Chapter 50: Dumbledore’s Doubt
“A transaction?”
Snape frowned slightly.
“Yes, a transaction,” Dumbledore gazed at the Pensieve, its shallow, clear water reflecting his bright eyes. “He helps me raise Harry, provides help within his capabilities, and fights Voldemort…”
“Vold…” Snape’s cheek twitched, and he stopped speaking.
As if sensing his inner turmoil, Dumbledore murmured, “Yes, as I said before, Severus, Tom is not dead!”
Saying this, he beckoned to Snape, “Come, look with me. Vaughn provided his memory of the fight on the Fourth Floor Corridor… Oh, the corridor has been restored by me, but there might be places I missed. You can go check again tomorrow.”
Snape remained silent, walking to the Pensieve and disabling Legilimency.
As Dumbledore waved his wand, his thoughts suddenly plunged into the basin, countless ink-like streaks descending, transforming into smoke.
In an instant, a corridor materialized before them.
Harry, clutching his head and screaming in pain; Hermione, crying in fear but still shielding Harry; Vaughn, loudly casting Sectumsempra.
And in the middle of the corridor, the center of the entire memory, a dark, twisted, sinful figure in black robes, and the green light emanating from his wand!
Crack!
Dumbledore beside him clapped his hands. The figures in the memory, like insects trapped in amber, suddenly froze, the scene fixed!
The dark figure casting the Killing Curse, in the frozen image, his appearance could be vaguely seen.
Quirinus Quirrell!
But neither Dumbledore nor Snape, as they looked at him, focused on his face, but rather seemed to pierce through it, looking at his body, behind him!
The memory recreated by the Pensieve had a hazy aura, which made Snape seem unaccustomed to it.
His gaze drifted, his pupils trembling.
“You see, Severus, Tom has returned… Although he is now just a remnant soul, a parasite clinging to a cowardly soul,” Dumbledore said with a somewhat low tone. “But he truly isn’t dead and is preparing for his resurrection.”
It was as if a long-held memory of fear towards his former master struck Snape’s mind.
Even though he had sensed the opponent’s magical fluctuations before and was psychologically prepared, standing before it now—even if it was just a memory—Snape still found his throat dry and couldn’t speak.
Countless emotions surged: adoration, fear, and most of all, hatred!
It wasn’t until Dumbledore clapped his hands again that the frozen scene resumed motion. He saw Vaughn’s Sectumsempra piercing the Full Body-Bind Curse and wounding Voldemort.
Dumbledore’s tone became cheerful again. “I must say, Severus, you developed a very powerful spell, and you taught a very capable student—not many people can injure Tom.”
Snape’s expression was blank. “…It was Quirrell he wounded, not him, but he must hate Vaughn intensely now.”
Dumbledore knew who Snape was referring to as “him” and smiled. “At least until he is truly resurrected, Vaughn is safe. And we all know he always hated Harry the most.”
The brief memory quickly concluded, and his thoughts returned.
But Snape’s expression didn’t improve. He kept a straight face, his tone still mocking. “Yes, a Savior who killed him, and a Young Wizard who inexplicably blocked him from stealing the Philosopher’s Stone, wounded him, and brought him humiliation… a perfect combination. In a few years, when he’s resurrected, he might forgive others, but never these two.”
“Truly the perfect candidates to oppose him!”
Dumbledore listened quietly. After Snape finished, he sighed helplessly. “You suspect I arranged it?”
Snape let out an unintelligible light chuckle. “I didn’t say that.”
But his expression was enough to show his doubt.
Dumbledore knew Snape had always held a prejudice against him, because his methods of coercion were indeed rather base.
Using his last vestiges of love and kindness to force him to hover on the brink of life and death.
Although in Dumbledore’s view, there was no right or wrong in this matter—Snape, who had been a Death Eater, had committed countless wicked deeds for the Dark Lord. Now, forcing him was merely making him atone.
But today was not the time for an argument. Dumbledore sighed. “Everything that happened today, apart from Quirrell bringing the Troll into Hogwarts, was unexpected… Do you remember what I told you? Destiny, Tom and Harry’s destiny.”
“This unseen force influences all things in the world. The destinies of all things intertwine into a vast net, but sometimes, unique destined individuals are born.”
“Tom and Harry’s destinies are like that; they are entangled. Once they begin to approach, they become like iron balls falling into a net. Wherever they roll, the net will sag and collapse with them. Many people’s destinies are involuntarily swept up by them until one of them dies, and the great iron ball disintegrates.”
“What happened today is Tom and Harry’s destinies in flux.”
Destiny…
Listening to Dumbledore’s analogy, Snape could not comment. He had never seen destiny, but he knew it existed.
Otherwise, there would be no prophecies and Divination in the Wizarding World.
In fact, he knew Dumbledore had also been an “iron ball” once.
But he didn’t want to engage in this incomprehensible, mystical topic. After a moment of silence, he asked,
“Since it’s a transaction, Vaughn helps you raise Harry. What do you have to give in return?”
Dumbledore, who had been pondering “Destiny,” snapped back to attention upon hearing the question, his tone becoming cheerful again. “Ah, speaking of which, I must say, Vaughn’s desire for fame and recognition amazes me. He asked me to find a way to enhance his reputation!”
Snape: “?”
Dumbledore stroked his beard with distress. “He proposed a whole host of terms, such as not allowing me to unfairly award Gryffindor excessive points; if he achieves something, I must help publicize it; and if he achieves success in Potions, I must personally nominate him for the Order of Merlin, honorary…”
Listening to Dumbledore’s rambling complaints, Snape suddenly felt like laughing.
The first term Vaughn proposed shattered Dumbledore’s plan—this old man had previously planned to award Harry points at the end of the term to establish Harry’s leadership position in Gryffindor.
But what puzzled Snape was that Dumbledore seemed to have agreed to Vaughn’s terms.
Why?
What did Vaughn say to make this old man abandon his favoritism towards the Savior? Snape couldn’t figure out the answer until he left.
Watching Snape’s retreating back, the smile on Dumbledore’s face vanished. He looked at the Pensieve and switched to another memory—
his conversation with Vaughn while watching the memory of the fight on the Fourth Floor Corridor.
“Albus, have you ever wondered why Voldemort didn’t die?”
“Oh, I’ve been searching for the answer. What are your thoughts, Vaughn?”
He had asked that question with a smile at the time, not expecting to get any answer.
Then, his smile froze at Vaughn’s words:
“Horcruxes!”
The image froze.
Dumbledore paced back and forth in the illusory corridor constructed by the memory.
He looked at his own startled expression at that moment, and at Vaughn’s eyes as he said that word, looking towards Harry.
All sorts of unspeakable thoughts surfaced in his mind.
Hesitation, indecision, fear… and sadness…
