"Good morning, Poppy!"
"Good morning, Headmaster… Mr. Potter seems to be waking up!"
"That's wonderful. I came specifically to see him."
"By the way, Headmaster, I heard you're temporarily teaching Potions now?"
"That's right, Poppy. Even you've heard?"
"The students in the Hospital Wing talk about it all day. It sounds like your classes are quite popular."
"Perhaps… or maybe my teaching methods are simply a little different?"
...
Pitch darkness.
He kept falling, plunging endlessly into darkness.
Suddenly, something golden flickered above his head, irritating him intensely.
He wanted to smash it, but his arms were too heavy to lift.
He blinked lightly. It was only a pair of glasses.
How strange.
He blinked hard again. This time, Albus Dumbledore's smiling face gradually came into view before him.
...
"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him.
Harry Potter stared at him blankly for a moment, and then everything came rushing back.
"Professor!" he cried. "It was Draco Malfoy—he's planning something—in the Room of Requirement—I found him, and he used a curse on me—"
"Harry, calm yourself, or Madam Pomfrey will throw me out," Dumbledore said evenly, his expression untroubled.
Harry swallowed and looked around.
He realized he was lying in a hospital bed covered in crisp white sheets—not in the dark, cluttered Room of Requirement.
"Mr. Malfoy will pay for his actions. Professor Snape will punish him according to school rules. He has always been strict in such matters," Dumbledore continued.
"You found out what he was doing in the Room of Requirement, didn't you? You'll expel him, won't you?" Harry asked urgently.
"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "once again, do not get overly excited. Professor Snape has informed me that this was merely an ordinary altercation between students. Mr. Malfoy will be punished. He will receive several weeks of detention. I trust Severus."
"But… but…" Harry felt a surge of frustration and grievance that he couldn't quite put into words.
"I know what you are thinking, Harry. I also know how you feel about Mr. Malfoy."
Dumbledore's tone grew slightly more serious.
"You are a good boy. But Mr. Malfoy is not beyond redemption. Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is that we prevent them from sinking deeper into those mistakes—that we guide them back before they lose their way."
Harry Potter swallowed.
"I understand, Professor."
He lay there, unsure of what to say next.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, hummed a cheerful little tune, smiling faintly at the ceiling.
...
"Professor!" Harry said suddenly, as if to break the silence. "I heard there's a new Potions teacher. Is it…?"
"Oh, that," Dumbledore replied lightly. "I can tell you quite responsibly—it's me."
"What?" Harry looked stunned.
"I daresay I have some experience in alchemy. I imagine I am reasonably suited to the role," Dumbledore said with a small shrug. "Though I have only taught a few days so far, and the reception has been… acceptable."
Harry suddenly remembered the words printed on Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card: his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, his famous work in alchemy with Nicolas Flamel.
Come to think of it, the Headmaster was indeed a master of alchemy. Teaching Potions should pose little difficulty.
And the thought that the new Potions teacher was not Snape improved Harry's mood considerably.
"By the way, how are you feeling now, Harry?" Dumbledore asked with concern.
"Not too bad," Harry thought for a moment and nodded. "At least my mind feels clear."
"Then come with me," Dumbledore said, suddenly serious.
"But—"
"We have very little time."
"…All right, Professor."
"I shall explain the situation to Poppy. Now, come along."
...
They left the Hospital Wing and walked through the castle until they reached the eighth-floor corridor where a lone stone gargoyle stood guard.
At Professor Dumbledore's approach, the gargoyle leapt aside. The wall behind it split open, revealing a spiraling staircase.
Harry stepped on behind the Headmaster. As the staircase rotated upward, they rose higher and higher, until they reached the familiar door with the brass knocker—the entrance to the Headmaster's office.
Harry glanced around, trying to guess why Dumbledore had summoned him so suddenly.
The circular office looked as it always had.
Delicate silver instruments cluttered the desk.
The portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames. Behind the door, Dumbledore's magnificent phoenix, Fawkes, perched on his stand, watching Harry with keen interest.
"Professor, you mentioned earlier that time is limited?" Harry asked softly, unable to hold back.
"Yes. You are well aware of what occurred over Christmas," Dumbledore said calmly, though there was unmistakable gravity in his voice. "We cannot fight on two fronts. Therefore, we must settle one matter swiftly."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"During the Christmas holidays, I wrote to you about providing additional private lessons," Dumbledore continued in a measured tone. "You must have been wondering how I intended to conduct them."
"Yes, sir."
"I am certain you have many questions. What drove Voldemort to attempt to kill you fifteen years ago? What sort of connection exists between you and Voldemort? And as a powerful Dark Wizard, what terrible deeds has he committed?"
Harry Potter felt his breathing quicken.
Dumbledore rose, walked around the desk, and passed by Harry.
Harry turned eagerly in his chair, watching as Dumbledore bent down before a cabinet near the door.
When he straightened, he was holding a shallow stone basin that Harry recognized immediately, its rim engraved with strange runes.
He placed the Pensieve on the table before Harry. Within it floated countless silver strands—memories.
"You seem a little nervous," Dumbledore observed casually.
"A bit," Harry admitted with a faint, strained smile. "I'll do my best, Professor."