Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

Chapter 616: Chapter 7: Sirius’s Memories

The sudden visit of Sirius caught even Dumbledore by surprise.

He was just about to go to sleep, dressed in a soft robe and wearing a pointed velvet nightcap, when he saw the mud-covered Sirius in his office.

”What’s happened?”

Dumbledore asked gravely, a myriad of thoughts flashing through his mind in an instant.

Sirius, sitting across the table, said with drooping mouth and worried eyes, ”Harry just told me he had a nightmare and his scar is hurting.”

Dumbledore: ”...”

He joined his fingers together, looked at Sirius, and after a moment of silence, said, ”Harry’s scar hurting is indeed no small matter... What kind of nightmare did he have?”

”He dreamt... dreamt that Lockhart and Gall Trocar were being tortured. Harry said the scene in the dream was very vivid... like it was really happening.”

Sirius frowned and said, ”In fact, half an hour ago, I saw those two walk into a house and never come out again. I believe what Harry saw is the truth.”

Dumbledore scrutinized Sirius for a while and said, ”It’s already evening. It’s normal for them to enter the house to rest and not come out. Why do you think there’s an issue?”

”Because...” Sirius hesitated, then said, ”because they were lured there by Wormtail. The place is a trap... that house looks like it hasn’t been lived in for a long time, definitely suspicious.”

—— But aren’t the two of them fugitives? Finding an old house to temporarily hide isn’t odd?

”I remember you tracking Lockhart and Gall Trocar was to find traces of Pettigrew.”

Dumbledore gently prodded, ”So did you encounter Peter Pettigrew? You didn’t capture him?”

”No,” Sirius said angrily. ”I barely found his trail, but he was meeting a contact. I hid to avoid being discovered, and those two vanished right under my nose!”

Dumbledore sighed.

This logical yet subtly absurd state felt damnably familiar.

”Relax, Sirius.” Dumbledore drew out his magic wand and pointed it at the young wizard opposite him, ”You’ve been influenced by Voldemort’s Masking Spell. I’ll remove it now.”

—— Voldemort?

Sirius thought groggily: Isn’t he already dead?

Then he recalled what he’d heard before and shivered, an inexplicable fear creeping from his heart.

Sirius was just about to speak of Voldemort’s resurrection plan when he was engulfed by a spell’s light.

Voldemort was a master of curses, and the ones he cast with full force were exceptionally complex and powerful, even beyond Dumbledore’s ability to unravel.

For example, Hogwarts’ Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had been replaced every year for decades, even twice a year, compared to other subjects where professors stayed for decades. This course’s turnover rate was frighteningly high.

But the Masking Spell’s scope was so broad that it diluted the curse’s strength, making its unraveling less difficult. But even Dumbledore couldn’t cast an Anti-Curse on everyone.

After Vid, Dumbledore sequentially lifted spells for Snape, Kingsley, Moody, Lupin, and other members of the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius, because he was always outside, remained affected by the curse.

Once the curse was lifted, his muddled mind became incredibly clear, even clearer than usual.

Masked memories churned in his mind, even dredging up older ones, as if a barrier named ”Forgetfulness” had collapsed for a few seconds, revealing long-buried memories clearly.

...

”Sirius, what are you doing here?”

Regulus emerged from behind a bookshelf and asked softly.

”Obviously, reading,”

Sirius said languidly, suddenly tossing the book in his hand towards his brother.

Regulus caught it instinctively and was momentarily stunned by the strange texture.

The book’s cover had a slightly somber skin tone, as if made from some special leather, with tiny pores visible upon close inspection.

Sirius showed a malevolent grin, ”Do you know? The book you’re holding is made from human skin!”

He watched his brother’s face expectantly, hoping to see this ”worthy member of the Black Clan” scream and throw the book away, or even burst into tears.

But Regulus was not so easily perturbed; his face merely turned a bit pale, then he walked over and placed the book back on the shelf.

”Father said your confinement is over, Sirius,” Regulus said slowly, ”But he’s still angry. You’d better be careful.”

Sirius didn’t hear the concern in his words, assuming it was a warning from their parents.

So Sirius sneered, said nothing, and pushed past Regulus with his shoulder, leaving the basement where he’d been confined for several days.

Regulus, left behind, crashed into the bookshelf with a ”bang.” He rubbed his shoulder, lowered his head, and followed his brother out.

...

Sirius remained lost in thought for a while before slowly recapping everything before.

Father’s bones... servant’s flesh... enemy’s blood... resurrection... Harry’s nightmare content...

He subconsciously wanted to conceal certain parts, like the eerie perspective in Harry’s dream, but under Dumbledore’s seemingly all-seeing gaze, Sirius ultimately revealed everything he knew without any concealment.

Dumbledore stood up, pacing back and forth in the office. After a moment, he asked, ”Are you sure Wormtail called that person Barty?”

”Yes,” Sirius said.

”Barty Crouch?” Dumbledore probed further.

”No... not Barty Crouch. I remember that person’s voice; they sound different,” Sirius speculated. ”Maybe it was another person named Barty.”

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. ”Does that person’s voice sound like Barty Crouch Jr.?”

”Barty Crouch Jr.? Isn’t he dead?” Sirius asked in surprise.

He looked at Dumbledore, vaguely understanding something, ”The kid is several years younger than me; I have no impression of his voice... Perhaps you could look into my memory.”

He pressed the tip of his magic wand to his temple, extracting a shimmering silver memory. The Pensieve, originally in the cabinet, flew over and landed on the table in front of Sirius.

Dumbledore tapped it with his magic wand, the thoughts inside started to swirl, and a voice emerged after a moment:

”You did well, Wormtail...”