Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 26:3

The scene in the Pensieve was changing.

Fog poured in from all sides, engulfing everything until many new shapes and colors took form. Fred and George hurried back to the group, as Mrs. Norris climbed down from Mr. Filch's head and mewed curiously up at him.

"That's right, pet," he croaked, his bottom lip drooping. "We're back."

The fog cleared, and they were standing in the Great Hall. The large, recognizable doors eased open, and a procession of nervous first year students entered the room for the Sorting Ceremony. Young Hagrid was last to enter. Numerous whispered conversations snaked through the room at once. No one knew exactly why he was double the size, but it didn't stop them from spreading rumors about his 'questionable parentage'.

"Hang on," said Fred, glancing up at the front of the room.

"Is that —?" George breathed.

The tall wizard who had led the first years into the Great Hall was standing before the High Table. Beside him was a four-legged stool, upon which sat the same dusty Sorting Hat. He was reading from a scroll and calling out the names of the new students in a steady voice. It was Vindictus Viridian, the masked man from the painting, only he looked far different. His wavy hair was full and perfectly slick, like a polished Quidditch helmet. He had dark eyes and a tailored beard that wrapped his boxed jaw. And he looked absolutely full of life.

Seeing the man standing there in place of Professor McGonagall, it made the twins wonder about the events that led to him being trapped inside a portrait for so many years, and what that, at all, had to do with Hagrid's first experiences at Hogwarts.

Professor Parsimonae, stunned to see his grandfather in the flesh, stepped to the front of the Great Hall and watched him with pride as he assisted in the Sorting.

"That's Dippet, that is!" said Mr. Filch, admiring the gray wizard in the headmaster's throne.

Armando Dippet, like his students, was staring at Hagrid with a questioning gaze. He was dressed in gray robes, had tired green eyes, a shock of curly white hair, and a face that had sunken from bemoaning a lifetime of troubles. His expression was perfectly guarded beneath a sculpted beard that came to a fantastic point below his chin. Most interestingly, he held a bronze hearing trumpet to his right ear.

Dumbledore, the younger Dumbledore, that is, was sitting to Dippet's right, and seemed more interested in which houses each of the new recruits were being placed. The onlookers from the Pensieve joined together at the High Table, many with their own recollections of that very moment.

"That's you, Professor Kettleburn," said Fred in amazement, as he stared at the semi-recognizable man near the end of the table.

The mutilated parts of his face had already succumbed to burn damage, but his armature, and much of the mechanics, was missing. A bloody gauze, obscured by strips of lank, dark hair, was poorly patched to his head on the site where rectangles of copper would one day be riveted to his skull. He was missing half of his right arm, and his right leg was reinforced with wood and leather straps. But it was unmistakable. Professor Kettleburn was a teacher during Hagrid's first year at Hogwarts, which confused them greatly.

If he was already a teacher, and if this all had to do with Aruzula Darc being at Hogwarts, then who was that supposedly dangerous boy from Slug Club?

"Professor Binns!" said George.

"And he's alive!" said Fred.

"Flitwick...he has black hair," said Professor Mulligan, just as her name was called for the Sorting. She watched with fondness as her young counterpart was placed in Hufflepuff.

Fred and George continued inspecting the teachers down the staff table.

"There's Slughorn," said George, recognizing the man from the photograph in the Restricted Section.

"And Iscarion Spital," said Fred, studying him from far too close a proximity. "Looks like he might —"

"How do you know him?" Kettleburn spat, looking utterly shocked.

"Just a...er...wild guess?" Fred attempted.

"Hmm..."

Kettleburn stepped between them and shooed the twins away from the table, as if distance inside the Pensieve could somehow protect them from the gaunt, unruly member of the Dark Force Defense League.

Viridian's deeply resonating voice echoed in the hall.

"Hagrid, Rubeus," he decreed.

No one moved from the procession of students.

"Mister Hagrid," he said directly, lowering the scroll. "Please come forward to be sorted."

The former version of their giant gamekeeper scuttled through the first years, apologizing over and over as he squeezed awkwardly down the line.

"Hag-rid?!"

Students from each of the four house tables muttered to one another, continuously mocking the large boy until he reached the front of the hall. Hagrid stood nearly as high as Professor Viridian. Nodding politely, he sat on the stool and looked out on the sea of disdainful faces. The ragged Sorting Hat was lowered gradually, but it hardly covered his immense head, which only increased the tittering laughter. Professor Viridian shushed them as the hat decreed his placement.

"This one's unquestionably...Hufflepuff!"

What followed was quite different from what Fred and George had experienced during their sorting. The Hufflepuff house table groaned in disappointment, many of them twisting away in protest, debating with one another on why their's was the house to be cursed. All of the professors looked concerned with this reaction — those who had been there at the time, and those who were observing in silence from the Pensieve.

And then, as if life couldn't get worse at that moment for young Hagrid, there came a thunderous crash, as the stool was flattened beneath his weight. A rolling wail of laughter that could not be stifled erupted from the tables. Even the house ghosts were joining in the revelry. Hagrid scrambled to his feet and stormed away, barreling down the center of the Great Hall through the unsorted first years, like a massive troll escaping the hunt.

A boney and disturbed looking man at the back of the room, who they assumed to be the former caretaker, attempted to close the door, but it was useless to try and stop Hagrid from shouldering his way through.

Fred and George felt instantly sad, having experienced the memory from Hagrid's perspective. Although Hagrid didn't look sad, so much as concerned, as he met the gaze of Professor Kettleburn and then Albus Dumbledore, who looked bewildered beyond measure.

"I...don't recall this at all," said Kettleburn, as the fog began to shift and swirl once again.

Dumbledore raised a guarded eyebrow. "There is but one conclusion that can be drawn when faced with conflicting memories. Either it did not happen, and this memory has been tampered with," he began, eyeing the gamekeeper. "Or it did happen...and our recollection of this event has been altered."

Hagrid looked away, shame painted on his face.