The first thing I did upon waking up, instead of opening my eyes as usual, was try to move my body. I couldn’t. My wand was gone as well. I still had Voldemort’s in my inventory but my connection to it wasn't strong enough to dispel the thing making the bed sheets hold me down.

I heard an old voice talking with a young one.

Probably Dumbledore congratulating the hero of the day.

I had not been exhausted physically or magically the day before, but mentally was quite another story. I started to spread out my magic sense and waited, it took 785 seconds until the aura of controlled power that was Dumbledore entered my range.

I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling.

I heard the old man shuffle and sit down next to my bed.

"My b-" He was interrupted by me starting to scream like a person being crucified, I had practiced, the mirror had told me it was very convincing.

I had recently determined the use of the old pocket watch I had found in the Weasley basement all those years ago.

After having been unable to open the thing with conventional measures for several years, I had resorted to more drastic ones. Like seeing if the required key was Weasley or Prewett blood.

After learning some healing spells I had slashed open my arm, letting my blood fall on the thing.

It only opened slightly. That's where my idea of hurting myself to train healing had come from by the way.

After a month of bloodletting the thing opened completely and I found a broken watch on the inside. Engraved on the cover was one sentence.

'I tell not the time but the essence of your existence'

Testing it a bit told me that the thing stored memories. The kind of memories you put into glass bottle and watched inside a pensieve.

Where was I?

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Oh yes, I was screaming my lungs out. I slightly opened my inventory above my head.

Due to a few weeks of practice, screams weren't the only things leaving my mouth, I also ejected the silvery strands of memories, which wafted upwards being pulled towards the memory watch.

For all those unable to see my inventory, it was as if the memories were disappearing into thin air.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Dumbledore pull out the elder wand and start chanting something in a language I did not know.

This meant he had a way of catching the memories.

I had of course planned for this, but it would make things more complicated.

I dredged up some memories I had refreshed through drawing recently.

The mask of Corvo Attano, the protagonist of one of my favourite games in my youth. Dishonoured. A figure I considered frightening enough to turn its fictitious existence into reality in the mind of one old man.

Due to me putting more magic into ejecting a memory of the mask the memory came out more like a silvery worm than an actual strand.

Therefore it was understandable how it was the only memory drawn to the elder wand. While I had been concentrating on making the memory that size, the old man had conjured a glass flask that now held the two second memory of a man in a mask out of a video game.

I blacked out.

When I woke up I saw Dumbledore sitting on a chair next to my bed.

I frantically looked around the room, not knowing where I was.

"Where am I!?" I ignored the old man and delved into my memories.

There I found a particularly strong memory of a letter.

A letter addressed to myself.

Ergarth

The yellow crow has flown away and has taken the contents of the ship with him.

Do not try to retrieve what is lost until you are grassing on the meadow.

Dishonoured mask, possesed, blame.

On the letter was a drawing of a pocket watch that looked oddly familiar.

Wasn't that the thing I had found in the Weasley basement?

"-nald!"

I turned to Dumbledore and simply stared at him with blank eyes. The man continued in a soft voice.

"Can you tell me what happened." I remembered a memory that always made me weep. The corpse of my real mother flashed before my eyes and I started crying.

Not the manly crying you often saw in movies, a few solemn tears and that was it.

No.

What I did was the crying befitting a twelve year old kid, snot running down my nose and my face becoming red and puffy.

It was odd sharing the moment with someone I didn't really know, thankfully he simply let me finish bawling my eyes out, waiting for an answer.

"It happened on christmas." I said.

Dumbledore nodded, encouraging me to go on.

"I was making a snowman when this man came towards me, he had an ugly mask, I didn't have my wand with me." I stared deprecatingly at my hands, my hands that weren't basically chained to my bed anymore.

"There was nothing you could have done." I nodded solemnly at Dumbledore's words.

"When I woke up I couldn't control my body, I could only watch, for a time, then it all turned black." I chuckled bitterly.

An old and gnarled hand laid my wand on my night table.

I nodded in thanks.

"Do you remember anything else?" He asked, to which I shook my head.

"It's like, like I know that I should know something, but I don't." Words that described the feeling of missing a memory, due to ejecting it from your mind, in one of the books I had read on the subject.

"Do you need anything Ronald?"

I just let my head sink into my pillow. "No, I just want to sleep."