By evening, the sun had fully set, though a faint orange glow still lingered in the western sky, casting warm light over the greenhouses outside the castle.

  “Good evening, Professor Sprout!” Anne called cheerfully as she hurried along the path. As she approached, she waved at the professor standing outside the greenhouse. Professor Sprout pulled off her dragon-hide gloves and waved back.

  “Good evening, Anne! The raspberry butter cookies you sent over during the holidays were absolutely delightful,” Professor Sprout said with a smile.

  “I’m gd you liked them! I’ve actually found a way to improve the recipe, it’ll make them even crispier.” Anne pulled a parchment from her bag. “I wrote it all down…”

  Professor Sprout took the parchment eagerly. “Excellent! I’ll try it tomorrow. Ah, and your workstation has been moved to the small b. Dumbledore’s already pced a few protective enchantments on it.”

  “Perfect,” Anne said, rolling up her sleeves and putting on her gloves. “I’ll check it out ter, but first, I want to help you with these little ones—”

  After helping Professor Sprout prune, loosen the soil, and tidy the magical pnts on the greenhouse shelves, Anne made her way to a small wooden hut beside Greenhouse One.

  The hut contained four rooms, which used to store tools, fertilizers, and pots. Now, the rgest has been converted into Anne’s boratory.

  Unlocking the door and stepping inside, Anne found the square room already neatly arranged with workbenches and supply cabinets. Dumbledore works fast, she thought, opening a drawer to check the assortment of familiar magical ingredients.

  On the workbench sat three cauldrons, two scales, and an assortment of test tubes and gss bottles. A piece of parchment y on the empty bookshelf.

  She picked it up, it was from Dumbledore. He had noted that most of the protective spells were in pce and mentioned he’d left her two boxes of books she might find useful.

  Anne eyed the two wooden crates in the corner. Drawing her wand, she pointed at them. With a click, the locks popped open and the lids lifted. One by one, books—some old, some new, floated into the air.

  They passed before her like a quiet parade, organizing themselves neatly onto the shelves.

  There were about forty books in all. Once shelved, the boxes snapped shut with a clunk. Gazing at the collection, Anne murmured, “Dumbledore has quite the taste in magical books... Maybe I should take advantage of this while I can.”

  She ran a hand along her chin thoughtfully. Although the Rond Library housed its own treasures, ten of Dumbledore’s volumes were exceptionally rare—either the handwritten notes of master potion-makers or comprehensive records of potion cssifications across eras.

  Anne added a few books from her own bag to the shelves, then rearranged the tools on her workbench to match her habits. As she was organizing her parchment drawer, the door creaked open.

  “Anne, Harry didn’t win today’s Potions css just by luck. That old textbook of his—” Hermione began, but Anne silenced her mid-sentence.

  Without hesitation, Anne cupped Hermione’s face, leaned in, and kissed her.

  Hermione froze for a moment, then deepened the kiss.

  Anne’s tongue brushed against Hermione’s lower lip, teasing slightly, gently urging her mouth open.

  Just then, a voice echoed faintly from outside the door.

  “Is this the room? Ah, thank you, Professor.”

  Hermione pulled back quickly, her cheeks flushed red. She made a move to step away, but Anne stole one st pyful brush against her lips before releasing her hand—though she kept holding the other.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Anne? Are you in there? May I come in?”

  Anne gave Hermione an amused gnce, then raised her voice just enough, “Come in! It’s not locked.”

  Fanny entered, unsurprised to see Hermione. She grinned, gave her a friendly wave, then looked around the b.

  “Wow, this pce is amazing, looks like we won’t be seeing you in the dorm much anymore...”

  “Hey, sleep is still important,” Anne replied. “What’s that in your hand?”

  “Oh!” Fanny raised the rolled-up purple parchment. “An invitation. From Professor Slughorn.”

  “Another one?” Anne took the parchment and unrolled it, elegant cursive script flowed across it.

  “Next Saturday? Why is he sending this out so early?” she muttered.

  Fanny held up a second invitation with her name on it. “Maybe he just wants to reserve people in advance? Anyway, are you going?”

  Anne gnced sideways at Hermione and caught her gaze.

  “If Hermione’s going, I’ll go.”

  “But I—”

  “I saw Harry in the Great Hall. He had two invitations. One of them’s for you, I’m sure,” Fanny said. “So? Hermione?”

  Anne nudged her pyfully. “There’ll be good food—”

  Hermione smiled. “I’m in. But I’m not like someone, who only goes for the snacks.”

  Fanny giggled, it was rare to hear Hermione tease anyone like that.

  Anne shrugged innocently. “Alright then, what did you come running in to tell me earlier?”

  Hermione’s expression grew serious.

  “Didn’t you think it was odd how well Harry did in Potions today?”

  “Odd? Did something happen?” Fanny asked quickly.

  “He didn’t even have a textbook,” Hermione said. “Slughorn gave him an old one, and it’s full of notes and revisions. He followed those instructions and got perfect results.”

  Fanny looked at Anne.

  “I assume you examined it after dinner?” Anne asked.

  Hermione frowned slightly. “I cast Aparecium, but…”

  “You found nothing.”

  Hermione nodded. “Which doesn’t mean it’s safe…”

  Anne shook her head. “Don’t worry. The school is still safe, overall. Harry might’ve just inherited a top student’s old copy. Happens all the time.”

  In the following two Potions csses that week, Harry continued to win praise from Slughorn, all thanks to the Half-Blood Prince’s annotated book.

  Though Hermione remained uneasy, Anne often brought her to the b to run transformation experiments.

  “See, if we skip this step, due to the properties of the violet root, the potion’s composition shifts,” Anne expined patiently. “This is a kind of reverse reasoning. All potion masters start from this stage. Understanding ingredients, what they can do, and how they interact, is everything.”

  “All theory comes from the need to solve real problems.” Anne smiled, quoting from a Muggle book. “That applies to the magical world, too.”

  With sixth-year coursework piling up, especially for Hermione, who had taken eleven subjects, Anne cherished every moment they had alone, whether in the library or her little b.

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  Saturday Afternoon Slytherin Common Room“No way… is that really you?” Fanny dropped two books beside Anne on the sofa. “You’re actually in the common room?”

  Anne puffed her cheeks. “No choice. The library's closed, it’s pouring outside, and Hermione went back to the Gryffindor tower after dinner to finish her Astronomy essay.”

  “Ah, that expins it…” Fanny grinned knowingly.

  “Besides, every unused cssroom is locked or sealed off. Even my club can’t find a pce to meet.”

  “Club?” Anne looked up. “You mean that Art Inspiration Club you joined two years ago? I thought you quit.”

  “Not at all! Last year everything shut down for exams, but with Dumbledore back, we restarted.”

  “Makes sense,” Anne murmured, eyes drifting back to her book.

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  Saturday Evening – 7:50 PMAnne, backpack slung casually over her shoulder, made her way to the eighth floor, stopping before the stone gargoyle.

  “Sour soda.”

  The gargoyle leapt aside. The wall split in two, revealing a spiral staircase.

  She gnced around before stepping on.

  Knocking gently, she heard Dumbledore’s voice call, “Come in.”

  “Good evening, Professor,” Anne said as she entered and took a seat across from him.

  “Good evening, Anne.” Dumbledore looked up with a smile. “How’s the first week treating you?”

  “Pretty normal. Less homework, though a lot more other things,” Anne said, then raised an eyebrow. “By the way, why is Professor Snape being so... attentive this term? You didn’t—well, you didn’t arrange anything, did you? I remember the st Order meeting. Not everyone was thrilled, especially him.”

  “I spoke with him afterward. No major issues,” Dumbledore replied. “Actually, I meant to expin it to you.”

  Anne narrowed her eyes.

  “I didn’t mention your identity, don’t worry, the agreement still stands. I simply asked him to keep a closer eye on you in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. Snape knows the subject better than most, and I think you could benefit from that.”

  Anne rolled her eyes, but let it go. “Fair enough. I had simir pns anyway. When’s Harry coming?”

  Dumbledore gnced at the clock. “Half past eight.”

  “Alright. I’ll change.” Anne dug out a grey robe, gsses, and a mask from her bag. “Oh, and thanks for the books. They’ve been incredibly helpful.”

  “You’re very welcome. I believe there’s a saying—‘we’re like grasshoppers on the same rope,’ yes?”

  “Ha! That’s actually a pretty good use of it.”

  Just then, a knock. Harry entered the headmaster’s office, where Dumbledore was already waiting, with the grey-robed figure standing beside him.

  “Good evening, sir. Skoll,” Harry said.

  “Good evening, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted him warmly. “Take a seat. I hope your first week’s been pleasant?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  Dumbledore sat down as well. The grey-robed figure remained still, statue-like. But this time, Harry caught a glimpse of his eyes—sharp, bck, serious.

  A responsible kind of person, Harry thought. Dumbledore wouldn’t give him this role otherwise. Still, he wondered what sort of lessons Dumbledore had in store.

  “I imagine you’re wondering what kind of… instruction I’ve prepared for you,” Dumbledore said.

  “Yes, sir,” Harry replied.

  “Now that you understand what happened fifteen years ago—why Voldemort targeted you—it’s time you learned more.”

  A pause.

  “You said you'd tell me everything at the end of st term,” Harry said.

  “And I did,” said Dumbledore calmly. “I told you everything I knew at the time. But more has come to light. From here on, we will not only face facts, we must explore theories. Complex ones. And Harry, I may be wrong…”

  “But you think you’re right?”

  “Naturally. Still, as I’ve admitted before, being more intelligent than most means my mistakes are proportionally more dangerous.”

  “Sir… what you’re about to show me… is it reted to the prophecy? Is it supposed to help me survive?”

  “Very much so,” Dumbledore said lightly, as if discussing tomorrow’s weather. “And yes, I hope it helps you stay alive.”

  He stood, walked around his desk, and fetched a shallow stone basin Harry recognized. Strange symbols encircled the rim. Dumbledore set the Pensieve down in front of him.

  “You look nervous.”

  “A little,” Harry admitted. “Every time I’ve used this thing before, it’s been… intense.”

  “Understandable,” Dumbledore nodded. “But this time is different. We’re going in together, and with permission.”

  “We?” Harry gnced at the grey-robed man.

  Dumbledore smiled. “Skoll will be joining us. You two have a lot of future colboration ahead.”

  “So where are we going, sir?”

  “A stroll through the memory of Bob Ogden,” Dumbledore said, pulling a crystal vial from his pocket. Inside swirled a shimmering silver substance.

  “Who’s Bob Ogden?”

  “An officer from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Passed away some years ago. But before that, I managed to convince him to share his memories with me.”

  Dumbledore gestured for Harry to stand. He did.

  With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore removed the stopper.

  His charred hand looked especially stark against his white robe. Harry blurted out without thinking—

  “Sir… what happened to your hand?”

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