Hogwarts: I am Snape

Chapter 136 Dark clouds over the city
In the principal's office, the twilight light slanted in, and fine dust floated in the air; Phoenix Fox dozed on its perch, its fiery red tail feathers rising and falling slightly with its breath, occasionally letting out a soft murmur in its sleep.

Dumbledore stood before the Pensieve, his beard almost reaching the rim, reflected in the constantly flowing silver liquid within.

His blue eyes were fixed intently on the spinning memory.

“One more time,” he said to himself in a low voice, “the clue must be hidden in some detail.”

Dumbledore picked up a small crystal bottle from the table. Inside, silver threads writhed slowly like living things, leaving fleeting marks on the glass.

He pulled out the stopper, letting the floating silver threads slide into the meditation basin, merging with the substances in the basin.

After letting out a long breath, Dumbledore bent down and buried his face in the Pensieve once again.

The silver liquid swirled and engulfed him; the world spun and twisted around him.

After the familiar feeling of falling subsided, he found himself once again in the dilapidated old house of the Gaunt family.

The scene in his memory was so vivid that he could almost feel the sweltering summer air enveloping him.

The black gem peeked through Morphin's rough knuckles. Dumbledore's gaze followed it intently, his eyes flashing with an almost painful longing.

“Ariana…” The name slipped silently from his lips.

He reached out involuntarily, even though he knew it was just an illusion, he still wanted to touch the black gemstone—the Resurrection Stone, the legendary artifact that could bring the dead back to life.

His fingertips passed through the illusion, grasping only emptiness, just as he had tried countless times in his dreams to grasp his sister's hand.

The Moffin and young Tom in their memories were completely unaware of his presence and continued their conversation.

Dumbledore forced himself to concentrate, trying to find clues from their few words.

Back in reality, the principal muttered to himself, his voice filled with undisguised disappointment: "Why isn't it here? Where else could it be..."

Outside the office window, dusk was swallowing the last rays of sunlight, casting a long shadow over the wall covered with portraits.

The sleeping principals seemed to sense his anxiety even in their dreams, shifting their bodies restlessly.

Dumbledore straightened up, but still hunched over slightly.

He had watched Morfin's memory repeatedly and could recite almost every detail, but he still couldn't find the whereabouts of Marvolo Gaunt's ring.

“Fox,” he turned to Phoenix, his voice tinged with deep weariness, “am I too fixated on an object that may have already been destroyed, and… a hopeless expectation?”

The phoenix opened its golden eyes, its gaze seemingly able to see into the depths of one's heart. It let out a cry, neither affirmation nor denial, but rather a silent comfort.

Dumbledore gave a wry smile, walked to the door, and reached out to gently stroke Fawkes's feathers.

“You’re right, old friend,” he said softly, “but I just can’t let go.”

Then, he walked once again toward the oak cabinet filled with memory crystal bottles.

His fingers glided over rows of small bottles, the names on the labels appearing and disappearing in the dim light: Horace Slughorn, Bob Ogden, Haoqi… Behind each name lies a story, or a secret.

Dumbledore took out the bottle labeled "Haoqi" and hesitated. But in the end, he put the bottle back and chose Ogden's memory instead.

His memories took him back to the past, but the result was still disappointing.

Nearly an hour later, Dumbledore took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The candlelight flickered on his aged face, casting deep shadows.

All the memories point to the same dead end—no one knows where Marvolo Gaunt's ring went, except for the boy who already knows the answer.

“Tom…” Dumbledore murmured the name, his voice filled with complex emotions.

He drew his wand, lightly touched his temple, and a wisp of silvery memory was slowly drawn out...

Mrs. Cole's office reeked of disinfectant, and the paint on the walls was peeling, revealing yellowed wallpaper underneath.

Young Dumbledore—whose hair and beard were still auburn—sat in a rickety chair, wearing a deep purple robe, smiling as he watched the orphanage steward, Mr. Wood, sit behind a cluttered desk.

"I already told you in my letter that I came here to discuss Tom Riddle's matter with you and to arrange a future for him," Dumbledore said in my memory, his voice much lighter than it is now.

"Are you his relative?" Mrs. Cole looked him over warily. She was a thin, tired, and anxious woman.

“No, I am a teacher,” Dumbledore said. “I have come to invite Tom to study at our school.”

"So, what kind of school is this?" Mrs. Cole pressed. Her gaze lingered suspiciously on Dumbledore's unusual attire.

“The school’s name is Hogwarts,” Dumbledore replied calmly.

"Why would you be interested in Tom?" Mrs. Cole remained vigilant, her fingers slowly tapping on the table.

"We believe he possesses some of the qualities we are looking for..."

A deep sorrow was written all over the old principal's face.

Her memories raced forward, and Mrs. Cole began describing Tom Riddle's unusual behavior. Every few sentences, she would take a sip of gin.

"Strange? In what way?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"No matter what, you're going to take him away?" Mrs. Cole asked Dumbledore with a questioning look, her eyes showing no sign of drunkenness.

“Anyway,” Dumbledore repeated firmly.

Mrs. Cole squinted at him, seemingly weighing whether or not to trust this stranger.

Finally, she seemed to have made up her mind: "He frightens the other children."

"You mean he likes to bully people?" Dumbledore asked.

“I think that’s probably it,” Mrs. Cole said, frowning slightly, “but it’s difficult to catch him in the act. There have been some accidents… some serious incidents…”

She took a big gulp of gin, this time spilling some down her chin. "We go on a picnic in the summer—you know, once a year."

“We took them to the countryside or the seaside—and ever since then, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop have been acting strangely. When we asked them, they only said that they had gone into a cave with Tom Riddle.”

"Tom swore they went on an expedition, but something must have happened in there. I'm sure of it. And many, many other strange things..."

The scene shifts again, and Dumbledore sees a young Tom Riddle—a pale, handsome boy with strikingly dark hair and eyes.

The boy jumped out of bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking extremely angry.
“I didn’t do anything to Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop. You can ask them yourself, they’ll tell you…”

As his memories faded, Dumbledore returned to his office.

Outside the window, the sky was already dark. An unnatural black cloud was gathering in the distance. It spread slowly like ink dripping into water, swallowing up the last rays of light.

Dumbledore slumped back into his armchair, took off his half-moon spectacles, and rubbed his brow with his long, slender fingers.

“So many clues,” he whispered, “yet they don’t piece together the whole picture. Where could it be…”

Foxy chirped softly, flew down from the perch, and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, gently combing his white hair with his beak, as if comforting a sad child.

After a while, Dumbledore opened his eyes and put his glasses back on. His gaze fell on a copy of the Daily Prophet on the table, which read: "Muggle Disappearances Reappear, Ministry of Magic at a Loss."

He picked up the newspaper, his eyes quickly scanning the article:
"According to an unnamed Ministry of Magic official, another Muggle disappearance occurred in Westminster this Wednesday, involving three families totaling twelve people. Disturbingly, they all vanished without warning during the night, without any signs of struggle or witnesses, as if swallowed by the darkness."

His brow furrowed deeper. The article mentioned that the Ministry of Magic had ruled out the possibility of vampires, werewolves, trolls, or other magical creatures being responsible, but declined to provide further details, citing the need to "avoid causing panic."

He put down the newspaper, then suddenly remembered something and strode to a black wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. Opening the cabinet door, he found neatly stacked copies of the Daily Prophet from the past few months.

Dumbledore carried a large stack of newspapers back to the table.

In the flickering candlelight, he carefully perused each document, his fingers tracing every line of text, searching for clues that might have been overlooked.

As the reading progressed, a terrifying fact gradually became clear: there had been reports of Muggles going missing almost every week for the past three months, and the number was steadily increasing.

Previous reports only briefly mentioned that one or two people had gone missing in a certain area, relegated to an inconspicuous corner of the newspaper; but recent reports have become front-page news, with the number of missing persons rising from single digits to double digits.

Most notably, there was an exclusive report by Rita Skeeter titled "The Muggle Prime Minister's Roar: We're About to Break the Secret."

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses and began to read carefully:
"Last night, under strict secrecy, the Muggle Prime Minister held an emergency two-hour meeting with our Minister of Magic, Harold Mincan. According to sources, the meeting was 'tense enough to cut butter.'"

"The days when we could claim nothing had happened are over!" the furious Muggle prime minister practically roared. "We can't keep this up any longer!"

"The Muggle Prime Minister listed a series of unusual events in recent months: bridges collapsing without cause, a surge in heinous murders, strange hurricanes that occurred out of season, and especially the recent Muggle disappearances."

"'Too many people are missing!' the Prime Minister said. 'That's how my opposition summed it up—panic gripped the whole country.'"

"Despite the Muggle Prime Minister's strong insistence that his 'absolutely reliable' Cabinet Secretary should have the right to know all these 'strange things,' Minister Mincan firmly refused, insisting that the information should only be revealed to the ruling Muggle Prime Minister in order to maintain secrecy, and warned the Muggle Prime Minister not to act on his own..."

“I really don’t know how Rita Skeeter got her hands on such confidential information,” Dumbledore frowned in thought. “Although she is known for exaggeration and embellishment, the core of this report is likely true.”

The real question is—why are the Death Eaters kidnapping so many Muggles? Although Death Eater activity has indeed become more rampant recently, such a large-scale kidnapping operation, rather than brutal killing, does not align with Tom's consistent political agenda.

Dumbledore put down his newspaper, stood up, and paced back and forth in his office.

“This doesn’t seem like simple killing,” the headmaster muttered to himself. “If it were killing, the bodies would be left at the scene as a form of intimidation. Kidnapping living Muggles…what do they need so many living people for?”

A terrifying hypothesis gradually formed in his mind:

Some extremely evil rituals in the Dark Arts require human bodies as materials, just like what Moorselber did in the Hogsmeade cemetery. But the scale and operation of this one... compared to the flawed version of the last one, perhaps indicates a grander, darker plan.

Outside the window, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by distant thunder, breaking the tranquility of the office.

When Dumbledore looked up, the dark cloud had already covered half the sky and was moving rapidly toward the castle.

He strode to the window and saw the trees at the edge of the forbidden forest swaying violently in the howling wind, leaning in the same direction.

“Fox,” Dumbledore called softly, and the phoenix immediately looked at him. “Bring Minerva here for me.”

The phoenix let out a clear cry, indicating its understanding.

“Go, old friend,” Dumbledore said softly.

A flash of light, and Fawkes was gone. Dumbledore turned to look out the window again.

As he watched the sky grow darker, he thought of the eyes of a young Tom Riddle.

“Tom,” he said to the empty room, “what are you planning this time?”

As Professor McGonagall hurriedly pushed open the door, Dumbledore was picking up a heavy travel cloak from the coat rack.

"Albus, what happened—" Her voice was slightly breathless from running so fast.

“You’ve arrived, Minerva.” Dumbledore tightened his cloak without looking up. “I need you to temporarily assume the duties of Headmistress. If I don’t return within a week…” He paused, then slipped a folded note into McGonagall’s hand, instructing her to follow the instructions on it.

Professor McGonagall's knuckles turned white as she gripped the note: "Is it related to that person whose name can't even be mentioned?"

Dumbledore took one last look out the window.

Dark clouds had now completely enveloped Hogwarts, and the castle lights appeared exceptionally dim in the eerie darkness.

The terrified hooting of an owl echoed from afar, as if the entire school sensed the approaching storm.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you for your hard work, Minerva.”

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(End of this chapter)