Next Stop—Azkaban

Dumbledore gently lowered the silvery strand of memory into the softly glowing Pensieve before him. The silvery liquid began to swirl, and slowly, the faint image of a small, stooped man emerged, becoming clearer with each revolution in the depths of the light.

Caractacus Burke's figure took shape—his ghostly pale face framed by thick, unkempt hair that draped over his brow like a worn curtain, completely concealing his eyes. He looked more tangible than a ghost, yet still not quite alive.

"Yes, it was under rather... unusual and fortunate circumstances that we acquired it," Burke's voice echoed thinly through the office, as though reverberating off distant, unseen walls. "It was just before Christmas, years ago. I happened to be in the shop when a young witch rushed in, frantic. She looked utterly exhausted, desperate. Her robes were in tatters, and she seemed—well, I'd bet anything she was pregnant."

"She told me the locket had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself. Now, we hear such nonsense all the time—'Oh, this teapot was Merlin's favourite,' that sort of drivel.

"But then I examined it more closely. And yes, the Slytherin crest was there. I performed a few basic spells, and the truth came out easily enough—it was real. Absolutely genuine."

There was a trace of smugness in Burke's voice, as though he couldn't quite contain his pride.

"Of course, the piece was priceless. But the girl had no idea what she was holding. I gave her ten Galleons. She seemed quite satisfied with that, and off she went.

"Later, we sold it to Hepzibah Smith for a tidy profit. One of the best deals we ever made!"

Dumbledore swirled the Pensieve briskly with a flick of his hand, and Burke's image faded, folding back into the churning mist of memory.

"I believe," Dumbledore said evenly, "we now understand why Tom took a job at Borgin and Burkes.

"From Burke's memory, it's clear that Tom's mother, Merope, was alone and impoverished in London during the final stage of her pregnancy. Desperate for money, she sold the only valuable thing she had—the Slytherin locket."

"But how did Tom find out she sold it to Borgin and Burkes?" Snape asked.

"That, I'm afraid, is speculation," Dumbledore admitted. "Perhaps Borgin or Burke couldn't resist bragging about such a lucrative acquisition, and Tom heard about it in passing."

"Seems likely." Snape nodded slowly. "Given Burke paid only ten Galleons... sir, leaving him in St. Mungo's still seems too merciful."

"Don't be so hasty, Severus," Dumbledore replied with his usual measured calm. "We must always consider consequences.

"Burke's health remains fragile. If he were to die suddenly, don't you think Borgin would become suspicious?"

He paused, then added, "The ties between Borgin and the Death Eaters are numerous. If Tom gets any inkling someone's investigating his past, it could jeopardize everything."

"I understand," Snape murmured thoughtfully. "I overheard something about this at the Three Broomsticks. Someone mentioned Burke might've had parts of his memory tampered with—by Borgin, perhaps."

"And now," Snape continued, "what's your next move?"

Instead of answering directly, Dumbledore opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Severus," he said with a twinkle, "do me a favour and don't mention to Madam Pince that I've taken reading material from the library. She might ban me altogether."

Snape couldn't help but picture Madam Pince's vulture-like face: her sunken cheeks, parchment skin, and that hawkish nose, all lit by the dim glow of her ever-present lantern.

"It was your idea," Dumbledore said as he spread the newspaper across the desk, "that led me to search for older editions. I must confess, while the Prophet is often insufferable, it does—occasionally—contain something useful, albeit accidentally."

He tapped a finger on the front page. "Have a look."

[Headline] "Hufflepuff Heiress Dies Under House-Elf's Care—Tragedy or Treachery?"

Renowned collector of magical antiquities and descendant of Helga Hufflepuff, Madam Hepzibah Smith, was recently found dead after consuming poisoned cocoa. Her house-elf, Hokey, collapsed on the spot and confessed to the act.

The Ministry of Magic has ruled the incident accidental. Officials state that the elderly house-elf mistakenly added poison instead of sugar to the drink. Her confession and the physical evidence matched, and they believe no foul play was intended.

In court, Hokey wept uncontrollably and admitted everything. She said she remembered putting something in the cocoa, believing it to be sugar—only to realise, too late, that it was a rare and lethal poison.

However, Madam Smith's surviving relatives dispute the Ministry's findings. Several valuable heirlooms—including some of her most prized possessions—have gone missing. They insist it was no accident and are demanding a full reinvestigation.

[Accompanying Photo] A dimly lit courtroom, torches flickering along the stone walls. Rows of solemn-faced witches and wizards sit on tiered benches, surrounding a central chair bound with chains. In that chair, a shivering, hunched house-elf clutches its knees, trembling from head to toe.

"Sir," Snape said slowly, setting the paper down and meeting Dumbledore's gaze, "you believe it was Tom who killed Hepzibah Smith and framed her house-elf?"

"I do," Dumbledore nodded. "It's highly likely he wanted to reclaim his mother's locket—and perhaps more.

"But the best part is, we may yet confirm it. Hokey is still alive, though imprisoned."

Dumbledore folded his hands, eyes sharpening. "So, Severus. Our next stop is Azkaban."