Unlike Dumbledore's first two mories, the atmosphere in the third mory of the Ministry's courtroom carried a peculiar weight.
This difference stemd primarily from a sound—the oppressive sound of sobbing.
Sherlock's gaze swept across the room and settled on a witch sitting beside Barty Crouch.
She wore a faded deep-green wizard's robe, her fra so thin and fragile she seed like a withered leaf that might blow away at the slightest breeze.
Her hands trembled violently as they clutched a handkerchief embroidered with silver thread, burying half her face in the fabric.
Her knuckles had turned pale from the force of her grip, and each shudder of her shoulders carried a heartbreaking fragility.
Sherlock's attention then shifted to Barty Crouch himself.
This Ministry official who had appeared vigorous and sharp-eyed in Dumbledore's previous two mories now looked as though all his strength had been drained away.
His complexion was a dull, grayish-yellow, with dark circles under his eyes so pronounced they looked painted on. A vein at his temple pulsed uncontrollably.
Even his fingers resting on the edge of the table trembled with minute, involuntary movents.
This sight imdiately made Sherlock realize that Barty Crouch now knew about his son—about Barty Crouch Junior.
The woman beside him was naturally his wife.
Since she had appeared here as well, it ant that...
In the next mont, the door in the corner opened.
This ti, a full six Dentors escorted four people into the room.
The courtroom erupted in commotion as people turned to look at Crouch.
The sound of whispered conversations fell like fine rain, eyes mixing sympathy with scrutiny.
Everyone could guess what was about to happen.
All four people brought in by the Dentors were shackled to chairs.
The first man was short and stout, staring at Crouch with a bewildered expression.
The second man was tall and thin, appearing more nervous than the first.
Sherlock's gaze swept over these two, and he quickly assessed their situations with reasonable accuracy.
However, when he looked at the latter two, his eyes narrowed slightly.
The third person, a woman, was actually the tallest of the four. Sherlock estimated she was nearly six feet tall.
Moreover, she was surprisingly beautiful, with thick, glossy black hair and long eyelashes.
Of course, her appearance wasn't what drew Sherlock's attention.
It was her deanor and expression.
Compared to the other three, she didn't look like soone sitting in judgnt—she looked more like soone seated upon a throne.
The last person was a young man of about seventeen or eighteen.
He appeared completely terrified, trembling all over, his straw-colored hair falling across his face, his freckled skin as pale as paper.
As Sherlock had suspected, this was Barty Crouch's son—Barty Crouch Junior.
The mont young Crouch appeared, Crouch's wife began rocking back and forth, sobbing into her handkerchief.
"You have been brought before the Council of Magical Law to answer charges so serious—" Barty Crouch began.
Before he could finish, young Crouch spoke up as well. "Father... please..."
But Crouch raised his voice, drowning out his son's words.
"In all the cases that have co before this court, few have been more heinous. We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you abducted an Auror."
Sherlock couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at this.
When Sirius had ntioned it last ti, he'd only said that young Crouch had been caught with several Death Eaters—he hadn't expected them to have done sothing like this.
"You abducted Frank Longbottom and subjected him to the Cruciatus Curse. Your purpose was to extract information from him about the whereabouts of your master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Nad.
When Frank Longbottom refused to provide intelligence, you used the Cruciatus Curse on his wife, Alice Longbottom, ultimately torturing them both into insanity..."
Dumbledore suddenly felt sothing and turned to look at Sherlock.
He was surprised to discover that this boy, who typically gave an impression of calm composure, was now exhibiting rather unusual behavior.
Sherlock's hands, hanging at his sides, not only had whitened knuckles but were trembling with barely perceptible frequency.
His gaze no longer surveyed the surroundings as it had at the beginning but was fixed intently on young Crouch and the other three Death Eaters, as if he wanted to use his eyes to strip away their disguises layer by layer.
At this mont, Dumbledore, standing beside Sherlock, could almost feel the boy's fury.
"Father, I didn't!" young Crouch began to scream. "I didn't, I swear it, Father, don't send back to the Dentors—"
"The charges also state..." Crouch once again interrupted his son's words, shouting loudly, "That you conspired to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Nad to power, wanting to return to the violent lifestyle you enjoyed during his period of strength.
Now I ask the jury—"
"Mother!" young Crouch cried out again. "Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do those things, it wasn't !"
"Now I ask the jury to vote," Crouch said loudly, "those who believe, like , that these cris deserve a sentence of life imprisonnt in Azkaban, please raise your hands!"
Faced with such heinous acts, the wizards on the right side of the dungeon raised their hands without hesitation.
"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it! It wasn't , I don't know anything! Don't send there, stop him!"
The Dentors slowly glided forward again.
Compared to young Crouch, his three companions were much calr. They silently rose from their chairs.
The tall woman's behavior was especially defiant. She even raised her head and shouted loudly, "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban—we'll wait! He will return to rescue us, and he will reward us specially! Only we are loyal! Only we tried to find him!"
"I am your son!" Despite the Dentors' effects already taking hold of young Crouch, he still shouted, "I am your son!"
"You are no son of mine!" Crouch roared, his eyes actually bulging outward at that mont. "I have no son!"
Hearing her husband's resolute words, Mrs. Crouch gasped and collapsed onto her chair.
"Take them away!" Crouch seed not to see this scene and roared at the Dentors, "Take them away and let them rot there!"
"Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"
Just then, Dumbledore said softly, "Sherlock, I think we should return now."
Sherlock nodded and followed Dumbledore out of the Pensieve, returning to the Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore imdiately looked toward Sherlock and was sowhat surprised to find that he had already recovered his usual calm deanor.
This made Dumbledore feel both pleased and pained.
Whether it was Sherlock or Harry, they both bore burdens they shouldn't have to carry at their age.
"Sherlock, what do you think?"
Sherlock had known Dumbledore would ask this. He was about to speak when Dumbledore suddenly said, "Oh, I nearly forgot—there's one more thing I need you to see."
Under Sherlock's curious gaze, Dumbledore drew his wand from his robes and inserted the tip into his silver hair, near his temple.
When he withdrew the wand, a thin thread of mory clung to its tip.
After this new thought was added to the basin, his own face began to float in the Pensieve.
Then his face gradually transford into Snape's.
Snape opened his mouth and spoke toward the ceiling, his voice carrying a slight echo.
"It's back... Karkaroff's too... clearer and more distinct than ever before..."
"I see," Sherlock imdiately understood. Snape had already inford Dumbledore about his eting with Karkaroff.
This honesty truly lived up to Dumbledore's trust.
"So you're using this thod to tell that Professor Snape deserves our trust?"
"No, this is a matter between Professor Snape and myself," Dumbledore shook his head. "I only hope that you will pay more attention to Harry."
Sherlock was intelligent enough to read between the lines. "You believe Voldemort is growing stronger and that it will affect Harry—because of that ti his scar hurt during the sumr?"
"I have a theory, rely a theory... I believe that whenever Voldemort cos close to Harry, or when he feels a particularly strong desire for revenge, Harry's scar hurts. Because this is no ordinary scar—that failed curse connected Harry and Voldemort together."
Coincidentally, Sherlock thought the sa thing.
"Well, now you can tell your thoughts after viewing my three mories."
"First, Karkaroff is not a problem. In the courtroom, to save himself, he betrayed all his accomplices. He's an extrely selfish and cowardly person. He has neither the courage nor the motivation to rejoin Voldemort—he knows very well the consequences of betrayal."
"Second, Bagman isn't a problem either. From the trial process and my interactions with him, I can see he has questionable personal ethics and is addicted to gambling. But he is indeed not a Death Eater, nor would he dare to associate himself with Voldemort."
"What about young Barty Crouch?" Dumbledore pressed.
At the ntion of this na, Sherlock frowned and remained silent for a mont before speaking. "My deduction is that he didn't personally participate in torturing the Longbottoms."
Dumbledore looked at Sherlock with so surprise. "You seed quite angry just now."
"Yes, I was very angry," Sherlock said frankly. "Such evil acts are simply outrageous, but even so, anger cannot be allowed to cloud reason. Judging solely from young Crouch's performance in your mory, he was a Death Eater and was indeed present at the scene, but he did not participate in the torture of the Longbottoms by the others. The ringleader of that incident was undoubtedly that woman..."
At this point, Sherlock paused. "She must be from the Black family, correct?"
"That's right." Dumbledore glanced at Sherlock, once again surprised by his perceptiveness.
"Yes. She is Bellatrix Lestrange. Sirius's cousin and one of Voldemort's most loyal followers."
"So it was her," Sherlock nodded, then suddenly changed the subject. "How is Mr. Crouch doing?"
"He's at ho, supposedly ill, but he's effectively retired early." Dumbledore's voice grew heavier. "Since young Barty was sentenced, he's aged rapidly and his ntal state has been poor."
"And... has he been well recently?"
Hearing Sherlock ask this, Dumbledore suddenly felt a chill in his heart. "Are you worried that Voldemort might target him?"
"It's possible," Sherlock said slowly. "Voldemort learned about Barty Crouch Junior from Bertha Jorkins. To obtain more detailed intelligence, he might very well target the elder Crouch. After all, the elder Crouch was once a high-ranking Ministry official, and with his ntal fragility due to his son's situation, he could easily beco a target."
"I understand." Dumbledore's expression grew serious. "I'll arrange imdiately to remind the Ministry to strengthen his protection, and I'll contact him personally as well. Oh, there's one more thing..."
"This year, there have been several disappearances. Besides Bertha Jorkins, whom you just ntioned—she vanished without a trace at Voldemort's last hideout—there's been another disappearance. Unfortunately, the Ministry considers it insignificant because the missing person is a Muggle."
"A Muggle?"
"His na is Frank Bryce. He lived in the village where Voldemort's father was born and disappeared last August." Dumbledore said, "As you know, I've always read Muggle newspapers, unlike those at the Ministry."
"This is an important clue!" Sherlock said imdiately. "We must go there!"
"Now?"
"As soon as possible." Sherlock paced back and forth in the office, his steps urgent. "Too much ti has passed—clues may have disappeared, but we must try."
"I'll arrange it. Before the Christmas holiday ends, I'll take you there."
"You should have told about this sooner," Sherlock said, frowning. "This is crucial for tracking down Voldemort's whereabouts."
Faced with Sherlock's criticism, Dumbledore didn't offer excuses but simply said, "I apologize, Sherlock. It was my oversight."
"Never mind, I can't really bla you—after all, you have too many things to worry about." Sherlock sighed. "The Ministry is utterly incompetent. I genuinely doubt that even if evidence were thrown in their faces, they'd necessarily find the truth."
"But they are also an important force we can currently rely on."
Regarding the Ministry of Magic, both Sherlock and Dumbledore felt a speechless frustration.
This conversation should end here.
Sherlock stood up, and Dumbledore rose as well.
"One more thing." When Sherlock reached the door, Dumbledore stopped him. "Please don't tell anyone else about Neville's parents, that should be his story to tell, when he's ready."
Sherlock nodded. "Professor, I'd like to ask you sothing as well."
"Go ahead."
"If the Ministry had a different Minister, do you think things would improve?"
Dumbledore looked at him with surprise, his eyes full of astonishnt, as if seeing this young man for the first ti.
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