The memory dripped into the pensieve from Tapendra's wand tip, viscous, clinging to the wand tip at first and then falling suddenly, vanishing into the illusion of great depth of the vessel. There it swirled and spread like ink, the strange light fading and growing as the memory rushed about it.

Ignan looked up at Tapendra, their faces illuminated by the uneven light from below.
"Ready?" He asked his younger friend gently, inclined ever so slightly towards the pensieve. At Tapendra's silent nod of confirmation, he took a steady breath and then lowered his face into the mist.

A confusion of sound, incomprehensible noise; the vortex of the pensieve adjusted quickly as he fell. Finally, the scene cleared to a dark hallway, almost instantly recognizable as the hallways outside the Headmaster's office, the gryphon still in place. The corridor was the same, but different, the slight changes of almost two decades detectable as a shift. A soft sound indicated Tapendra had landed, his bare feet making barely a sound on the stones.

Ignan turned on the spot, taking in his surroundings, and looked to Tapendra, who was facing the other way. The Defence Professor turned back to catch the scene in the memory unfolding.

Footsteps echoed up the dark hallway, the distant hum of activity in the castle seemingly quite far away. The footsteps were mismatched, as of two very different people walking together, and clearly getting closer.

"I do hope this is important, Mister Trishna." The voice was quirky, slightly nervous sounding. "Bothering the Headmaster over trivial things isn't looked upon very kindly, you know! Especially with this awful business with Sirius Black..."

The voice turned out to belong to a short, squat sort of man, with a physical resemblance to Clogg-Spleen and also, in odd ways to Georg - as if someone had smashed the two together. Odd looking as he might be, his height was only emphasized by the boy who walked a step behind him.

The two passed by, and Ignan tilted his head a little, taking in Tapendra's younger self and also his short companion, a Professor of the time he presumed. Tapendra seemed to be watching his younger self intently.

It became instantly clear that Tapendra had not changed much in the years since this memory had taken place. Tall, gangly and apparently built to look rather awkward, his messy red hair and blue eyes were almost identical to his adult appearance. But the lack of beard was somewhat striking, as was the fact he had shoes on and his clothing was neat and well-groomed. The blue tie of Ravenclaw was accented by the gleam of the Prefect's badge on his chest. He clutched a leather box to his side.

"It is important, sir," Tapendra said, voice slightly higher and still cracking in youth. Flitwick seemed remiss to accept this fact, but he nevertheless hurried over to the stone gryphon, speaking the password.

The two headed into the Headmaster's office without a further word spoken between them.

Hastily, Ignan and Tapendra followed the memory form of Tapendra and the Professor up the stairs to the office that Analiza inhabited in present day, but Ignan recalled would belong to the famous Dumbledore - a man he had never met, but was respected throughout the magical world. The door to the office opened and they stepped inside, continuing to follow the memory. Ignan took note of the box, as he stood right behind the memory form of Tapendra, his confidence growing as he became used to being unseen by history.

"That's it?" He asked present day Tapendra, motioning to it. Tapendra nodded and finally spoke; a simple, "Yes." Then he looked around the office, walking forward to inspect the box himself.

The place was much more cheerful than the one Analiza used; full of wondrous objects, portraits, and tall windows. A Phoenix sat on a perch at the far end, and sitting at his desk with a pair of half moon glasses sat Dumbledore, quill in hand.

The old wizard looked up, his aura one of pleasant surprise. A quirked eyebrow spurred Flitwick to explain, and the short man cleared his throat.

"This is Trishna, Albus. He insists he speak with you, though he won't tell me why." A glance at Tapendra, who was apparently quite focused on the middle distance, revealed that Flitwick wasn't too sure about this fact. The badge on Tapendra's chest was likely the only reason he'd been allowed this interview, it seemed.

"Really? Well then, Mister Trishna...?" Dumbledore's smile and cupped hands radiated interest, and Tapendra looked at him and then back to Flitwick.

"Meaning no offense, sir, would it be possible to speak alone?" Tapendra asked, as politely as he was able. Flitwick looked shocked, but Dumbledore nodded. Still looking annoyed, Flitwick withdrew, nodding to Dumbledore as he departed.

Ignan gave an odd chuckle as he watched the pint-sized Professor leave, but turned his attention to Dumbledore and Tapendra in the memory, walking slowly round to the side of the desk to better observe the interchange.

"Have a seat, Trishna," said Dumbldore, putting his quill aside. The old wizard rose, running his hand along Fawkes's back as Tapendra sat, the box on his lap. "You needed to see me? A matter of some importance, it seems...?"

Tapendra, apparently now realizing what he had to say, gripped the box like the lifeline it was, hugging it to his chest and almost involuntarily drawing his knees up. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and looked up.

"You're aware of Vedir Prideaux, sir?" He asked, and when Dumbledore nodded, he continued. "I've...gotten myself in a bit of a...he's..." Tapendra's voice broke, and he rubbed his throat. "I'm in a bit of trouble with him, sir, and..." He seemed to be struggling for words, and finally sighed, sitting back in the chair and swallowing visibly.

"I may not live to see July, sir," he said, and shook minutely. "I have to confront him, and I need some ammunition." He raised the box slightly, one hand running along the top. "I just, well."

He fell silent, and looked at Dumbledore. The silence stretched,and he seemed to want to fill it.

Ignan was motionless, watching Tapendra, oblivious to the present day form of the man stood nearby. He'd later wonder what Tapendra would make of Ignan at that age - only such a discussion would have been between father and son.

"If I don't come back, if I vanish mysteriously, if I don't send a blue ink letter to Judy, I need to know this box'll get handed to the Aurors or the lawyers, the right ones, not the ones he's bought out," he said, in a rush. "You're the only one who I can trust, who has the power to make sure that happens, and Hogwarts is the safest..." He smiled slightly. "Maybe not the safest, with Black all over the place, but...it's safer than any place I can go. It's home, and he has no power here."

"I see," Dumbledore said, and patted his desk. Obediently, Tapendra put the box on his desk after a moment's hesitation, and Dumbledore turned it around to inspect it. The simple top opened to reveal an extremely complex lock, ticking with the amount of spells it was under.

"Passworded, too?" Dumbledore asked, his tone slightly impressed, the tip of his wand running over the locks and silently undoing them. Tapendra twitched with each one that popped open; he'd clearly spent some time sealing it to his best efforts.

"I do hope you have better incantations on it these days…" Ignan muttered, arms folded, as he peered over the box on the desk.

"'The world is hollow, and I have touched the sky,'" Tapendra said finally, and the box opened, revealing sheet after sheet of paper. Dumbledore extracted the top one, adjusting his glasses as he read it.

"This appears to be in your handwriting, Trishna," Dumbledore said, setting it aside as he picked up the next paper.

"Cracking their codes, sir. As best I could." Tapendra was standing now, his hands on the desk, watching Dumbledore hold the papers nervously. Dumbledore eyed a page of sheet music with interest before he set it aside.

"Mmm, yes. This would certainly cause Mister Prideaux some distress, if revealed," Dumbledore said, putting the paper back. He looked at Tapendra, who shrank back slightly as he slipped the newer paper back into the box.

"I can certainly promise to go through with your wishes, Trishna," Dumbledore said. "But risking your life-"

Tapendra's expression apparently stopped him. The old wizard frowned, folding his hands.

"My mind is made up, sir," Tapendra said darkly, sitting down. "Please don't try to dissuade me." The unspoken 'It might work' hung in the air, and Tapendra certainly seemed to not want them said.

"I see." Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, looking at the box. "I won't try to dissuade you, then. This box," He was redoing the locks as he spoke, and Tapendra watched him. "I shall keep it for you. You will have to come and get it at some point, however.' He smiled at the boy's confusion. "Keeping it in one place forever is not the best idea, especially if what I've heard of Prideaux is true."

Tapendra appeared to relax. "Thank you, sir," he said, as Dumbledore took the box, placing it on the end of his desk. "I really appreciate it, sir."

"Of course, Trishna." Dumbledore folded his hands again. "Do let me know if I can be of any further assistance..."

That appeared to be that, but Tapendra appeared to be following his memory form, and Ignan felt obliged to do the same, especially as the edge of the memory was seeping away as the student version of his colleague turned and left the office - Dumbledore and the box vanishing into nothing. The adult version of Tapendra was clenching and unclenching his hands, nervously, and his pace picked up. 

Tapendra nodded and left the office, walking out in to the dark hall. Stopping at the base of the gryphon, he sighed, leaning on the wall and rubbing his face. He wasn't expecting the form that stepped from the shadows, apparently; he jumped in surprise as a girl approached, freezing with a hand on his wand, defensive.

"Did he take it?" The girl asked, apparently not bothered. She wore Slytherin green, her long blonde hair tired back into a high ponytail, and yet still long enough to fall to her thighs. She was large, her ample chest only emphasized by her crossed arms. Tapendra relaxed when he saw her, walking up to her with a smile.

"Yes," he said, simply. She frowned, looking up at him.

"You're really going to do it, then?" she asked, and got a simple nod in response. She sighed, and as they turned to walk off down the hall, she looped her arm around his waist.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" she told him affectionately, as the memory swirled and faded.

Standing back from the pensieve, Ignan let the memory settle in his own mind, before he looked to Tapendra and gave a single nod. Tapendra stood silent, looking at the silvery pensieve.

"You were very lucky to study under Dumbledore." Ignan told his colleague. "I believe I'll recognise the box when I see it, but we can only hope its not been opened."

Sliding his hands into his suit trouser pockets, ignan asked a further question,
"Was that your late wife, the Slytherin who called you an idiot?" He asked Tapendra, vaguely recognising her from somewhere - she certainly fitted the verbal description others who had known her had given Ignan in passing. He got another simple nod in response.

He reached a hand out and patted Tapendra's arm in an almost fatherly way twice before turning and walking away.  "Now all we have to do is find it. That may have been the easy part."