Chapter 86: The Prelude
"Of course, Grandpa. Of course. I need to learn what happened." Nero's voice was steady, but his fingers twitched ever so slightly.
Dumbledore gave him a long, searching look before nodding. "Aberforth, we will be borrowing that room."
"Hmph," Aberforth grumbled, waving a hand dismissively.
Nero followed Dumbledore like a ghost, his mind whirling, his body moving on instinct.
They arrived in a small, dimly lit chamber, filled with the scent of aged parchment and candle wax.
The walls were adorned with old portraits, their subjects staring in silent curiosity, as if sensing the weight of what was about to transpire.
At the center of the room sat a Pensieve, its silver basin shimmering under the flickering light.
Dumbledore reached into his robe and retrieved a small glass vial.
The liquid inside swirled with an eerie luminescence, memories suspended in their eternal dance.
He unstoppered it with a soft pop and let the contents spill into the Pensieve, where they stretched and twisted, forming a thin, silvery veil.
The Headmaster turned to Nero once more. His voice was solemn. "Let me ask you once again, Nero. Are you certain you want to see this now? We can revisit this another time if..."