Chapter 61:T he Dark Lord Invents a Fairy Tale Part 2

Snape now holds the memory, and I have several tasks ahead of me: I must pretend to punish him for Albus, check whether Severus has had a change of heart regarding his honesty with me, and finally, I need to place the genuine Horcrux from the fake Slytherin Amulet into the Lake of Inferi. As I return, I will release the "dragon-snake-liches" into the lake and leave before they awaken, allowing them to wait at the entrance of Aberforth's cave for Albus.

Once again, I put Severus through the memory erasure ritual; he took incompatible potions, and we journeyed to the cave of Inferi. When we reached the center of the lake, it was time for Severus to drink again—it was becoming a habit, much like his father. Should I check if he is being truthful? Snape drank the potion of despair, succumbing to the same breakdown as last time. I used Legilimency. This time, in addition to his desperate pleas of "don't kill Lily," there were thoughts of "this magic is too vile for me; I don't need it," accompanied by a desire to flee. Yet he realized he was too ensnared to escape. The absence of betrayal was a relief. I stunned Snape and brought him back.

I placed the fake Slytherin Amulet, which was not my Horcrux, into the bowl. Again, the despair potion enveloped him, and this time I added a cunning, deadly poison to the mix. Basilisk venom was not an option; it would damage the Horcrux. I activated additional traps I had prepared long ago on our return journey. I had spent considerable time enchanting the boat and released two creatures—combinations of a Horntail, a Horned Serpent, and liches—into the lake. I also introduced new infernals and liches to the water. Near the lake, I placed my unsuccessful golem, crafted by my own hands, while Aberforth's essence guarded the entrance to the cave. This time, I was certain—there were no loopholes, not for house-elves, goblins, or anyone else.

As for demons... who can say? In theory, I had erected barriers against energy entities. If it were possible to convince a demon, "there's a Horcrux, consume it," then the ritual known as the "Highest Limit" would be unnecessary. Anyone who wished to enter would have to navigate traps with care, and no more than two individuals could pass at once.

Now, I only needed to reach the lake. I suspect that Albus will reach the island and meet his end there. We shall see. Upon returning, I revived Snape and sent him to Dumbledore. His task was simply to ensure that Albus would say, "I believe!"

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**Albus Dumbledore's Perspective**

Albus sat in his office at Hogwarts, lost in thought. By connecting with the castle's defenses, he was aware of everyone's location within his domain. The ongoing issues with Hume from Slytherin were becoming increasingly challenging to overlook, especially Hume's attempts to eliminate the headmaster. Just during the last holiday, Hume had sent a cursed snuffbox. While the idea was not entirely foolish, Hume was no fool—he didn't send women's beads, despite knowing Albus did not smoke. However, the execution was weak; it was unlikely to kill him even if he touched it unprotected. The traces were poorly concealed—he easily identified those who had come in contact with the object. Moreover, beyond comparing magical energies, even Muggle techniques assisted him—Hume had not considered erasing his fingerprints.

Yet, currently, his greater concern rested with another Slytherin. Severus Snape approached his office door, but before he could utter the password, the stone gargoyle moved aside. Soon, Severus stood before Albus. Assessing him through three lenses—normal vision, magical sight, and astral perception—he confirmed that Snape appeared as he had upon returning from Tom's after Lily's death. Signs of torture marked him: traces of the Cruciatus curse and hints of Legilimency that had twisted his most painful memories. Adding to this were signs of magical exhaustion, resembling an Inferi. In one word, Severus was half-dead. Sometimes, Albus wished he could send Snape on a permanent vacation to New Zealand, but Voldemort was not going to eliminate himself, and there was that ridiculous oath he had taken to kill Snape.

Curiously, if Elena or the Dark Lord perished, would Severus be freed from the oath? No time pressure existed, and considering the Time-Turner, he did not have long left. When Snape felt like dying, he would carry out the task himself, which would also benefit their cause.

"You look dreadful, my boy," the Headmaster remarked. "What has provoked the Dark Lord's ire so?" Snape had previously been offended by the term "my boy," but Albus referred to everyone thrice his age in such a manner—essentially, everyone.

"I killed Horace Slughorn," Snape replied. "The Dark Lord punished me for my recklessness."

"We had agreed that you would only save those you could without risking exposure," Albus reminded him.

"Believe me, Albus," Snape began, "this was a unique case. But the main thing is—I've obtained a memory from Horace!"

"And what memory do you find so significant?"

"I would prefer to show you," Snape insisted. "How I encountered Horace, what transpired, and how I obtained it. I've already viewed the memory—it's invaluable. I require the Pensieve." Snape extracted a jar of Equilibrium Potion from his pocket, which allowed the vestibular system to function under almost any load. It possessed another property: an object placed within it would always remain at the center of the potion's volume. From this jar, Severus withdrew a minuscule vial containing the memory.

Could Voldemort have overlooked something like this? Perhaps he had; it was unlikely he would stoop to searching all his servants. Moreover, such a surprise must be sought deliberately, requiring one to delve into pockets with space expansion. His Charms indicated that the memory was genuine and belonged to Horace.

What distinguished Albus Dumbledore from Alastor Moody? Albus did not shout about constant vigilance. He was confident that Snape was not his adversary, even if the headmaster forgot his wand. Especially here—in his stronghold, in Hogwarts, in the office fortified better than his own home—where spells prepared in advance would descend upon any enemy, and all the sculptures and furniture in the castle would spring to life.

Yet, he remained vigilant despite Snape's current state. He observed Snape's wand movements, performed wandless Legilimency, and checked for poison in Snape's memories or on the vials. Naturally, he provided Snape with a "guest Pensieve"; his personal one remained in a safe, known only to him, not even Minerva.

"After you, Severus," he said, watching Snape immerse himself in the Pensieve. After verifying Snape's condition, his wand, and clothing, and ensuring no one was present in the office or nearby, he followed Severus.

In his long life, Albus had witnessed all manner of things: sacrifices made by fools who summoned the Devil or God, attempts to evade death by eliminating others. At one point, he believed Gellert to be invincible from 1933 to 1945; that was merely the lowest point. Then came Tom Riddle's rise. He had presumed that they had hit rock bottom. Riddle tortured with unparalleled imagination and madness, and unlike Gellert, he did not even bother to disguise his intentions behind any constructive goals.

But this... Poor Horace. The concept of a "flesh sculpture" was inherently agonizing, and to transform into something so entirely different from one's original form...

Let us refrain from delving into such grim topics. Now, it was time for that very memory of Horace—the conversation between Tom and Horace that Albus had long sought but failed to obtain. A youthful, vibrant Slughorn with thick, glossy straw-colored hair and a light red mustache sat comfortably in a high-backed chair, his feet resting on a velvet pouf, a wine glass in one hand while the other sorted through candied pineapple slices in a box. Yes, Albus would prefer to remember Horace in this manner rather than as a contorted log.

Half a dozen boys surrounded them, among them Tom Riddle, adorned with a gold ring featuring a black stone—a comical imitation of the Resurrection Stone. Dumbledore stood beside Snape's ghostly apparition.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Wilcost is resigning?" Tom Riddle inquired.

"Tom, Tom, even if I knew, I would not be at liberty to disclose it," Slughorn replied, wagging a sugar-dusted finger reproachfully while simultaneously winking.

How did Tom know this? Was he truly a strong enough Legilimens at sixteen to perform wandless Legilimency on adults, not merely weak wizards, without detection? Such talent wasted...

"I must confess, I would not mind discovering your sources of information, young man; you seem to be more informed than half the faculty." Riddle smiled, and the other boys laughed, casting admiring glances his way.

"As for your uncanny ability to uncover secrets you're not meant to know and the artful flattery you employ on those in power... By the way, thank you for the pineapples; you are quite right, they are my favorite delicacy."

Another round of giggles erupted among the boys.

"I confidently predict that in twenty years, you will ascend to the position of Minister of Magic." Tom had a chance to become Minister at thirty-six, yet twenty years later, he would have returned from his travels to initiate his final preparations for war.

"Fifteen, if you continue sending me pineapples. I have excellent connections at the Ministry."

Riddle merely smiled, eliciting more laughter from the boys. Albus noted that despite being neither the eldest nor the wealthiest among the group, Tom was nonetheless regarded as the leader.

"I don't believe politics is my forte, sir," Riddle stated when the laughter subsided.

Politics may not be your calling, but murder and torture certainly are.

"First of all, I lack the necessary pedigree for such endeavors."

Two boys in his circle exchanged smug grins, clearly relishing some inside joke, presumably alluding to an illustrious ancestor among their ranks. One of these boys was wanted as a Death Eater; the other, Rosier, was dead. Although many believed he was brutally slain by the Dark Lord's enemies, Albus was certain that his death resulted from internal Death Eater conflicts.

Though pledging innocence is futile—one could either be a fool and a weakling, easily extracted of information via truth serum and Legilimency, or have taken countless lives while lying about everything, even proclaiming oneself as a messiah untouched by mortality.

"Nonsense," Slughorn retorted succinctly. "It is evident you, with your talents, hail from a distinguished wizarding lineage. Indeed, you will go far, Tom; I have never misjudged my pupils."

Yet, the world had changed, including due to him. Once, lineage held great significance for a political career. Now, largely due to him, individuals were judged not by their ancestry but by their deeds. The first Muggle-born English Minister of Magic stood as proof.

The small gold clock on Slughorn's desk chimed eleven.

"My heavens, is it that late?" Slughorn exclaimed in surprise.

"You boys had best be off, or you'll find yourselves in trouble. Lestrange, I expect your paper by tomorrow morning; otherwise, you'll be stuck in class. The same applies to you, Avery."

The boys filed out of the room. Lestrange and Avery... Paranoia gnawed at Albus; they warranted checking. He had previously verified the Lestranges and Avery—both clean. Either they were concealing something exceptionally well or were genuinely innocent.

They had once endured an uncomfortable conversation with Moody, who insisted on interrogating everyone from Tom's class. Albus had opposed it, at least until evidence surfaced. As Moody had remarked, "By the time you obtain evidence, it may be too late."

Perhaps another check was in order?

Slughorn arose from his chair, carrying the empty glass to his desk. A movement behind him prompted Slughorn to turn—Riddle stood still in the center of the office.

"Hurry up, Tom. You wouldn't want to be caught out of bed at an inconvenient hour, after all. You are a prefect, are you not?"

"Sir, I wished to ask you something."

"Go ahead, my boy, go ahead..."

"Sir, I'd like to inquire about your knowledge of... Horcruxes?"

Albus had witnessed this before; now the question loomed—would there be a sequel? Slughorn stared at him, absentmindedly stroking the stem of his glass with his thick fingers.

"You're working on an independent assignment in Defense Against the Dark Arts, aren't you?"

He grasped the jest and laughed. If this were an independent assignment in Defense Against the Dark Arts, one would be crafting golems in Transfiguration and animating them with rituals utilizing animal souls. Higher Necromancy for the TOAD exam! In truth, Horace was providing Tom an opportunity to dismiss the inquiry altogether, and it was the correct choice.

Albus would wager Slughorn understood entirely that Riddle's question had little to do with his studies.

"Not precisely, sir," Riddle replied. "I encountered the term while reading and didn't fully grasp it."

"You have no idea how much you don't understand. You cannot fathom why this knowledge was buried so thoroughly that its origins lie beyond even the Department of Mysteries. Difficult to summarize in a single sentence, but in short, the Great Wizards of the past weren't more powerful than the modern ones. They were considerably less skilled; even in the wizarding world, there is progress. Yet, they accomplished feats that no one else can replicate. How?

The answer is quite simple: they infused their souls into their works. Their own and just once. Herpy the Malicious, employing an existing method, attempted to imbue some of himself, resulting in the creation of a Horcrux.

Albus longingly recalled the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. He hoped Helga Hufflepuff comprehended the implications…

Albus held no aversion to magic. However, he wished for every wizard's soul to remain with them, so that life does not conclude with the demise of the body, and so that wizards do not devolve into beasts, expiring alongside their physical forms while, in mockery of reality, they deem Muggles—whose souls are far more closely tied to their bodies—as inferior creatures.

"Tom, you would need to exert considerable effort to uncover a book in Hogwarts containing detailed information regarding Horcruxes. This matter is very Dark, truly Dark," Slughorn stated.

Yes, engaging with the soul is Dark in every conceivable sense. In comparison, turning a person into a tree and torturing them pales in contrast...

"But you are, of course, well-versed in them, sir? A wizard of your caliber... Apologies, perhaps I shouldn't discuss this. It's just that I recognize if anyone can enlighten me, it is you... So, I decided to ask..."

Albus would not buy it. As Moody often advised, "If you receive flattery, don't be pleased—it's merely grease." However, Tom was adept at flattery. Casual tone, just the right amount of praise without excess, and Albus could not help but recognize the handiwork of a true master—at the age of sixteen!

He pondered whether Riddle had attempted to create a Horcrux and failed. Or perhaps he had tried to make a second Horcrux and failed.

"Well," Slughorn replied, not meeting Tom's gaze, instead fidgeting with the ribbon adorning the lid of the candied pineapple box, "if I were to offer you some general information, simply to clarify the term, no harm would come to anyone."

"The term Horcrux refers to a physical object in which a person has hidden a part of their soul."

"But I don't quite see how that could be achieved, sir," Riddle said, skillfully managing his voice, though Albus could discern his underlying anxiety.

"I understand how it can be accomplished. It would be preferable if the priests were correct in asserting that the soul is indivisible."

For a moment, Albus empathized with the religious zealots—perhaps magic was not a gift but a curse.

"Well, you see," Slughorn explained, "you split your soul and conceal a portion of it in an object outside your body. Afterward, if your body is attacked or even destroyed, you cannot die, for part of your soul remains tethered to the earth, untouched. However, to exist in such a state..." Slughorn winced.

Albus recalled Horace's cries, transformed into a tree. Perhaps one suffers more as a tree. Yet, I can assure you of one thing—it does not last long.

"Few would consent to this, Tom; very few. Death may appear far more desirable. Indeed, Gellert was astute enough to avoid this even in 1945 when everyone knew how it would end for him."

Albus had overestimated Riddle's resolve. Tom's thirst for knowledge was now glaringly evident; a raw expression of greed emerged on his face, and he could no longer conceal his lust.

"But how does one split the soul?"

"Ah," Slughorn replied, shuddering. "You must understand that the soul is perceived as something whole and intact. To split it is to commit violence against nature."

Not entirely. You will need to collect a certain amount of ereghu, unique to each individual. It will be akin to an explosive. Then, you must concentrate the ereghu through an external prism, like a spark; the ideal method involves a ritual with human sacrifice. Though, if there is enough ereghu, simple murder might suffice.

"But how is it done?" Tom pressed.

"Through an evil deed—the ultimate act of malevolence. Murder. It rends the soul apart. A wizard seeking to create a Horcrux exploits this mutilation to his advantage, imprisoning the torn fragment of the soul..." Slughorn explained.

"Imprisons? How?"

"There exists a spell for this, but do not inquire further; I am unaware of it!" Slughorn exclaimed, shaking his head like an old elephant beset by mosquitoes.

"You are lying. You inquired about the book yourself; you are aware," Tom challenged.

"Although I do not blame you for deceiving me."

"Do I appear as someone who has attempted such a thing? A murderer?"

"No, sir, of course not," Riddle quickly retorted.

"Do you think I am insulted by your words? What an affront!"

Slughorn responded sullenly. One wondered whether he feared revealing too much or was simply wary of retribution.

"It is natural for those of a certain caliber to be intrigued by such matters... Immortality... There is immense allure in that word... For those who are either too intelligent or too foolish. Albus once asked Flamel why he refrained from sharing his creation with the world. Flamel replied: 'What good is a man for thousands of years if he cannot make use of even one century?'"

"Indeed, sir," Riddle acknowledged. "Yet, I still do not comprehend one thing... I am merely curious—how beneficial is a single Horcrux?"

Albus readied himself to listen once more. How many Horcruxes do you desire, Tom? Thirteen? Six hundred sixty-six? Nineteen twenty-six, the year of your birth?

"Would it not be wiser to divide your soul into several parts to gain greater power? For instance, is not seven the most potent magical number? And isn't seven..." Tom began, only to be interrupted.

"Seven? That is trivial. Three dimensions of space plus the four cardinal directions—your study of Arithmancy was not in vain."

"By Merlin's beard, Tom!" Slughorn exclaimed. "Seven! Is not the thought of killing even one person abhorrent? Furthermore, splitting a soul in two is bad enough; tearing it into seven pieces!"

Slughorn now appeared genuinely unsettled, gazing at Riddle as if he had never encountered him before. Albus recognized that Slughorn regretted engaging in this conversation and realized that Tom had a purpose behind his inquiries. He would never trust Tom as he once had.

"Of course," Slughorn muttered, "this dialogue is merely hypothetical, is it not? Purely scientific..."

"Indeed, sir, of course," Riddle quickly agreed.

"Nevertheless, Tom, it is imperative you keep what I have divulged confidential; discussing Horcruxes is unlikely to please anyone. He even knows who... Not to mention the Department of Mysteries..."

"You see, this topic is taboo at Hogwarts. Dumbledore is particularly adamant about it," Horace continued.

Apparently, not adamant enough...

"Not a word to anyone, sir," Riddle promised as he exited the professor's office. Albus caught a fleeting glimpse of his face, filled with the same maniacal elation he had displayed when he first learned he was a wizard during his visit to the orphanage—a joy that seemed to alter his features, rendering them less human.

Less human? An internal resonance? Had Tom already possessed a Horcrux by this point? How could he have overlooked it? Albus had been vigilant!

He began to return to reality. Was that all? Horace had not uttered a word regarding their conversation? Concerning the very ritual of creating a Horcrux? Perhaps he had frightened him too much that time.

Slughorn harbored such shame; one could easily conclude he had aided Tom or at the very least summarized the ritual, tied up with a ribbon. Perhaps Horace's words would have tempered someone else. But certainly not Tom...

Albus emerged from his memories just as Severus did.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "I have long hoped to obtain this evidence," he began. "It substantiates my theory regarding Tom Riddle. You and I must engage in a serious discussion."

Albus settled more comfortably at his desk and began to contemplate.

Here we take a bar of gold and sever it in half. Then again and again. We still possess gold. Here we reach the atomic level and divide it in two. Yet what we acquire is no longer gold; it is now composed of other chemical elements.

It is terrifying to consider, but if we were to proceed with this, at what point would the division of the soul cease to be a soul? What is the natural limit to the number of Horcruxes? How many fragments can one human soul be divided into? Clearly, fewer than ten divisions in half, and with each division, the complexity, pain, and danger escalate.

There must exist a limit to the divisions of the soul, a threshold for the number of Horcruxes. It is entirely plausible that Tom failed to create all seven Horcruxes. He wondered what had become of Tom.

It is feasible that, after accumulating eregha and forging the fateful Horcrux—the seventh or sixth—he transformed into something else altogether. But into what? When does one personality displace another? What does such a change entail? If all the Horcruxes were crafted by the old personality, can they anchor the new one's immortality, or are they utterly worthless? Or could it be that four Horcruxes were produced by the old persona and rendered useless, while three were created by the new, and they function?

Puzzles, more puzzles...

And most crucially, can Snape lie? Regrettably, the boy excels in Occlumency and potions; it would be virtually impossible to catch him in a lie unless he resorted to harsh Legilimency, which would likely drive him to madness with a ninety percent probability.

Or Dark Magic, which is equally unwise and does not guarantee results...

However, let us assume he uncovers the truth—Snape is not lying. What implications does this hold? He could very well be utilized in the dark; he could genuinely believe he is attempting to kill Tom. Or Snape could be deceitful, and Voldemort aims to mislead Albus. Or perhaps Severus is long gone, and a cleverly disguised Voldemort is standing before him?

Though the latter seems too extravagant even for Moody.

One question remains—what action to take? He adheres to one rule: believe in the best, prepare for the worst. He must demonstrate that he believes and verify the information himself. He will seek the locations where Tom divided his soul and check the chronology. It is unlikely Tom was devising a trap for him at the age of sixteen. Of course, it could still be a trap, but he cannot dismiss it without investigation—he needs to find at least one Horcrux and examine it thoroughly before destruction.

Naturally, Snape need not be privy to this information—it is only provided on a need-to-know basis.

"This is extremely valuable information, Severus. I appreciate it. I can offer you any reward. Would you like a life-sized statue of yourself in gold for your office? Or a fortune in Galleons?"

"I have influence within the Ministry—I can bestow upon you the Order of Merlin, First Class. It will be authentic, presented personally by the Minister,and afterward, I will erase his memory. The only condition is that it will remain a closely guarded secret. However, you will be able to visit my office at any time and admire your Order. Should you agree to completely forget what you have shown me, I will gladly double your reward."

Albus hoped that Snape's Slytherin greed would kick in, prompting him to demand everything at once. Then Albus would reluctantly agree.

"No," Snape replied firmly.

"This information is truly priceless. Would you prefer a lifetime vacation? The Mark serves as both a beacon and a key, but I can conceal you in such a way that they could search for years, and Voldemort has plenty of other matters to attend to."

"No," Snape repeated, his voice steady.

"At your age, it is too early to contemplate extending life. However, I can offer you a special potion—a blend that grants fifty years of life and a very conditional old age. Believe me, sciatica is a menace."

Albus would gladly use this potion himself, but when one possesses inhuman strength, it is crucial to remember one's humanity. Gazing into the mirror can be quite sobering.

"No," Snape answered again.

"Severus, can you hear me?"

"You are likely suffering due to Lily's death. If you relinquish your Occlumency, I can perform some very subtle work—you will forget it, and the pain will dissipate. You will have the chance to start anew, unburdened by old memories..."

"No!!! I do not want this!" Snape shouted, his frustration evident.

"Professor Dumbledore, I demand an explanation. Has Horace gone mad from his experiences, or is this truth?"

Albus would have preferred to remain silent. At that time, he had wished to avoid any connection with such matters—upon acquiring this knowledge, he felt as if he had fallen into a quagmire. He applied Oblivion to himself and enjoyed a week of peace. Until he discovered a gap in his memories and became consumed with the desire to restore them. Upon restoring them, he again felt the sensation as if standing on the brink of something utterly revolting, unable to hold on as he fell.

He erased his memories once more. Soon, he discovered this and resolved to restore them... On the third attempt, he recognized the futility of erasing his memory. Everything is possible in life, yet sometimes you cannot return...

He gazed at Severus with longing. How many more years youthful was Snape than he? More than fifteen. Again, the feeling of having failed to safeguard another wizard tightened his chest.

"Severus, believe me, not all doors are worth opening. However, out of respect for your bravery, I will respond," he began.

"Horace's statements are accurate. Soul magic does exist. Horcruxes represent dangerous knowledge. Splitting your soul in half is a monstrous reality. I fully concede that Tom may have turned to this branch of magic to secure his immortality. Prior to him, no one had attempted to divide their soul into more than two parts. But I am unsure whether he succeeded in creating all seven Horcruxes."

Strictly speaking, this task falls to the Order of the Phoenix. Or better yet, the Ministry. Yet numerous problems arise, including the potential for information to leak to Voldemort. Muggles have endured Dark Times throughout history. For instance, the Middle Ages. For over a millennium, spanning more than twenty generations, progress stagnated. Muggles had to rediscover the heliocentric model. Wizards have encountered similar lapses. After the demise of Herpius the Malicious, knowledge of Horcruxes fell into the hands of his conquerors.

And it ignited anew. After all, it is deceptively simple—one murder, and you achieve immortality! It would be acceptable if only maniacs succumbed to this temptation; however, there are many worthy wizards among them. Some envision themselves as knights sacrificing for others, while others endeavor to save their loved ones.

Merely destroying the creator of the Horcrux does not alter the situation, as relatives or servants assist him in returning, allowing him to cause trouble in the form of a "ghost." Yet finding a Horcrux is not always feasible, necessitating significant time and effort.

This cycle persisted for centuries. No, progress flourished. Wizards began employing Dark Magic against one another on an unprecedented scale. They developed various tortures, methods for mind protection, and ways to breach defenses. The era of Horcruxes concluded with the first Black—when a ritual emerged capable of obliterating both the Horcrux and the wizard, provided access to either was gained.

The outcome? An unprecedented loss of wizarding lives and an urgent need to train Muggle-borns. Albus remained confident that if the knowledge of Horcruxes were to resurface, rather than one Voldemort, they would breed a dozen lesser versions. Would they be avengers, like Augusta Longbottom or Severus Snape, Moody consumed by work, Roberts thirsty for justice, or orphans bereft of their parents?

Who can say? The end result is one—Dark Magic will grind them all into dust, transforming them into monsters fighting for the shadows of their ideals.

"Albus, will you relay this information to the Order of the Phoenix? The Aurors? The Ministry? The International Confederation of Wizards?" Snape inquired.

"No. And it is not solely due to the risk of information leakage. Tell me, Severus, how many Death Eaters do you know willing to kill one individual rather than perish?" Albus queried.

"Kill rather than die? Everyone. Risk their souls? I cannot say."

"Regrettably, there will always be those who believe they have outsmarted everyone. Or those who refuse to heed false rumors and the foolish church. Youth is often characterized by cynicism, and safety rules are dismissed as fables. Trust me; many will be willing. To halt them or exact revenge, others will emerge, this time on the side of their victims. A new civil war will ignite, consuming not just lives but souls as well. The consequences would be far worse than if every Muggle were gifted a nuclear bomb."

"How challenging is it to create a Horcrux?" Snape asked.

"Alas, it is not particularly difficult. One need not be a Great Wizard. A high proficiency in Dark Magic and rituals suffices. None of today's Hogwarts graduates could manage it. However, if trained suitably, Hogwarts could produce two or three capable individuals each year. You, Severus, with a modicum of training, could easily execute such a task," Albus enlightened him.

"For the sake of vengeance for Lily, I am prepared to do anything..."

"No!" Albus interrupted. "A Horcrux is the one act that cannot be forgiven. Trust me, Severus, with a Horcrux, you will soon change beyond recognition. It will be as if you become a golem composed of your own being, and the situation will only worsen, reducing you to a mere automaton driven by inertia. Soon, you will become a problem yourself. Moreover, death is not the end. The Dementor's kiss is horrific, but the ultimate end, which is not so dreadful. However, existing eternally as a cripple, for as long as time persists—that is genuinely terrifying."

"Albus, I do not understand. Why should I transform into a source of problems?" Snape queried.

Albus hesitated to voice it, yet knew Severus could create a Horcrux. Severus would undoubtedly unearth the necessary knowledge somewhere. But where? The Department of Mysteries? It used to be obtainable at Hogwarts, but he had sealed it off, and several old families had voluntarily and forcibly relinquished this knowledge during Grindelwald's era...

"Dark Magic alters a wizard. Typically, the changes are gradual, unnoticeable, and reversible. They stem from... for simplicity, let us term it the accumulation of 'unwanted energy.' The final result manifests as obsessive ideas and a decline in critical thinking—progressive madness. However, this is accompanied by an increase in Dark Magic's potency. Paradoxically, this isn't critical. Dark Magic is forbidden. Even if you kill several individuals daily with Dark Magic throughout your life, one would die of old age before any changes emerge, since unwanted energy is gradually expelled.

Yet the Death Eaters certainly indulged, torturing with the Cruciatus for three hours daily, resulting in some experiencing these changes. "And after the Horcrux is created," Albus continued, "the unwanted energy ceases to dissipate. It is far worse than transforming into a werewolf during a full moon."

"Why is this information classified?" Snape inquired.

"Once, the wizards determined it was preferable to keep it so. Only a handful in the Department of Mysteries and fifty others globally are privy to this knowledge. Trust me, Severus, this is not the worst option."

"How do you know this?"

He knows many things. Flamel shared insights. Gellert, in his youth and during his time in Nurmengard—after all, it was necessary to inspect Gellert, in case he possessed a Horcrux. Then he traveled the world with the phoenix. Countless nations exist, each with its own laws. For instance, some books are banned in Swaziland, yet legal here. I read where it is permissible. You can also utilize Legilimency and the memory marketplace. There exists no law in magical England mandating memory erasure upon crossing borders...

However, of course, he possessed extensive knowledge for official reasons.

"I was once offered a position in the Department of Mysteries, including the role of Head. I turned it down. Then they revealed everything they undertook. And showcased their methods. Cleverly devised. They likely sought to entice me with forbidden knowledge or something else. Since they did not extract oaths of confidentiality from me, they probably hoped I would divulge information to others, presenting me with a lifelong contract or prison."

"But do not fret for me, Severus. I am not twenty years old anymore, and no one can compel me to act against my will."

"Your Occlumency remains impeccable, Severus," Albus noted. "I cannot ascertain whether you are truthful. Rest assured, Dark Magic is an exceptionally poor choice. Yet you possess the opportunity to retain your sanity alongside your soul. You can either employ Dark Magic sparingly, keeping it below critical levels, or utilize it excessively, becoming a threat, ultimately leading to your incarceration in Azkaban or death. A Horcrux represents the absolute end. Contemplate Lily. The one who creates a Horcrux becomes incapable of love. She will simply become inconsequential to you. Should you meet her after death, you will merely pass by. Furthermore, if I were to create a Horcrux, I would be compelled to kill you and obliterate the Horcrux."

"What do you mean she cannot love? Surely a woman can feign affection," Snape retorted.

"You comprehend perfectly, Severus. To lack the capacity to love means to be devoid of all human emotions. An extreme form of egotism, elevated to its absolute. A prick here, and it will twitch elsewhere.

"Does the Dark Lord's madness stem from the Horcruxes?" Snape inquired.

"All evidence points to that conclusion. I suspect wizards can destroy the Muggle world, but how does he plan to govern the Muggles if the wizarding world lacks enough inhabitants to settle New Zealand? Additionally, Severus, most wizards are far from being like you or me—or Amelia Bones, may she rest in peace. Two-thirds of the wizarding population can manage little more than a basic defensive spell, Protego. They could be easily defeated by a single flashbang. Many schoolchildren venture without any protection, relying solely on wand magic, rendering them vulnerable to a Muggle with a revolver who has spent just five hours at a shooting range. Not to mention that wizards have been without a proper army for centuries. Only the Auror Office, the Order of the Phoenix, and a handful of Dark wizards are combat-ready, and even they are trained for missions that barely qualify as combat-ready.

"Is there any method to reverse the process for the one who created the Horcrux?" Snape asked.

"Yes, true repentance is required. The wizard's level is not critical. However, the survival rate is less than seven percent, and the individual who created the Horcrux typically lacks the desire to repent," Albus explained.

"Can you provide any proof to support your statements?" Snape inquired.

"I can. But I will not. Books can be easily forged, and demonstrating Dark Magic merely to prove its evil... Sorry, that is not within my intention. You must take my word for it."

"Just take your word for it?" Snape questioned, skepticism evident in his voice. "This is all so perplexing. If, when they brought me to Hogwarts, they had told me that a wand could not only conjure soap bubbles but could also amplify pain and rip a person's skin off while alive, and that in the magical world, one could easily lose their soul—thanks to Dementors or by willingly creating a Horcrux, sacrificing a piece of oneself for temporary gains—then I would have sent them straight to the Dementors. That's precisely why they didn't tell me, my boy. Later, they forgot themselves. And then what? Magic becomes a part of you!

At best, it manifests as uncontrolled spontaneous emissions. Or, if fortune is unkind, an Obscurus. An eleven-year-old child won't kill anyone with a spontaneous emission, but by age fifteen, even the most talentless can replicate the effect of an artillery shell. Hence, the wizarding world is portrayed as a fairy tale—either that or forced recruitment. Yet, in reality, it truly is a fairy tale, where the deeper into the forest you venture, the more terrifying it becomes.

"You plan to search for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes, correct? I wish to destroy at least one of his Horcruxes, even if it costs me my life!" Snape declared.

"Perhaps we are assessing matters too early, and you do not belong in Slytherin. Though Horace exhibited a heroism few would expect," Albus began.

"To Mordred Gryffindor. I want to avenge Lily," Snape responded fiercely.

"Severus, no matter your intentions, you cannot reach the Horcrux. You will only die in vain, pursuing a task assigned to you. Should you discover anything of importance, relay it to me."

"Why are you rejecting my assistance?" Snape pressed.

In such instances, Albus often slightly lowered his disguise, observing how it blinded those with magical sight. However, given Snape's current condition, he needed to be gentler.

"Severus... Locating and obliterating Horcruxes is an exceptionally arduous and thankless endeavor. Unlike you, I am aware of the challenges I will face. This work is difficult, dangerous, and grimy. Various rumors circulate about me. Alas, not all are false. Occasionally, I must sacrifice individuals to achieve my goals. We are at war, and losses are inescapable. However, I strive not to send individuals to certain death."

"I am strong enough..."

"Alas, no. If you wish to contest my assertion, grant me a week. I will enchant a room in Hogwarts halfheartedly, and you will attempt to retrieve the chalk hidden within. If you succeed, I shall apologize and take you with me."

"There is no need to squander your time and mine when the outcome is predetermined," Snape gloomily replied.

"Then teach me! I yearn to become your student!" Snape's plea was fervent.

Albus sighed. "Severus, even if I acquiesce, we lack the luxury of decades for you to hone your skills under my tutelage. Moreover, Voldemort is already ahead of you, evolving—or rather, degenerating—faster than you, and the gap between you will only widen. This assumes you can comprehend and replicate what I am prepared to convey."

"Albus, what do you desire from me?" Snape asked, desperation edging his voice.

"Do you wish to expedite the demise of the Dark Lord? Continue your espionage. You may never have another opportunity for such pivotal information. However, if events unfold, come directly to me. Perhaps you may wish to investigate the Horcruxes and Tom's past for yourself. I cannot prohibit your actions, but exercise extreme caution. Should you uncover anything significant, inform me, and if you decide to pursue the Horcrux, draft a will beforehand, specifying where and why you are headed."

"You possess a divine sense of humor," Snape remarked bitterly.

"It is not humor," Albus replied, summoning several enchanted will forms and handing them to Snape.

"Perhaps you can detail what and where I should search?" Snape inquired.

"No. Voldemort can extract memories, even at the cost of your life."

"You lack trust in me?" Snape questioned.

"Severus... Place yourself in my position. Someone approaches who has either deceived Voldemort, you, or both. This individual is a Dark Wizard, and Dark Magic is detrimental to the mind. Furthermore, he is under an oath to kill you, having voluntarily joined the Death Eaters and requested his master to eliminate a two-year-old child to spare..."

"Enough. I understand," Snape muttered.

"Very well. Understand, Severus, what is at stake transcends the matter of who is the most powerful wizard. It isn't about whether madmen will acquire absolute power and revert England to the Middle Ages. The core issue is this: will people remain human, or will the ruling class possess Horcruxes, enabling them to exist eternally after death, essentially as half-animals with half-souls, torturing everyone in sight throughout their prolonged existence until they are killed and their Horcrux destroyed?"

"I will comply with your wishes. However, I do not appreciate it."

"Neither do I, my boy, neither do I..."

"Do you have any more inquiries?" Albus asked.

"I would like to pose a personal question."

"This should be intriguing to hear."

"Has anyone ever remarked that you resemble Grindelwald?" Snape queried.

"Or Voldemort? Sharing the same conviction that only he possesses the right decisions, the same rejection of others' assistance, distrust of people, and the intoxication of one's own power. Is it truly so challenging to accept help from those willing to provide it? Or have you become so engrossed in your god-like role that you exclude even those prepared to die for you from your secrets?"

He had encountered these sentiments before. From many individuals. At times, he felt akin to an old gramophone... repeating the same phrases ad nauseam. Half the time, he could be easily replaced by a parrot...

"Believe me, all three individuals you named are entirely distinct. Gellert envisioned his path and pursued it, faithfully believing everything would yield dividends. At least initially, he was neither mad nor malevolent. He even attempted to refrain from killing. For instance, he took the Elder Wand from Gregorovich without taking his life. In his youth, he resembled a reveler with an inflated ego and faith in his own strength. A third of us at Hogwarts share similar traits; the only difference is that none among them equate to the Headmaster of Durmstrang at the age of sixteen in terms of magical reserves. I genuinely hope, though I possess no evidence, that forbidden magic nudged him onto a perilous path."

"Tom Riddle was fundamentally different from the outset—he sacrificed others not for anyone but for his own gain. He would have been quite content to remain the sole person in the world. Or the only living being in the universe. Even comprehending the dangers of Dark Magic, he would have proceeded without a moment's hesitation. Indeed, he embodies the purest form of evil conceivable. I cannot fathom what occupies his mind at present, but I am ready to wager Hogwarts—nothing good.

To simplify, Gellert believed in strategic planning and centralized control, convinced this would resolve all issues. To execute a plan, one needs force and power, yet how and where to procure it is another matter. Tom, however, never contemplated people at all; for him, they were divided into two categories—detritus and tools. Either category would have subjected you to painful consequences for your words, followed by your demise as a bearer of dangerous knowledge. One for amusement, the other "for the common good."

"I am different, Severus. As you may have noticed, you are not being tortured, nor killed, nor have you even undergone a memory wipe. I am attempting to negotiate, although I do not particularly require it. I believe in people—that they themselves will construct a better world for themselves, where the strong do not annihilate the weak for their own ambitions, where a person's success is not dictated by their lineage or shamelessness, and where people cease playing at social Darwinism.

All I seek is to refrain from interfering with individuals as they shape their own world, offering assistance only when they struggle with challenges beyond their capability.

"I recognize I have not persuaded you," Albus said. "I understand that should I propose to eliminate someone obstructing our path toward a better world or to seize something from someone for redistribution, I would swiftly garner an army of enthusiastic supporters; everyone would suddenly grasp everything."

"None of this matters if you truly manage to eliminate the Dark Lord," Snape replied.

"Severus... I would prefer that your motivations be driven by something more constructive than vengeance. What do you intend to do following your victory?"

Silence followed as the only response.

"Severus, I attribute your behavior today to the profound shock stemming from Horace's death, the realization of what Horcruxes entail, their cost, and the consequences of torture. In the future, I expect you to engage with me more courteously. My offer of a reward or memory correction still stands."

"I do not require your money. I am a master potion maker and capable of providing for myself. And I do not wish to forget anything!"

"Of course. It is my duty to extend offers, and the choice is yours."

"May I depart?" Snape asked.

"Yes. Just compose yourself, or the second-year students will decide to use Ridiculus upon seeing you again."

"Goodbye, Professor," Snape bid farewell.

"Goodbye, my boy," Albus responded as Snape exited the office.

Once alone, Albus's thoughts began to race. He needed to enhance surveillance on Snape. He must search for Tom's Horcruxes. Years had already elapsed in this quest. Curse Tom; he must have created several Horcruxes.

He had sought them out, diving into the Mariana Trench, sifting through stones, traversing the jungles of South America... He had encountered fascinating individuals and more. He had even located one Horcrux and destroyed it—but the issue was, it was not Tom's Horcrux...

It was highly plausible he was repeating the mistakes of his youth, losing to an algorithm that moved the pieces randomly. He knew Tom was consumed by pride. But surely, the instinct for self-preservation outweighed that? He sought Horcruxes in the most remote places, among inconspicuous objects.

But what if the search required seeking out conspicuous items in locations significant to Tom? What could serve as a Horcrux? Based on Tom's activities at the Gorbin and Burke shop—antiques.

Where to conceal it? The most apparent choice is Hogwarts. Albus recalled October 31, 1981. That night, he burst from bed and dashed around Hogwarts in his underwear, Elder Wand at the ready. Thank goodness he had the foresight to don a sound disguise—had anyone witnessed him thus, it would have been mortifying.

The Hogwarts defenses had gone haywire, reporting an explosion from within. Then a message came—danger had passed; the room had been restored. The energy drained as if following Hellfire, Gryffindor Tower had been rebuilt.

He still struggled to comprehend what occurred, and the room was not incorporated into the castle's defense and monitoring system. The simplest conclusion? Tom's Horcrux was misbehaving within the Chamber of Secrets.

The Chamber of Secrets... If only he knew how to access it. Legends suggest Slytherin himself crafted it, and a few centuries later, Gaunt established the sewer system in Hogwarts, likely concealing it well.

No, Albus did not consider himself foolish. He knew precisely where Myrtle perished and had spoken to her about her death. She had shown him the sink where the "yellow eyes" resided. Unfortunately, the ghost's testimony had no legal standing in any investigation.

Albus examined that sink. The most ordinary of fixtures, save for the absence of water, as Legilimency from his peers indicated—there once had been water. Likely, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets lay there.

Yet, several nuances remained. The basilisk would struggle to fit into most water pipes. And if it did, the pipes would collapse under its weight. Thus, once more, games with spatial dimensions; the sink itself resembled a Gringotts safe's door.

The spell matrix externally aligns with the internal matrix—the passage leading to the Chamber of Secrets. If it does not align or is damaged, it remains an ordinary sink, albeit non-functional, as declared by X-ray or small golems.

It is probable Tom found one of the entrances to the Chamber of Secrets. Following that—Blood Magic or some other means permitted him entry. But Tom lacked the intelligence to exit and repair it as it was; thus, the tap remained dysfunctional. He was unaware of how to unseal it without a human sacrifice.

The only certainty is that Tom would reenter the Chamber of Secrets, disabling all security modules save for the decorative password on the snake. Additionally, he would sketch a snake on the sink if he intended to ensnare an idiot...

It also makes sense to investigate the locations where the Gaunts lived and died. As the Supreme Judge, he could effortlessly elevate the archives. Unnoticed.

It merits exploring all of Tom's childhood escapades—what if he is sentimental? That is sufficient for the moment.

However, a new question arises—has the new Voldemort hidden the Horcruxes? Or did he wish to? Or was it simply beyond his capability? Time will tell.

In theory, Voldemort could counterbalance Dumbledore's experience and strength by adequately preparing the territory and eliminating moral constraints through the boundless application of Dark Magic. Would he be able to obliterate seven Horcruxes concealed in unknown locations, guarded in unknown ways, and still possess the strength to confront Voldemort and his followers?

And if Voldemort were to transform innocent people into wood for no compelling reason, what would await him there?

Regardless, the week is commencing... Yet, defeatism must be avoided. It is time for him to commence the search for the locations where Tom tore his soul and identify who he utilized as victims.

The only consideration is whether to include Snape in his will. Albus rewrote the will once more, reflecting on Snape's final words. He did not want to concede it, yet Snape's words had struck a deep chord within him.

He was acutely aware of his shortcomings. At times, he became overly absorbed in his pursuits. He believed himself infallible. Let's face it; part of him relished fame and universal adoration. Being the best is undeniably gratifying.

Yet he battled against this. It is precisely due to these perilous qualities that he chose not to pursue the role of Minister of Magic. Ambition serves the average individual well, but the greater the authority, the more dangerous it becomes.

And Snape's words... He ought to focus not on how he resembles Gellert and Voldemort, but rather on how he differs from them. What sets him apart from Grindelwald? And Voldemort?

It is not merely that he connects with the public beautifully and possesses a sense of humor. Nor is it simply that he is devoid of Horcruxes and refrains from killing when alternatives exist. It is not that he answers "no" to the questions Gellert answered "yes" to—questions Tom had yet to even ponder.

He understands that freedom is perpetually one step away from destruction. He managed to address the crucial question: is it permissible to send individuals to their deaths for the sake of abstract ideals? Yes, if you do so in their stead.

**End of Albus Dumbledore's Perspective.**

There was no point in anticipating Snape's report—there was no urgency. Clarity would emerge at the next meeting. When Albus dealt with the fakes and destroyed them, I would become aware—the wizards from whom I had derived Horcruxes would be writhing in agony.

I was now en route to Ollivander, bearing a gift for him. Ollivander was as busy as ever—crafting wands for werewolves. He flinched upon seeing me, an evident nervousness in his demeanor; I had not applied the Cruciatus upon him since learning about necroenergy.

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," I began. "I have matters to discuss with you."

"That is impossible! I cannot produce anything comparable to the Elder Wand nor create a wand capable of sealing even a fraction of its power! And any materials you provide will be of no assistance!" he exclaimed, and indeed, he was right.

"Cannot you still create a wand from my phoenix feathers?" I inquired.

"No."

It is not a phoenix. The bodily components of this creature do not correspond to anything, I have already tried everything. Smiling, which immediately caused Ollivander to blanch to a ghostly pallor, I produced a small branch that had once been Horace Slughorn's hand.

"Do you believe this would suffice?" I asked.

"And if not, what improvements are necessary?"

Ollivander seized the piece of wood immediately.

"It is peculiar... It feels both human and botanical... And there are patterns on the skin, akin to fingerprints," Ollivander remarked, shaking the branch. "How did you manage to ensure the required porosity coefficient of the wood?"

"Let us discuss what can be crafted from this," I suggested, "or what alterations are required?"