"Of course, Grandpa. Of course. I need to learn what happened." Nero's voice was steady, but his fingers twitched ever so slightly.
Dumbledore gave him a long, searching look before nodding. "Aberforth, we will be borrowing that room."
"Hmph," Aberforth grumbled, waving a hand dismissively.
Nero followed Dumbledore like a ghost, his mind whirling, his body moving on instinct.
They arrived in a small, dimly lit chamber, filled with the scent of aged parchment and candle wax.
The walls were adorned with old portraits, their subjects staring in silent curiosity, as if sensing the weight of what was about to transpire.
At the center of the room sat a Pensieve, its silver basin shimmering under the flickering light.
Dumbledore reached into his robe and retrieved a small glass vial.
The liquid inside swirled with an eerie luminescence, memories suspended in their eternal dance.
He unstoppered it with a soft pop and let the contents spill into the Pensieve, where they stretched and twisted, forming a thin, silvery veil.
The Headmaster turned to Nero once more. His voice was solemn. "Let me ask you once again, Nero. Are you certain you want to see this now? We can revisit this another time if…"
"I need it, Grandpa. Please," Nero interrupted, his eyes burning with determination. "I need to understand. Everything."
Dumbledore studied him for a moment, then gave a slight nod. "As you wish."
With that, they both leaned forward, allowing the Pensieve to pull them into the depths of memory.
Nero felt the familiar sensation of falling, weightless and disoriented, the world around him dissolving in a swirl of silver mist.
The familiar weightless sensation gripped him, and then…
His feet touched solid ground.
The scene before him was breathtaking.
They stood inside a grand lecture hall, far larger than any Hogwarts classroom.
Towering bookshelves lined the circular chamber, brimming with aged tomes and magical scrolls.
Floating lanterns cast a warm glow, illuminating an audience of wizards and scholars seated in rows of ascending platforms, their faces a mix of curiosity, skepticism, and intrigue.
At the center of it all stood a woman.
She was radiant.
Sunlight seemed to dance along her golden hair, cascading down her back in effortless waves.
Her emerald eyes, sharp and intelligent, sparkled with the fire of discovery.
Dressed in elegant sapphire-blue robes, she carried herself with effortless confidence.
There was a warmth to her presence, an unshakable confidence that drew people in.
Nero's breath caught. He instinctively felt it.
Mother…
"Cassandra, whenever you're ready!" a voice called, drawing the attention of the room.
She turned, offering a dazzling smile. "My friends, thank you all for gathering here." Her voice rang through the hall, strong, passionate. "Tonight, I will present what I believe to be one of the most profound discoveries in magical history."
A murmur spread across the chamber, rippling outward like a wave.
Cassandra flicked her wand, and golden runes flared to life in the air, shifting and rearranging themselves into intricate diagrams.
"The origins of magical inheritance have long been debated," she began, pacing before the projected images. "What determines whether a child is born a Wizard, a Squib, or a Muggle? Is it blood? Is it fate? Is it mere chance?"
She paused, letting the questions hang in the air.
"For centuries, our understanding has been crude at best. We assumed that when magic appeared in a non-magical family, it was a random anomaly, an untraceable fluke, an inexplicable phenomenon. But after years of research, I have found otherwise."
A stunned silence followed.
Cassandra's emerald eyes shone with intensity. "Magic is not merely inherited. It can be awakened."
Gasps erupted from the audience. A few wizards leaned forward, eager.
Others folded their arms, skeptical.
She continued, undeterred. "Through rigorous analysis of magical cores and ancestral traces of bloodlines, I have identified a latent potential within all humans. A dormant spark, waiting to be ignited."
The golden diagrams shifted, displaying rows of tiny, glowing motes, representations of magical cores.
"My experiments have yielded astounding results," Cassandra pressed on, her voice filled with conviction. "Out of 1,000 Muggle-born children tested under my methods, 20% developed magical abilities, far above the statistical 0.5%."
The room erupted into chaos.
Some wizards were on their feet, applauding. Others whispered among themselves, their faces clouded with suspicion.
"This could change everything," an older wizard murmured.
A man with sharp features, wearing dark blue robes, rose from his seat. His voice was cutting.
"An impressive claim, Cassandra," he said, "but let us not forget history. You are not the first to toy with such ideas."
Cassandra met his gaze without flinching. "If you are referring to Hereditary Transference, my approach is fundamentally different. I am not creating magic artificially, I am unlocking what is already there. For the Greater Good."
"I am confident that I will eventually be able to create a potion, that will be adapted and widely spread to the Muggle world, that will naturally awaken their magical abilities." she added.
"You talk as if you were a saint, and yet," the man countered, "you end your explanation with a phrase eerily familiar 'For the Greater Good.' Tell me, Cassandra, do you still hold onto Grindelwald's ideology?"
A hush fell over the room.
Cassandra's smile dimmed, her expression sharpening. "Grindelwald's beliefs became twisted, at some point, obsessed with magical dominance. My work is about transformation, addition, not oppression. I wish to elevate those without magic, not rule over them."
A woman in crimson robes scoffed. "And what of the dangers? Meddling with magical inheritance could have unintended consequences. Unstable magic. Corrupted bloodlines. You are playing with fire, Cassandra Dumbledore."
Cassandra's voice turned cold. "And would you rather leave those born without magic to their fates? To be forever shackled by limitations they had no choice in? Don't you want a society without pretense, where everyone can focus on transcending the limit of magic?"
A new wave of debate ignited.
Some scholars nodded in agreement, while others shouted over one another in dissent.
And then… A chill slithered through the air.
The torches flickered.
The golden runes that had floated above the hall dimmed, as if a shadow had passed over them.
A soft, slow clap echoed through the chamber.
All voices died instantly.
A figure stood at the edge of the hall, hooded, face obscured.
"Fascinating," the stranger drawled. "Absolutely fascinating."
Cassandra's posture stiffened. "Who are you?"
The figure took a slow step forward. "Forgive me," he said silkily. "You are right. Where are my manners?"
He reached up.
Pulled down his hood.
And the room froze.
A pale, snake-like face emerged, smooth and unnatural.
Slitted nostrils flared slightly, and his lips curled in amusement as his cold eyes scanned the audience.
Gasps of horror filled the room.
Some scholars instinctively reached for their wands, while others shrank back.
"The Dark Lord!" someone choked out.
The Dark Lord in making smiled. "Ah, I see my reputation has grown these past few years."
His gaze locked onto Cassandra. "You interest me, my dear."
She lifted her chin, expression unyielding. "You have no place here."
Voldemort chuckled. "On the contrary, I believe I do. You have stumbled upon something truly extraordinary." He took another step forward. "Your research could change everything. But tell me, Cassandra, what exactly have you discovered? What is the true determinant of magic?"
Her grip on her wand tightened.
"And what would you do with that knowledge?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with steel.
Voldemort's smile widened, his crimson eyes alight with dark amusement.
"Why, isn't it obvious?" He spread his hands. "If I understand what makes a person magical… I could ensure that only Wizards are born, as you wished... Muggles do not need an awakening. A world rid of Muggles. A world of pure Wizards. Of pure Magic." he started laughing maniacally.
"I have always been fond of ritual magic. Wouldn't it be interesting to test if I can create a ritual that would kill all muggles in the world." he added with a crazed laugh
The room froze.
Silence. Cold. Dread.
Cassandra's expression turned to stone. "I refuse. My magic is meant to increase the number of Wizards, help Muggles evolve, not exterminate them"
Voldemort sighed theatrically "How disappointing. You would rather side with Mudbloods?"
His voice turned sharp."Let me convince you."
He flicked his wand.
"Crucio."
Cassandra screamed.
She crumpled, convulsing on the floor as the curse ripped through her body.
The room exploded into chaos.
Scholars screamed. Some tried to flee, apparating on the spot.
Others, enthralled, stepped closer.
A single bolt of blue light shot across the hall.
It slammed into Voldemort, forcing him to take a step back.
Silence.
Slowly, he turned.
At the front of the hall, standing in front of Cassandra's fallen form, was a tall man with dark blue piercing eyes.
Jonathan Ravenclaw.
Voldemort's lips curled. "Ah. It has been a while, my dear Jonathan."
He took a slow step forward, his eyes glinting.
"I wonder," he mused, "are you still as blind as ever when it comes to Cassandra? Or have you finally come to your senses?"
Jonathan said nothing.
His wand remained raised, unwavering.
But his eyes…
His eyes held something dark.
Something unreadable.
And in that moment, Nero realized, this memory held more than just the past.
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