Magical Studies at Hogwarts...

Chapter 334 The Crucial Memory (Part Two)

"Phantom Manifestation Class"

If you are seventeen years of age or older, or will turn seventeen on August 31, you may attend a twelve-week Apparition course taught by Apparition instructors from the Ministry of Magic.

Those who wish to participate, please sign below.

Tuition fee: 12 Galleons.

The start of the new semester caused a stir among the sixth-grade students. In a very short time, a long line of people had formed in front of the notice posted on the bulletin board, all wanting to sign it.

Everything proceeded smoothly. Hermione signed her name first, followed by Ron, and finally Harry himself. They all met the eligibility requirements, except for Ron, who didn't have twelve Galleons.

But that's nothing, because his friend Harry has a lot of Galleons... a lot.

All day long, the vast majority of sixth graders were excited about learning Apparition, and you could see them discussing the subject everywhere. Without exception, they all longed for a life where they could disappear and reappear at will.

Harry was just quietly listening to their discussion, but when Ron revealed that he had been brought into view by someone, he became the focus of attention once again.

For almost the entire day, Harry was surrounded by sixth-year students who wanted him to talk about Apparition, and even though he told them that Apparition was a very unpleasant experience, he didn't see a trace of fear on their faces.

It was simply awe, and an ever-growing interest.

"Speaking of which, what's the difference between Apparition and Apparition Teleportation? Why are there these two names?"

After finally escaping his inquisitive classmates, Harry suddenly remembered two words he had heard before and couldn't help but ask them.

"Actually, there's not much difference." Hermione said, taking a small bite of her sandwich at the Gryffindor table. "If we take 'you' as the subject, Apparition is 'you' appearing somewhere, and Apparate is 'you' leaving from here. In short, they're essentially the same magic."

"So complicated..."

"It's okay if you don't understand. The professor will explain it during your Apparition class."

"Okay..." Harry nodded, then was startled to see a group of new seekers surrounding him.

There were only ten minutes left until eight o'clock!

Harry looked at Hermione and Ron, who immediately and tacitly covered for him, allowing him to reach the headmaster's office on time.

Good evening, Harry.

The Pensieve was placed back on the table, with Dumbledore's hand gripping its edge, and two small, shimmering silver bottles placed beside it.

"Good evening, sir," Harry replied. "Two memories tonight?"

"Yes, they were all hard-won, and I think the second one is the most important of all the memories I've collected."

"Is it more important than the one in Bistrade?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, his expression suddenly becoming serious. "But before that, we must look at the first one."

"Tonight, we'll continue the story of Tom Riddle..." Dumbledore got straight to the point, beginning to tell Harry about Voldemort's time at Hogwarts, including his past actions and his views on him.

"...I didn't find much of a memory of Voldemort at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "Few people who knew him back then wanted to talk about him; they were all terrified."

"But a very small number of people were willing to tell me about themselves, in bits and pieces, often without a systematic structure. However, I also learned one thing from these scattered recollections: Tom was very fascinated by his background."

"That's easy to understand: he came from an orphanage and grew up there, so naturally he wanted to know how he got there. He searched all over Hogwarts for clues about old Tom Riddle—trophies, student rosters—but found nothing. In the end, he was forced to admit that his father had never been to Hogwarts..." Dumbledore took his glasses off his nose and wiped them. "I think it was around that time that he abandoned the name Tom Riddle. After all, for him, the lack of specialness of his biological father was intolerable, so he changed his name to Voldemort."

"I guess that's when he started investigating his mother, whom he had once looked down upon..."

"You should remember what he once said: Since that woman succumbed to death, she couldn't possibly be a witch."

"But he's wrong," Harry interjected.

"Yes, but he didn't know that at the time, and his only clue was the name 'Marvolo.'" Dumbledore put his glasses back on. "Ultimately, he found a clue in many old books and in his investigation of wizarding families: there was still a branch of the Slytherin family..."

That summer, when he was sixteen, he didn't go back to the orphanage he visited every year, but instead chose to search for his possible relatives...

Dumbledore opened the first bottle and poured the memories inside into the Pensieve. Then he held out his hand to Harry, gesturing for him to take it.

A few seconds later, Harry found himself in a somewhat familiar place, but it looked very different from what he had seen before.

It was old and run-down before, but it wasn't as filthy as it is now. The ceiling was covered in thick cobwebs, the floor was black, and the table was filled with moldy food and rusty pots, yet strangely, there wasn't a single smell coming from it.

The room was dark, the only light coming from a candle that looked like it was about to go out at a man's feet. His hair and beard were so long that they completely covered his eyes and mouth, and he was motionless; Harry even thought he was dead.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door, startling the man awake. He held a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left. Just as he got to his feet, the door opened, and a handsome young man stood in the doorway.

It was Voldemort.

The man's gaze fell on the young Voldemort, staring at his face for a long time before suddenly becoming excited.

"You! You!" he roared, taking a step forward but kicking a bottle scattered on the ground. He stumbled and instead charged at Voldemort at an even faster speed.

"stop!"

A rustling sound startled the man, but he couldn't stop himself. He simply fell to the side and crashed into the table.

He leaned against the dirty table, his gaze passing through the long hair as he scrutinized the child in front of him more closely.

"You would say something like that?"

"Yes, I will." Voldemort brazenly surveyed the dilapidated house and asked, "Where is Marvolo?"

"He's been dead for many years."

"Then who are you?"

"I am Mofen."

(End of this chapter)