Chapter 486: Sirius Black's Memory
Sirius Black’s sudden arrival left Dumbledore visibly surprised. He had already begun preparing for sleep, clad in a soft robe and wearing a velvet pointed hat, when he found Sirius sitting across from him in his office—drenched in dirt, his clothes torn and stained.
“What happened?” Dumbledore asked, his expression grave, his mind instantly racing with a thousand unspoken thoughts.
Sirius Black sat rigidly across the table, his mouth drooping, eyes filled with deep concern. “Harry just told me he had a nightmare,” he said. “His scar’s been hurting again.”
Dumbledore said nothing. He steepled his fingers, studying Sirius Black intently. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “Harry’s scar hurting—it’s not something to take lightly. What kind of nightmare did he have?”
“He dreamed… he dreamed that Lockhart and Garr Troke were being tortured,” Sirius said. “Harry said the scene was so real, it felt like it had actually happened.”
Sirius frowned. “In fact, half an hour ago, I saw the two of them enter a house. They never came out. I believe what Harry saw in his dream was real.”
Dumbledore studied Sirius Black closely. “It’s late. They went inside a house and haven’t come out. That’s not unusual. Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Because…” Sirius hesitated, then said, “They were lured in by Wormtail. That place is a trap. The house looks abandoned—no one’s lived there in years. Something’s definitely off.”
“But they’re both fugitives,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “It’s not strange for them to take shelter in an old, unused building.”
He leaned forward slightly. “I remember you were tracking Lockhart and the other man—wasn’t that to find Pettigrew’s trail?”
“Yes,” Sirius admitted, bitterness in his voice. “I finally caught a break. I saw Pettigrew meeting with a partner. I stayed hidden to avoid being discovered. And then—right in front of me—they vanished!”
Dumbledore exhaled slowly. This was the same familiar pattern—the kind of half-logical, half-fanciful reasoning that had a way of sounding plausible, yet just slightly… off. It was the kind of thing that made you wonder if the mind itself had been compromised.
“Calm down, Sirius Black,” Dumbledore said gently. He drew his wand and pointed it at the young wizard across the table. “You’ve been under Voldemort’s Obliviation Charm. I’m going to remove it.”
Voldemort? Sirius thought, dazed. He’s dead, isn’t he?
Then he remembered—what he’d heard earlier. A cold dread crept through him.
Before he could speak of Voldemort’s resurrection plan, a blinding flash of light engulfed him.
Voldemort was a master of curses. The spell he’d cast was incredibly complex and powerful—so potent that even Dumbledore couldn’t fully unravel it. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professorship at Hogwarts had changed hands dozens of times over the decades, sometimes even twice in a single year—far more frequent than any other teaching post. The reason? The curse’s relentless power.
But this particular Obliviation Charm had been cast too broadly. Its effect was diluted across too many minds, making it easier to counteract. Still, Dumbledore couldn’t undo it for everyone at once.
After Wade, he’d freed Snape, Kingsley, Moody, and Remus Lupin—members of the Phoenix Society—of the curse. Sirius Black, who had been on the run outside, remained under its influence.
Now, the spell was lifted.
His mind, once foggy and sluggish, snapped into razor-sharp clarity—so clear it felt sharper than ever before. The veil of forgetting tore open, and long-buried memories surged through his mind like a flood. Forgotten moments, buried for years, resurfaced as if a wall of silence had collapsed for a single, fleeting second.
…
“Sirius Black, what are you doing here?” Regulus stepped out from behind the bookshelf, voice quiet.
“Obviously, reading books,” Sirius replied lazily. Suddenly, he tossed the book in his hand toward his younger brother.
Regulus caught it instinctively—but froze at the strange, unnatural weight.
The book’s cover was a dull, ashen hue, like some kind of specially treated leather. Upon closer inspection, faint pores were visible, as if the material had once been living.
Sirius grinned wickedly. “Know this? Your book is made from human skin.”
He watched Regulus expectantly, waiting for the reaction—the scream, the cry, the horrified throw. He wanted to see the “proper Black family heir” crumble in terror.
But Regulus didn’t react like that. His face paled slightly, but he simply walked over and placed the book back on the shelf.
“Father says your detention’s over, Sirius Black,” Regulus said slowly. “But he’s still furious. You’d better be careful.”
Sirius didn’t hear the worry beneath the words—only the warning from his parents.
He scoffed, then shoved past Regulus with his shoulder, stepping out of the basement where he’d been confined for days.
Regulus stumbled back into the bookshelf with a dull thud, rubbing his shoulder, then followed his brother out.
…
Sirius Black remained dazed for a long moment before beginning to recount everything.
The bones of his father… the flesh of the servants… the blood of his enemies… resurrection… the nightmare Harry had endured.
He instinctively wanted to hide certain details—the strange, unnatural vision in Harry’s dream. But under Dumbledore’s penetrating gaze, he couldn’t lie. Every truth he knew spilled out, unfiltered and raw.
Dumbledore rose and began pacing the office.
After a pause, he asked, “Are you certain Wormtail called the man Barty?”
“Yes,” Sirius confirmed.
“Barty Crouch?”
“No… not Barty Crouch. I remember the voice. It wasn’t the same.”
“Could it have been another man named Barty?”
“Little Barty Crouch?” Sirius frowned. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
He looked at Dumbledore, a flicker of understanding dawning. “He was younger than me—several years. I don’t really remember his voice. Maybe you should look into my memory yourself.”
He pressed the tip of his wand to his temple, pulling out a silvery, shimmering strand of memory.
The Pensieve, which had been resting in the cabinet, floated into the air and settled onto the table before Sirius Black.
Dumbledore tapped it with his wand. The contents within swirled, then a voice emerged from the bowl:
“You did well, Wormtail…”
(End of Chapter)
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