Easter meant exchanging gifts. Around Sean, the younger students kept coming and going, handing out painted eggs.
The owls were doing the same.
They beat their wings overhead, letters clamped in their beaks and elegant gift boxes gripped in their talons.
Sean stowed everything in the Wizard's Book, then absently glanced at the Daily Prophet Whitey had delivered.
Among the moving wizard photographs, one name seized all of Sean's attention.
[Former Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department, Bob Ogden, has passed away…]
Bob Ogden.
The name felt familiar. Sean whispered a few words to Whitey. When the silver-white owl returned, it was carrying a Pensieve in its talons.
With a tap of his wand, a strand of silvery memory drifted up.
But before Sean could figure out who Bob Ogden was, Justin broke his train of thought.
"Sean, I keep feeling like Headmaster Dumbledore is watching you," Justin said in a very small voice.
Sean looked up. Dumbledore was blinking at him.
Then the old wizard—his beard long and white—opened a beautifully wrapped Easter egg. Inside was a pair of wool socks and a set of two-way mirrors.
They clearly weren't workshop-made: the backs bore an ornate phoenix relief, along with the initials S.G. engraved into them.
Dumbledore's beard twitched. He blinked at Sean again, then left the Great Hall.
Thoughtful, Sean dug through the pile of gifts and pulled out the one that wasn't wrapped nicely.
"Very few witches or wizards ever exchange gifts with Headmaster Dumbledore… You know, he's happy to receive presents, but he almost never gives anything back. No one expects him to…" Hermione popped her head in from nowhere, speaking with solemn seriousness.
Sean turned his head. Hermione immediately pulled back her curious gaze.
While Hermione fought the urge to pry into a friend's privacy, Sean had already left the Great Hall.
Inside Dumbledore's egg was only a slip of paper:
[Come to the headmaster's office, child. It seems we'll have to continue those daring conjectures.]
Daring conjectures…
Turning the mystery over in his mind, Sean knocked on the headmaster's office door.
"Come in," Dumbledore called.
"Good evening, Headmaster Dumbledore," Sean said as he entered.
"Ah, good evening, Sean. Sit down," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Before your pleasant Easter holiday begins, I want to share something with you— a gift."
"Bob Ogden," Sean murmured instinctively.
"You already know?" Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he laced his fingers together. "It seems we're keeping pace in our investigation into Tom Riddle…
"But can you tell me—how do stars learn to speak?"
"That's a fairy tale, Headmaster Dumbledore. Even in the wizarding world, stars don't talk," Sean replied.
"Who knows?" Dumbledore teased kindly.
The round office looked the same as ever:
Slender-legged tables held intricate silver instruments that spun and puffed out little curls of smoke.
The portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames. Dumbledore's magnificent phoenix, Fawkes, perched on the golden stand behind the door, watching Sean with keen interest.
Hard as it was to believe, even though Sean "snuck up" to Fawkes nearly every week, the phoenix's closeness rating had stayed stuck at [Apprentice].
Perhaps, just as Dumbledore said, phoenixes were truly loyal creatures.
"Come now, my boy. I ought to share what I know with you—though I must warn you, child: my ears would also like to hear a few curious notions.
"They're old, but still have some strength…
"Even though we've done this before, I'll say it again.
"From this point on, we must leave solid fact behind and walk together through the dim, muddled swamp of memory—into a thicket of daring guesses.
"In that respect, Sean, I may make the same pitiful mistake as Humphrey Belcher, who believed he could make a cauldron out of cheese."
"A conjecture isn't the same as an error," Sean said. "We'll find the correct path."
"I like to think so too," Dumbledore replied. "But as I've already proven to you, we can still make mistakes like ordinary people.
"In fact—please forgive me—since I am cleverer than most, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly… worse."
With that, Dumbledore produced a crystal vial.
Sean recognized it at once: Bob Ogden's memory.
At the same time, it was as if the world had been muted. Sean couldn't help glancing at Dumbledore's left hand—until he saw it wasn't as shriveled as he'd feared, and finally relaxed.
Bob Ogden was a wizard who worked in the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
His memory was crucial to Voldemort's background—especially his mother's line, the Gaunt family: their degeneration, their cruelty, and the early history of one Horcrux, Marvolo Gaunt's ring.
Sean didn't know when Ogden had died, or when Dumbledore had acquired this memory.
But he was certain Dumbledore had originally obtained the Gaunt ring sometime around fourth or fifth year.
Now, whether it was the Chamber of Secrets diary, Ravenclaw's diadem, or Slytherin's locket, Dumbledore had clearly uncovered more traces of Horcruxes—and turned his attention to Bob Ogden's memory far earlier.
Which meant Sean had to accept the change.
The plan would have to begin sooner.
"Let's take a stroll down Bob Ogden's memory lane," Dumbledore said. "Tonight, we have a date with Bob Ogden."
He pulled the stopper from the vial and poured its silvery contents into the Pensieve. The substance swirled slowly, giving off a faint glow—neither quite liquid nor quite gas.
They exchanged a look. In Dumbledore's deep eyes, something different flickered.
He smiled faintly—and watched as Sean plunged his head into the silver substance.
Sean felt his feet leave the floor. He fell through spinning darkness—down, down—
Then bright sunlight stabbed at his eyes, forcing him to squint.
Before he could adjust, Dumbledore landed beside him.
They stood on a country lane, bordered by tall hedgerows with tangled branches. Above was a summer sky, clear and bright blue—like forget-me-nots.
About ten steps ahead of them stood a short, pudgy man.
He wore glasses with exceptionally thick lenses; his eyes were reduced to tiny dots behind them, like a mole's.
~~~
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