Seeing Dumbledore had taken control of Bob Ogden, Snape didn't hesitate for even a moment.
He picked up his wand and began cleaning away the tea and pastries from the table. Except for the teacup still in Mr. Ogden's hand, the two cups they had used vanished completely.
Then he swept his wand lightly across the tabletop, every trace of fingerprints, every tiny thread of fabric from their sleeves that might have brushed the surface, was wiped spotless.
"What on earth are you doing, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled and curious.
"Eliminating evidence of our crime, Professor," Snape said rapidly, words firing like a string of spells. "You'd better get the Veritaserum ready.
"Once I'm done, you should double-check to see if I missed anything. Oh, by the way, no one saw us arrive on the Thestrals, right?"
As he spoke, Snape tapped the floor lightly with his wand. The nearly invisible footprints vanished as well.
"What is going on inside that head of yours? I merely calmed him down a little!" Dumbledore's beard and hair bristled with fury. "Do I look like that sort of person to you?!"
"Aren't you?" Snape raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise.
"Sit down!" Dumbledore snapped, flicking his wand sharply. An invisible force, like a pair of giant hands, struck Snape with a sharp "thud," pressing him back into the chair.
After a while, the expression on Ogden's face slowly regained animation.
"Bob, don't be nervous," Dumbledore said gently. "I just want to understand what happened back then."
"I..." Ogden clutched his wand tightly, his voice trembling with fear. "But..."
"I understand your concerns," Dumbledore said, fingers interlaced, the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles filled with sincerity. "Lately, Death Eaters have been attacking anyone who opposes them. The violence is spreading."
"But that experience doesn't seem useful..." Ogden hesitated. "I don't understand..."
"Professor, you brought me all this way for this?" Snape interjected, shrugging. "I agree with Mr. Ogden. I can't imagine how that memory could be of any use."
"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, glancing out at the flowers beyond the window. "I brought you here merely to learn more about his past. I didn't expect it to be immediately useful. But having more knowledge is never a bad thing."
"Sigh..." Ogden loosened his grip on his wand, sighing helplessly. "You've come all this way... tell me what you wish to know."
"By the way, Mr. Ogden, earlier you mentioned there were three members of the Gaunt family," Snape prompted. "Do you know what became of them afterward?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Ogden said, shaking his head and frowning as he took a sip of tea that had already gone cold. "But I suppose Morfin is still locked up in Azkaban."
"Morfin is in Azkaban?" Dumbledore's tone held a faint trace of delight, and a glimmer flashed in his eyes. "Why was he imprisoned there?"
"That's quite a complicated story," said Ogden. "I wasn't in charge of that case, but I heard Morfin murdered a Muggle family, the Riddles, the very same ones I met when I was on duty back then."
Dumbledore cast Snape a satisfied glance.
"Bob, I have one more small request," Dumbledore said. "Would you be willing to let us view the memory of your visit to the Gaunt family, just to be sure no details were overlooked?"
"Is that really necessary?" Ogden asked.
"I think," Dumbledore said calmly, "if you extract that memory, its imprint in your mind will fade somewhat. That way, it's less likely to bring you any further trouble."
"Well, though I'm just a retired old man now," Ogden said, his face twisted in conflict, "Albus, I do hope I can help you. I only hope it'll be of use. I suppose... he'd have no reason to know of my existence..."
Ogden sat silent for a moment, then slowly stood and walked to a cupboard.
From it, he took out a slender-necked bottle and ran his rough fingers gently over its surface.
Returning to his armchair, Ogden drew his wand with trembling hands and pressed its tip against his temple.
As a strand of silver thread sank into the narrow bottle, Ogden murmured wearily, "Albus... take it. Don't let my anxiety be for nothing... and forgive me, I won't keep you for lunch."
Snape and Dumbledore left Mr. Ogden's small house.
Outside, the trees swayed in the breeze, and the dappled sunlight flickered beneath the green leaves.
Snape glared at Dumbledore, his voice edged with discontent. "Professor, surely we don't have to ride Thestrals back?"
"I think not," Dumbledore replied cheerfully.
He took a pocket watch with twelve hands from his robes, raised his wand, and murmured, "Menthos."
The watch shuddered in his hand, glowed with a strange blue light for several seconds, and then grew still again.
"Quickly, place your hand on the watch," Dumbledore instructed.
Snape stepped forward and joined the Headmaster, gripping the strange watch.
"Three... two... one..." Dumbledore said softly. "Let's go."
It felt as though a hook had latched onto Snape's navel and yanked him upward, he was soaring.
After a dizzying spin of sky and earth, he found himself standing beside Dumbledore once more, in that familiar office.
Once steady, Dumbledore walked to the cabinet, retrieved a shallow stone basin engraved with strange runic markings, and set it carefully on the desk.
Then, from his pocket, he drew the slender-necked bottle that Ogden had just given him and poured the floating silver memory threads into the Pensieve.
The silvery strands began to swirl slowly in the basin, emitting a faint gleam.
"Come on," Dumbledore said.
Snape didn't hesitate, he plunged straight into the Pensieve.
After an endless sensation of falling, the brilliant sunlight of summer burst overhead. Snape reflexively shut his eyes.
Before he could adjust to the glare, Dumbledore landed beside him.
They stood upon a country dirt path, flanked by high, interwoven hedgerows. Above them stretched a vast summer sky, blue and clear as a field of forget-me-nots.
About twenty feet ahead stood a short, stout man dressed peculiarly. Beneath a striped bathing suit, he wore a formal overcoat, with spats over his shoes.
At this time, Mr. Ogden still had a full head of hair, though his belly was already large enough to stretch the stripes of his swimsuit wider.
Following his steps, a wooden signpost jutted from the brambles beside the road.
Two arrows pointed in opposite directions: Great Hangleton (5 miles) and Little Hangleton (1 mile).
They followed closely behind Ogden, descending slowly along a steep hillside. After a time, the view suddenly opened wide, a valley spread before them.
Nestled within it was a quintessentially English village, its church and graveyard clearly visible.
Across the valley stood an impressive manor house, surrounded by sweeping, lush green fields that stretched far into the distance.