost, yet more substantial than one. His hair was thick and disheveled, hanging over his forehead like a heavy curtain and completely concealing his eyes.
"Yes, we acquired it under very special and fortunate circumstances. I was in the shop at the time when a young witch hurried in with it on Christmas Eve. That was many years ago now."
Bork's voice came from the Pensieve, echoing hollowly through the room.
"She said she needed money urgently. Well, that much was obvious. She was dressed in rags, her face was haggard, and there wasn't a trace of life in her. And she looked to be pregnant.
"She told me that the locket had once belonged to Slytherin. Hah, we heard that sort of nonsense all day long—'Oh, this belonged to Merlin, absolutely genuine, his most treasured teapot.'
"But when I examined the locket closely, it actually bore Slytherin's mark. I cast a few simple spells and easily uncovered the truth. It was unbelievable."
As Bork said this, perhaps it was only an illusion, but there seemed to be a hint more pride in his voice.
"Of course, the thing was simply priceless. That woman seemed to have no idea how valuable it was. I gave her ten Galleons, and she left completely satisfied.
"Later, we successfully sold it to Hepzibah Smith for a very high price. It was the best bargain we ever made!"
Dumbledore shook the Pensieve with particular force, and Mr. Bork