Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

exercise caution with our curiosity … yes, indeed …’
    Frowning slightly, he prodded the thoughts within the basin with the tip of his wand. Instantly, a figure rose out of it, a plump, scowling girl of around sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of Harry or Professor Dumbledore. When she spoke, her voice echoed as Snape’s had done, as though it was coming from the depths of the stone basin: ‘He put a hex on me, Professor Dumbledore, and I was only teasing him, sir, I only said I’d seen him kissing Florence behind the greenhouses last Thursday …’
    ‘But why, Bertha,’ said Dumbledore sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, ‘why did you have to follow him in the first place?’
    ‘Bertha?’ Harry whispered, looking up at her. ‘Is that – was that Bertha Jorkins?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore, prodding the thoughts in the basin again; Bertha sank back into them, and they became silvery and opaque once more. ‘That was Bertha as I remember her at school.’
    The silvery light from the Pensieve illuminated Dumbledore’s face, and it struck Harry suddenly how very old he was looking. He knew, of course, that Dumbledore was getting on in years, but somehow he never really thought of Dumbledore as an old man.
    ‘So, Harry,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘Before you got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘Professor – I was in Divination just now, and – er – I fell asleep.’
    He hesitated here, wondering if a reprimand was coming, but Dumbledore merely said, ‘Quite understandable. Continue.’
    ‘Well, I had a dream,’ said Harry. ‘A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail … you know who Wormtail –’
    ‘I do know,’ said Dumbledore, promptly. ‘Please continue.’
    ‘Voldemort got a letter from an owl. He said something like, Wormtail’s blunder had been repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn’t be fed to the snake – there was a snake beside his chair. He said – he said he’d be feeding me to it, instead. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail – and my scar hurt,’ Harry said. ‘It woke me up, it hurt so badly.’
    Dumbledore merely looked at him.
    ‘Er – that’s all,’ said Harry.
    ‘I see,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘I see. Now, has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer?’
    ‘No, I – how did you know it woke me up over the summer?’ said Harry, astonished.
    ‘You are not Sirius’ only correspondent,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I who suggested the mountainside cave as the safest place for him to stay.’
    Dumbledore got up, and began walking up and down behind his desk. Every now and then, he placed his wand tip to his temple, removed another shining silver thought, and added it to the Pensieve. The thoughts inside began to swirl so fast that Harry couldn’t make out anything clearly; it was merely a blur of colour.
    ‘Professor?’ he said quietly, after a couple of minutes.
    Dumbledore stopped pacing, and looked at Harry.
    ‘My apologies,’ he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk.
    ‘D’you – d’you know why my scar’s hurting me?’
    Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry for a moment, and then said, ‘I have a theory, no more than that … It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred.’
    ‘But … why?’
    ‘Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed,’ said Dumbledore. ‘That is no ordinary scar.’
    ‘So you think … that dream … did it really happen?’
    ‘It is possible,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I would say – probable. Harry – did you see Voldemort?’
    ‘No,’ said Harry. ‘Just the back of his chair. But – there wouldn’t have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn’t got a body, has he? But … but then how could he have held the wand?’ Harry said slowly.
    ‘How indeed?’ muttered Dumbledore. ‘How indeed …’
    Neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, every now and then placing his wand tip to his temple, and adding another shining, silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.
    ‘Professor,’ Harry said at last, ‘do