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SEPTEMBER, 1978
𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗘𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗢𝗠 𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗗𝗟𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗘𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘 𝗕𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗚𝗘𝗧'𝗦 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦. All she needed was a Pensieve and none of her useless friends was in possession of one. To be fair, she did not have one either; amongst all the manors she has visited and lived in, none of them had the rare object.
Thankfully, she did know a certain greasy-haired, owl-faced, and former classmate who had a Pensieve. This time, she had the courtesy to knock, and she tapped her knuckles against the wooden door three times before backing away.
Upon opening the door, Severus Snape held an expression with twisted features, utter confusion, and disbelief littering his face.
"May I come in?" Asked Scarlet politely.
Snape remained silent, blinking once very hard to make sure this was not some pathetic, crooked nightmare. Or a trap. His black orbs roamed around behind her, making sure she was not in any possession of a mass-murdering weapon. His mind knew he was overreacting upon the girl's arrival but his heart felt threatened.
"Of course, I can come in," Scarlet rolled her eyes, sarcastically speaking as she answered her own question. She brushed past the still boy who wore all black, and he shut the door quietly after her hurried entrance.
"I am very sorry about your mother, Scarlet," was the first thing he said. "I hope you are doing okay."
Scarlet bit the insides of her cheeks and waved a dismissive hand, "I am well. Don't you worry. I need to use your Pensieve."
"Straight to the point as always," Snape declared in a monotone and raised a hand momentarily to gesture to her to follow him.
The shallow stone basin had ancient carvings on it. The contains had light-made liquid, a silver smoke that almost looked solid. Yet another magical item that is unexplainable. The artifact looked like something that would belong in one of her Manors and made a mental note to obtain one in case she ever ended up living in any of the Bridget Houses. Most likely not.
