The Veil of Shadows and blood

Chapter 19: The Pensieve Revelations

Tonks and Kingsley stood in the small, dimly lit chamber beneath the Ministry. It was a room few knew about, reserved for the most confidential of magical investigations. In the center, sitting on a pedestal, was the Pensieve, its silvery liquid swirling gently in its stone basin. The flickering light from the torches reflected eerily in the shimmering memories contained within it.

They had two key sets of memories to explore: those of Albus Dumbledore and Mundungus Fletcher, the hired hand who had executed Dumbledore's dark plans. The truth behind the murders of Harry, Draco, and Soren lay within these memories, waiting to be uncovered.

Tonks took a deep breath, her eyes locked on the Pensieve. "Are you ready?" she asked Kingsley, though she was uncertain if anyone could truly be ready for what they were about to witness.

Kingsley gave a firm nod. "We need to know everything. No matter how dark it gets."

They leaned forward together, their fingers brushing the cool surface of the Pensieve. With a soft rush of magic, the world around them swirled into focus, pulling them into the first memory—Dumbledore's.

The familiar surroundings of Hogwarts' Headmaster's office took shape around them. The room was just as they had seen it during Dumbledore's arrest: dimly lit, filled with countless magical artifacts, bookshelves lining the walls, and the air heavy with secrets.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, his face drawn with deep thought. He wasn't alone. Before him stood Mundungus Fletcher, his posture hunched, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

"You know what must be done," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice steady and cold in a way Tonks had never heard before. There was no trace of the kind, grandfatherly tone he had always used at Hogwarts. Here, in the privacy of his office, he was a man with an agenda.

Fletcher shifted uncomfortably, his greasy hair falling into his eyes as he tried to look anywhere but at Dumbledore. "But... these are kids, Dumbledore. You're askin' me to—"

"Sacrifices," Dumbledore interrupted sharply, his blue eyes piercing Fletcher's soul. "Do you understand what's at stake here? The future of the wizarding world. They've uncovered something that, if revealed, could destabilize everything we've worked for. Sometimes, we must act preemptively to prevent catastrophe."

Fletcher hesitated. "But Harry, Draco, and that other boy... they're innocent, ain't they?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "Innocent? Perhaps. But they've become liabilities. Their discovery must be contained, Fletcher. And you are the one to do it."

Tonks felt her stomach churn at the coldness in Dumbledore's tone. How could a man so revered justify the murder of children so easily? She glanced at Kingsley, who stood beside her, his face hardened with anger.

The memory shifted slightly, time moving forward. Now, Fletcher was speaking again, his voice filled with reluctant acceptance.

"All right," Fletcher muttered. "But you'd better make sure I'm protected after this. The Ministry won't go easy on me if they find out."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "You'll be compensated. But remember this, Fletcher—no one can ever know what you've done. Not even the Ministry."

Fletcher nodded once, then turned and left the office, leaving Dumbledore sitting alone in the silence.

The memory began to fade, but before it dissolved completely, Dumbledore muttered to himself, his voice almost a whisper, "For the greater good."

Tonks and Kingsley were pulled from the memory, standing once more beside the Pensieve. The room felt colder, darker, as the weight of Dumbledore's betrayal settled on them.

Tonks swallowed hard. "We need to see Fletcher's side. What happened during the actual murders."

Kingsley nodded grimly. "Do it."

Once again, they dipped their fingers into the silvery liquid, and the world spun around them, dragging them into Fletcher's memory.

They found themselves in a forest, the air damp and cold. Fletcher was standing at the edge of the trees, his hands trembling as he clutched a knife in one hand and a wand in the other. He was breathing heavily, his fear palpable.

Tonks recognized the setting immediately—this was the forest where Harry had been found.

Fletcher muttered to himself, as if trying to summon the courage to complete the heinous task set before him. "It's just a job. Just a job."

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from deeper in the forest. Harry Potter appeared, his face pale and confused as he stumbled through the trees, as if he had been running from something—or someone.

"Who's there?" Harry called out, his voice edged with panic. He spotted Fletcher a moment later, his eyes widening with a mix of recognition and disbelief.

"Fletcher? What are you doing here?" Harry asked, taking a step closer.

Fletcher's hands trembled even more violently now. "I'm sorry, kid," he muttered. "I'm so sorry."

Before Harry could react, Fletcher raised his wand and sent a powerful Stunning Spell toward the boy. Harry crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Tonks gasped, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread. This was it—this was how it began.

Fletcher moved quickly, his face twisted in anguish as he approached Harry's limp form. "I didn't want to do this," he whispered, as if trying to convince himself that it wasn't his fault.

With trembling hands, he began to undo Harry's clothing, his eyes filled with horror at what he was being forced to do. But he couldn't stop—Dumbledore's orders had been clear. There could be no hesitation, no turning back now.

The memory blurred with flashes of horrifying imagery—Fletcher, the knife, Harry's lifeless eyes staring into nothing as the cruel act was carried out. Tonks couldn't watch it any longer, but the memory wouldn't let her escape. It forced her to witness every detail, every moment of horror.

Finally, the image of Harry's lifeless body, discarded in the forest, filled the scene. Fletcher stood over him, his face contorted with disgust and fear.

"It's done," he muttered. "It's done."