Chapter 42: The Riddle

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"We?" Slughorn's face betrayed a flicker of hesitation, his eyes darting between Dumbledore and Snape. "Is Severus to see it as well?"

"I don't see why not, Horace," Dumbledore said with a gentle nod. "After all, it's because of him that we're here. Don't you think?"

"Oh, well… I suppose…" Slughorn muttered under his breath. "This whole business tonight started because of him, and I do hope he'll learn something from it…"

He reached into his pocket with agonizing slowness, drew out his wand, and pressed its tip to his temple before pulling it away.

A long, silvery thread of memory trailed from the wand's tip. It stretched further and further until it finally snapped, glimmering like gossamer as it floated and swirled in the air like a wisp of gas.

Time seemed to blur. Eventually, an invisible force yanked them from the ground, weightless, soaring higher and higher through a void of darkness until they landed steadily back on the carpet in front of Dumbledore's desk. The Pensieve glowed faintly before them.

Outside, the night remained unbroken.

"I trust you saw it, Severus," Slughorn said, steadying himself as he turned his gaze toward Snape. "And don't think me tiresome for repeating myself, but I told you before: not long after Tom graduated, he vanished. No one knows what became of him."

"I don't want the same for you. You have a bright future ahead."

"You must understand, the soul should remain whole and intact. To split it is a violation, an unnatural act. So you must steer clear of that thing—it's far too evil, far too dangerous…"

"Thank you, sir," Snape said, stepping forward and bowing deeply to Slughorn. "I will heed your warning."

Though he was already intimately familiar with this memory, Snape was deeply moved by Slughorn's willingness to share such a shameful piece of his past in the hope of serving as a cautionary tale. Beneath the old man's somewhat worldly, slick exterior lay a conscience, courage, and nobility all his own.

"Albus…" Slughorn's voice was heavy with exhaustion. "I'm truly getting old… That Horcrux in the castle—let Severus take you to see it."

"And that resignation letter—if it's not too much trouble, could you give it another look?"

"Sir, it's best you don't leave Hogwarts," Snape interjected quickly, picking up the bottle of mead from the desk and pouring Slughorn a small glass. "You're safer here."

"Why…" Slughorn took the glass, his voice so faint now he could barely speak above a whisper. "What use is an old man like me staying here… I could leave the country…"

Snape paused for a moment, then slowly drew his wand from his pocket.

With a gentle flick of his wrist, he traced a few strokes in the air, conjuring three shimmering names:

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Then, with another wave of his wand, the letters rearranged themselves into:

I am Lord Voldemort

"It's for your own good, sir," Snape said softly.

Slughorn's face grew even paler, beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

He said nothing, but his expression was one of raw fear.

In that moment, he finally connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who had once been the Head Boy at Hogwarts.

Slughorn raised a trembling hand, pressing his shaking fingers to his lips. For a moment, he looked like an enormous, helpless infant.

"I—I—" Slughorn shuddered violently, unable to tear his terrified gaze from the words.

"I—I gave his secret to you…" Slughorn whispered through his fingers, his face still etched with lingering fear. "What am I to do…"

"You need rest, Horace," Dumbledore said gently. "You're exhausted. A good sleep will do you wonders."

"And you needn't worry—everyone here will keep this secret. Isn't that right, Severus?"

Snape met Slughorn's eyes and nodded solemnly. "If it puts you at ease, sir, I can make an Unbreakable Vow, with Professor Dumbledore as our witness."

"No, no," Slughorn said weakly, waving a hand as he let out a heavy sigh. "No need for that. I just—I just shouldn't have to bear so much…"

"Let me walk you back, Horace," Dumbledore said, pulling on his robes. He turned to Snape. "Wait here for me, Severus. I'll be back shortly."

With a wave of his wand, the bottle of mead and the three glasses vanished from the desk.

The two men passed by Snape and left, closing the door behind them.

A minute later, Snape heard the sound of the stone gargoyle leaping aside and then back into place.

With nothing else to do, he began to look around.

Though the portraits of the old headmasters were softly snoring in their frames, Snape was certain at least a few were feigning sleep.

"Hello, Fawkes," Snape said, glancing up at the phoenix perched on a golden branch by the door.

Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, regarded Snape with bright, glittering black eyes.

"If I were in danger in the castle and called out Dumbledore's name, would you come to my aid, Fawkes?" Snape asked, gesturing toward the tattered, crumpled wizard's hat on the shelf. "Perhaps with that in tow?"

Beside the Sorting Hat, in a glass case, rested a gleaming silver sword, its hilt adorned with large rubies.

As he looked at the Sorting Hat, Snape felt no desire to try it on. Who knew if the ancient hat might uncover something it shouldn't? If it did, he might just have to destroy it.

But then again, he mused, that might not be such a bad thing. Perhaps it could lead Hogwarts toward true house unity.

Lost in thought, Snape walked around the desk and reached for the Sorting Hat on the shelf.

He stared at the Sword of Gryffindor in its case, slipping his hand inside the hat to see if he could pull out the hilt. He rummaged around for a while, but found nothing.

What in the world? he thought, exasperated. Am I not brave enough? This old relic's biases are absurd.

"Hey, give me a break, will you?" Snape said, holding the Sorting Hat up to his face. "Even if you once belonged to Godric Gryffindor, you can't play favorites like that."

"What are you doing, Severus?"

Dumbledore's voice suddenly sounded behind him.

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