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Bella staaaaaares.

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"If you touch the surface, you can enter the memory and walk around in it," Maria murmurs. "But it's almost as useful from out here, for what I do."

Her remembered hand scribbles equations across the remembered chalkboard.
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Bella doesn't understand the math, but she's fascinated by the magic. "How far can you go from where the person whose memory it is is?"

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"Depends on the memory, and the person. Usually not very far. The next room, or shouting distance in an open area, is about the limit for most recordings."

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"Can you see farther than that? Can you see things the person didn't know were there even at the time, like somebody hiding? Can you look behind and under stuff? When you walk around are you your same size in the memory?"

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"Why don't you try it and see?" she suggests. "The memory's not long, and you'll come back out when it ends."

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"Okay."

Carefully, Bella reaches for the image.
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When she touches the surface of the Pensieve, there is a momentary coolness against her fingers and a disorienting whirling sensation—

And she is standing in this very room, just behind the past Maria, watching her begin to write those equations on the board. The whole scene has a kind of ghostly, unreal quality, but wherever she turns her attention, individual details are sharp and clear.
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Bella inspects the contents of the room. She tries touching things.

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Touching things to examine their textures works just fine, but her fingers won't smudge a line of chalk or press down the peeling label on the eraser; if she exerts enough force to move something, it resists, and if she exerts still more, her hand will go right through it.

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That's interesting. She tries sticking her head through a desk drawer to see if she can inspect its contents.

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It's dark in there.

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Of course. She pulls her head out and goes on checking out the way the memory works; she tries holding her hand still in the path of Mrs. Stark's moving elbow.

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The same rules apply in this case: it will push her hand out of the way, and if she declines to be pushed, it will go right through her.

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She starts looking behind things, and at things that would not have gotten Mrs. Stark's attention - dust motes swirling in the light, objects under the desk.

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It's all right there, perfectly visible.

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Interesting. Is there an open door? She wants to test the boundaries of the memory.

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She could always walk through the closed one.

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She does that.

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She can stand just outside it and everything looks fine.

If she takes another step, things get misty around the edges.

Another step after that, and when she looks down the stairwell, everything is blurred and silvery; the door behind her, and a bit of the wall around it, is the only clear and solid thing remaining.
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She tries walking into the silver.

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All sensation is blurred and muffled. The world is silver mist, slightly cool to the touch, completely undifferentiated.

That remains the case for an unknown length of time.

Then the whirling sensation from before fades in slowly, and she is flung out of the memory to land on her feet with considerable backward momentum.
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Bella overbalances and falls on her rear. "Ow."

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"The exit can be rough," Maria says sympathetically. "Although not usually that rough."

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"I'm not very graceful. I'm okay flying," says Bella. "Just not on the ground." She hauls herself up. "That's really cool. Are they expensive?"

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