Dumbledore gestured for Rey to tell him what he wanted to say.
But now that the moment had arrived, Rey didn't know where to start.
After pondering for a moment, Rey said, "Professor, my memory hasn't been modified. I want you to see what I experienced."
"Using the Pensieve?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes," Rey nodded.
Upon confirmation, Dumbledore casually summoned the Pensieve from a cabinet.
The Pensieve was a dark green basin filled with shimmering liquid. It flew smoothly through the air and stopped in front of Rey.
Though the basin was shallow, the liquid inside seemed bottomless, possessing an inexplicable allure that drew the eye.
Seeing the Pensieve floating right in front of him, Rey froze for a second. "Uh, Professor... how do I do this?"
In the movies, people put tears into the Pensieve, or used their wand to extract a copy of their memory and drop it in.
It looked simple, almost like second nature.
But reality often hits hard. Things that look easy are often much harder when you actually have to do them.
For example, right now: Use the wand to copy the memory. How exactly? Rey didn't have a clue. Just point at his head and... pull?
That didn't seem possible. Rey held his wand but didn't know where to start.
Copying memories was a form of magic. How could he cast a spell he had never learned or understood?
Okay, aside from the memory extraction spell, tears were an option. In the movie from his past life, Snape gave his tears to Harry to put in the Pensieve, proving his innocence.
Tears. Tears!
Rey wasn't made of water, nor was he an actor. Crying on command was a skill he absolutely did not possess.
---
Dumbledore didn't let Rey struggle in embarrassment for long. He pulled out his own wand to demonstrate. "Place the tip of your wand near your temple, then focus on a specific memory. Imagine it flowing like water through your skin and into your wand."
A silvery strand of memory was extracted from Dumbledore's mind, gathering at the tip of his wand, shimmering brightly.
Rey pulled out his own wand and pressed it against his temple. He began to recall the events of that night in the Forbidden Forest when Doric attacked him.
He imagined the memory flowing out of his mind like water, gathering at the tip of his wand to form a memory strand.
The process seemed simple enough. Rey pulled the wand away and looked at it... but magically, there was no memory strand. The tip of his wand was empty.
This was unexpected. Rey immediately tried again, repeating the process meticulously.
But still, no memory strand appeared.
Just as Rey was about to try a third time, Dumbledore gently signaled for him to lower his wand, speaking with a knowing tone. "You can't copy it, can you?"
"You knew, Professor!"
Rey was surprised, then a realization hit him. He immediately defended himself, "Professor, my memory really hasn't been modified."
"I believe you, my boy. even modified memories can be extracted; they would simply dissolve in the Pensieve. Your situation is naturally different," Dumbledore soothed the slightly agitated Rey.
"You believe me, Professor?" Rey asked, stunned that Dumbledore trusted him so easily.
"Of course, child. You can rest assured on that point. But, returning to the matter at hand... have you considered why your magic failed?"
Dumbledore had a way of steering conversations that not only calmed Rey down but also piqued his interest.
Rey had already noticed his magic failing. During his scuffle with Marcus Flint, he had discovered the problem.
Testing simple spells afterward and now failing to extract memories confirmed it: his magic failure wasn't accidental. And Dumbledore seemed to know the reason.
"You know the reason, Professor?" Rey asked eagerly.
Dumbledore was erudite. If anyone in the wizarding world had the answer, it was undoubtedly him.
Magic was too important for a wizard; it was like a second life. A wizard without magic ceased to be a wizard.
So when Dumbledore raised this point, Rey grabbed onto it like a lifeline.
"The cause varies for everyone. It all depends on the experience that triggered your mutation," Dumbledore said, seeing Rey waiting for an answer.
Rey trusted Dumbledore's integrity.
Since the Pensieve wasn't an option, he had to rely on verbal narration.
Rey started from the very beginning—Cabor Doric's bizarre first class.
He spoke clearly, avoiding subjective judgments and sticking strictly to the facts of what he had seen and experienced.
Finally, he reached the appearance of the black unicorn. Rey paused, looked at Dumbledore—who showed no sign of impatience—and made up his mind. "Professor, I rode the black unicorn... and returned to a thousand years ago."
---
A thousand years ago. Even Dumbledore was amazed by this extraordinary journey.
While Dumbledore listened to Rey's incredible tale in the Headmaster's office, Cabor Doric was seeing off Minister Cornelius Fudge at the gates of Hogwarts.
Cabor Doric was an Auror highly valued by Fudge. When Doric accepted Dumbledore's invitation to become a professor, Fudge had repeatedly tried to persuade him to stay.
Although he was now a professor at Hogwarts, returning to the Ministry as an Auror wasn't off the table. Now that Doric needed assistance, Fudge had come personally to handle the matter.
Hogwarts was Dumbledore's domain. The Ministry had always wanted a foothold here, but Dumbledore had consistently kept them out, citing that schools had no place for politics. Even placing an Auror here required Dumbledore's consent.
This was an opportunity. Fudge left two Aurors behind, hoping that under Doric's lead, they could quickly resolve the vampire incident and soften Hogwarts' stance on direct Ministry intervention.
Cornelius Fudge instructed Doric to return to the Ministry to assist him after resolving this case.
After seeing Fudge off, Cabor Doric turned to the two remaining Aurors with a smile. "Dorsey, Turner. It's been a long time."
"Less than a year, I think. Ever since Davey and the others were killed by those damned vampires, time feels like it's dragging," Turner replied.
Dorsey was a young Auror in his early twenties, likely having joined the ranks only a few years ago.
Turner was older, scruffy, slightly overweight, and roughly the same age as Doric. They were clearly old comrades.
As he answered, Turner pulled a flask from his coat and took a swig. Liquor dripped from his beard, a clear sign he was drinking to drown his sorrows.
Dorsey clenched his fists, his face filled with anger. It was likely that among those killed in the vampire ambush Turner mentioned, there were friends or family of his.
"Why didn't Neo come with you?" Cabor Doric sighed, then asked.
"He's still researching what you mentioned in your letter—using a mixture of dragon blood and human blood to suppress vampire venom."
"Is it effective?"
Turner shook his head. "No major breakthroughs. But older dragon blood seems to delay the venom's effect slightly."
"By how much?"
"Between an instant and a second. Definitely not more than a second."
"Is that so?"
Cabor Doric muttered to himself with a hint of disappointment. He paused for a moment, then looked up. "Come with me. I have something to show you."