[Reward 2: Pensieve) ]
Allen blinked.
What is that?
He read the line again to make sure he hadn't misread it.
" The Pensieve... first-person perspective version?" He mumbled the words in his mouth, then leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from anticipation to confusion.
He certainly knew what the Pensieve was.
But what on earth is this "first-person perspective version"?
"System," he looked up at the screen, "Can you explain what 'first-person perspective version' means?"
The screen flickered, and a longer explanatory text appeared.
[ The Pensieve) is custom-designed for the host and is for the host's exclusive use.]
[Unlike traditional Pensieve, when the host enters a memory, they will experience all their senses and thoughts at that time from a first-person perspective, including touch, taste, mental activity, and all subjective feelings at that moment.]
[ In Pensieve, the user enters the memory as the Spectator, from a third-person perspective, and can move freely to observe, but cannot experience the sensory and psychological state of the memory's original owner at that time.]
Allen read the passage word for word, then slowly nodded.
"Oh, I think I understand."
He reached up and touched his chin.
The Pensieve, in essence, is a memory replay device.
Extract your own memories, put them into the space, and then jump in to watch, just like watching an immersive movie.
However, this "immersive" experience is somewhat misleading.
Because when you look at it, you are still yourself; you are standing beside yourself watching your past self doing things, speaking, and experiencing everything.
You can see what happened at that time, but you can't feel what you were thinking, what you were afraid of, or what you were happy about.
It's like reading someone else's diary versus reading your own; even though it's the same words, the feeling is completely different.
"So you mean," Allen said to the light screen, "That this Pensieve allows me to relive everything I felt back then? Even what I was thinking at the time?"
[Yes.]
Allen frowned.
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his stomach, and stared at the few lines of text on the screen for a while.
"To be honest," he said slowly, "I don't really think this thing is very useful."
The light screen did not respond.
"Look," Allen said, holding up a finger, "If I want to recall a memory, it's definitely to figure out what happened back then."
"For example, Battle of Hogwarts, what spells did I use, how did the Death Eaters position themselves, and when did Dumbledore appear...?"
"Although the traditional Pensieve is from a third-person perspective, I can wander and look around in my memory, seeing wherever I want and stopping wherever I want."
"But what about your first-person version? I can only follow the perspective I had at the time. I can only see what I saw then, and I can't see anything I didn't notice at the time."
He raised his second finger. "And what's the point of saying you can sense my thoughts at the time? Don't I know what I was thinking?"
"At that moment, I was thinking, 'Oh no, I'm going to die,' and I jumped in to experience that 'Oh no, I'm going to die' again. What good did that do?"
"So, besides letting me relive the tension and excitement of that time, this thing of yours doesn't seem to have any practical use."
After Allen finished speaking, he spread his hands, his expression conveying a sense of "you explain yourself."
The light screen continued to illuminate at a leisurely pace, quietly hovering in front of him.
Allen waited a few seconds, then sighed, "Fine, there's nothing I can do if you don't say anything. Anyway, I've already given you the things, so I'll give it a try first."
He put away the light screen, stood up, walked to the desk, and pushed the stack of parchment and books on the desk aside to make room.
The Pensieve appeared on the table instantly, looking much smaller than the one in the movie, its diameter only slightly larger than his palm.
The basin is made of dark gray stone with a smooth surface. A ring of fine runes is engraved around the rim, which gleams faintly with a silvery light under the lamp.
"Alright," Allen rubbed his hands together, "Let's see what you're really good for."
He pulled the Jianmu Magic Wand from his pocket and pressed the tip of the wand against his temple.
He closed his eyes and began to recall a memory.
The Battle of Hogwarts.
That battle remained vivid in his memory; every detail seemed etched into his mind.
He pulled that memory out of his mind, like drawing silk from a silkworm, strand by strand, the silvery threads dancing on the tip of his wand, gleaming with a soft light.
When he felt it was about time, he shook the silvery-white threads into the basin.
Those memories fell to the bottom of the basin, slowly swirling, like a scattered nebula.
Allen took a deep breath, placed his hands on the edge of the table, and lowered his head to bring his face close to the Pensieve.
"Then..." he said to himself, "Go in and take a look."
He leaned forward, and his whole body was sucked in.
The world spun around.
Before he could even figure out where he was, a cacophony of sounds flooded his ears: screams, footsteps, and the piercing crack of a wand firing a spell—all mixed together like a pot of boiling noise.
Then he saw a dark mass of men in black robes crowding the corridor leading to the Great Hall, with a dozen wands pointing at him.
Allen was taken aback for a moment, but quickly realized what was happening.
This is what it looked like when I first entered Hogwarts.
Before he could even finish his thought, his mouth started moving on its own.
"Would you believe me if I said I was here for a visit?"
An extremely strange feeling welled up in Allen's mind.
He knew perfectly well that he had said those words himself, and he knew perfectly well that it had already happened.
But when his mouth moved, the vibration of his vocal cords and the tactile sensation of his lips colliding were so real and vivid that he almost felt as if he were reliving the moment.
Not just the lips.
The sensations are present throughout the entire body.
He could feel the hem of the black trench coat against his legs, the weight of the mask pressing against his nose, and even the slight warmth of the Jianmu wand in his palm.
Even his breathing was too real; every breath he took was mixed with the smell of food from the Great Hall and the burnt smell of magic spells.
Moreover, all those thoughts that flashed through his mind at the time and were long forgotten afterwards were still there.
"We're doomed, we're doomed. A dozen or so Death Eaters, if we can't beat them, we're really done for."
"System, you just wait! What kind of bullshit tour is this? I'll settle accounts with you when we get back."
"&#@%*#..."