Slughorn's Memory

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Dumbledore approached the Pensieve and tapped it lightly with his wand.

The shallow basin filled instantly with a swirling, silver substance, its surface rippling like liquid moonlight.

"This, Ethan, is a Pensieve," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle yet knowing as if unveiling a secret.

He glanced at the young man beside him, sensing his unspoken curiosity.

"There are times," he continued, "when thoughts grow tangled, memories too many to bear at once. In such moments, I find it helpful to draw them out and examine them from a distance."

As he pulled the wand away from the bottle in his hands, a shimmering thread of silver clung to its tip, delicate yet pulsing with life.

It resembled a strand of hair, yet it glowed like the surface of the Pensieve.

Dumbledore lowered it into the basin, and the liquid swirled, reshaping itself.

"Ethan," he said, turning slightly, "there is a reason I have brought Horace Slughorn back to Hogwarts. He was not only the head of Slytherin House but also one of Voldemort's most influential teachers. In fact..."

His gaze flickered as though weighing his words carefully.

"Tom Riddle was among his most brilliant and favored students."

With a final, slow stir of his wand, the silver substance deepened, revealing a flickering scene beneath its surface.

The air seemed to shift. Ethan leaned in—too late to hesitate—before the world around him dissolved.

A warm, dimly lit room materialized before Ethan. Plush chairs, flickering candlelight, and the rich scent of wine and sugared pineapple filled the space.

At the center sat Horace Slughorn—though younger, unmistakably him. His thick, tawny hair was beginning to thin, betraying the early signs of baldness.

A fine ginger beard traced his chin, less full than the one Ethan knew from the present. He reclined in a grand armchair, small feet propped on a velvet cushion, a glass of wine in one hand and a tin of candied pineapple in the other.

Around him, a cluster of well-dressed students lounged, laughing and conversing with ease.

Dumbledore's voice murmured in Ethan's ear, though he remained unseen.

"This was Tom Riddle's world," he said softly.

Ethan's eyes found him instantly—young, charismatic, and effortlessly charming. Tom Riddle sat with a relaxed air, his right hand draped over the chair's armrest.

A glint of black caught Ethan's eye: a striking ring adorned his finger, the gemstone dark as midnight.

Dumbledore, unseen by those in the memory, observed it as well.

"Sir, is Professor Mellas retiring?" Tom asked smoothly, his tone both polite and knowing.

Slughorn wagged a thick finger at him, though his jovial expression undercut any true scolding.

"Now, now, Tom, you know I can't tell you that," he chuckled, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed his fondness for the boy.

"Honestly, sometimes I wonder where you get your information—you seem to know more about this school than half the staff!"

Tom merely smiled. The other boys laughed, glancing at him with admiration.

The memory flickered. The room trembled like disturbed water, and Slughorn's voice distorted.

"You're going to make mistakes, boy... take my word for it..."

The words wavered, barely audible.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the distortion vanished. The feast continued as if nothing had happened.

Slughorn pushed himself up from his armchair with a grunt, brushing stray crumbs from his robe.

"Alright, it's time for you all to turn in. I'd hate for your houses to lose points on my account," he said with a chuckle.

"Off you go now, quickly!"

The students rose obediently, murmuring their goodbyes before filing out of Slughorn's office one by one.

Only Voldemort remained. He lingered near the flickering candlelight, his expression unreadable.

Slughorn turned, surprised to see him still standing there.

"Come now, Tom, you don't want to be caught wandering about after hours. You're a prefect, after all—"

"Sir, I have a question," Voldemort interrupted, his voice smooth, measured.

His dark eyes locked onto Slughorn's face, unwavering.

Slughorn hesitated, then gave him a genial smile.

"Well, go on, then. Ask away."

Voldemort took a step closer.

"Sir, what do you know about Horcruxes?"

The air in the room seemed to shift.

Ethan, watching from within the memory, felt a jolt of anticipation.

He leaned in, eager to hear Slughorn's response.

But before Slughorn could speak, the memory flickered—just as it had before.

The scene wavered as if submerged in rippling water.

Slughorn's voice distorted, words blending together in a garbled mess.

Then, suddenly, his voice cut through, sharp and clear:

"I don't know anything about Horcruxes! And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you! Get out, now—and don't let me hear you mention this again!"

The memory collapsed.

Ethan felt a force pull him backward, and in an instant, he was back in Dumbledore's office. The swirling silver of the Pensieve settled, its surface smooth once more.

Frowning, Ethan turned to Dumbledore.

"What just happened?"

Dumbledore folded his hands, his expression thoughtful.

"This memory belongs to Slughorn. He tampered with it."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Tampered?"

Dumbledore nodded. "He didn't want anyone to know what truly transpired in that conversation. But his attempt at altering the memory was... flawed."

"You think he told Voldemort how to make a Horcrux," Ethan said, his tone edged with disbelief.

Dumbledore shook his head.

"No, not quite. Slughorn is not an evil man, Ethan. But he is vain. Naïve, even. He never imagined that his words—offered carelessly—could lead to such darkness."

A pause. Then Dumbledore's gaze sharpened.

"Ethan, I need you to retrieve the real memory from Slughorn."

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

"That's all? Too easy."

"Really?" Dumbledore asked his tone light but knowing.

"Lilicipism, Veritaserum, Sigil—there are plenty of ways to get him to talk," Ethan said with a smirk.

Dumbledore's expression turned serious.

"No, Ethan. Slughorn is a skilled Occlumens. Forceful methods would only put him on guard. Worse, his connections in the wizarding world are extensive. If we were to act rashly, it could cause unnecessary complications."

Ethan sighed, adjusting his robes.

"Alright, I get it."

His smirk returned, though this time, it was more thoughtful.

"I'll do it the proper way."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled.

"Good. And I suggest you take Harry with you. Slughorn always had a soft spot for his parents."