"This is terrible… I'm an old man…"
Slughorn stood trembling, his voice barely above a whisper. His bright green velvet dressing gown was soaked through with sweat, clinging damply to his skin.
"Severus," he croaked, voice drained of strength, "I can't answer your question. We need to see the Headmaster."
"The Headmaster's back?" Snape asked with a flicker of interest. "I haven't seen him around lately."
"He returned just this afternoon," Slughorn muttered as he fumbled into his coat. "Come. We'll go to his office now."
…
"Why is it always you?" grumbled the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office. It squinted down at Snape with a tone full of disdain.
"I don't have a choice," Snape snapped back, meeting its glare.
"Oh, no choice, is it?" the gargoyle trilled mockingly. "That makes two of us then, doesn't it?"
"—Fizzing Whizzbee," said Slughorn, cutting off the exchange with a brusque wave of the hand. He was in no mood for banter.
The gargoyle let out a theatrical groan before grudgingly sliding aside, revealing the spiral staircase that rose into the tower above.
"Apologies for the intrusion, Albus," Slughorn said as he stepped into the circular office.
"Good midnight to you, Professor," said Snape, peeking from behind Slughorn's bulky frame with a smirk.
"Oh, Horace, it's quite all right," Dumbledore replied, smiling genially. "Such a fine, crisp night. What earth-shaking thing has Severus done this time?"
"It is earth-shaking, Professor," Snape declared as he swept around Slughorn, his tone full of wounded irony. "Prejudice is a mountain in men's hearts. Let me help you blow it up."
Dumbledore twitched slightly at the word blow, glancing warily at the door—as if checking for other "explosives" sneaking in behind.
"Get on with it, Severus," Slughorn barked, clearly frazzled. "Muffliato—He says he found a Horcrux in the castle, Albus."
"A Horcrux?" Dumbledore's expression hardened in an instant.
He lifted his wand and pointed out the window. Snape heard something slicing rapidly through the air.
Several thick, tattered, black-bound tomes flew in through the open casement, halting midair beside Dumbledore.
With a tap of his wand, the Headmaster directed them toward a tall black cabinet behind Snape. Its door creaked open, the books zoomed inside, and it shut with a resounding clunk.
"My apologies," Dumbledore said quietly. "That was my oversight. You've seen those books, Severus?"
"Yes," Snape said. "They were in the library. And a library is for reading, isn't it?"
"How did you access them? I doubt any professor signed your permission slip," Dumbledore asked mildly.
Snape allowed himself a faint smile, thinking: Unless it was some half-brained fool like Gilderoy Lockhart, years down the line…
The look confused both Dumbledore and Slughorn, who stared at him with mild concern.
"No permission slip, Professor," Snape said quickly. "I used a Disillusionment Charm to sneak in.
"You know, I had that piece of old parchment some weeks ago," he added casually, casting a sideways glance at Dumbledore's desk drawer—where the Marauder's Map now lay silent and folded. "I did a lot of wandering around campus back then."
"Ah, youth…" Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head before turning to Slughorn. "Horace, Severus came to you with questions about Horcruxes?"
"Yes… Albus… He asked about Horcruxes…" Slughorn said, trembling slightly. "And I became… uneasy… because… many years ago, someone else asked me nearly the same thing…"
"Someone else," Dumbledore repeated calmly. "That's not surprising, Horace. A few gifted young witches and wizards often grow curious about magic's darker edges. So long as they've not committed anything irredeemable, there's always hope—"
"No—" Slughorn's voice rose, uncharacteristically harsh as he cut Dumbledore off. "You don't understand, Albus! He said he found one. A Horcrux. Inside Hogwarts."
"Easy, Horace," Dumbledore murmured, drawing his wand again.
With a soft flourish, a dusty old bottle and three crystal glasses materialized in midair. The bottle tilted itself, pouring amber-gold mead into each glass. The drinks floated gently into their hands.
"Have a sip. It'll calm your nerves," Dumbledore said. "Rosmerta's best oak-matured mead."
He raised his own glass slightly toward the others.
Slughorn seized his with a trembling hand and drank a small mouthful.
Snape took a taste too, but couldn't help frowning slightly—it wasn't nearly as good as the bottle he'd had at the Three Broomsticks.
So no, not the finest.
"I might've made a mistake… Albus…" Slughorn gripped his goblet tightly. "I feel ashamed… Over thirty years ago, someone came to me asking about Horcruxes… I think I did them a great deal of harm…"
"Who was it?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"You'd remember him, I'm sure…" Slughorn mumbled. "Tom Riddle. That brilliant young boy…"
"Ah," Dumbledore murmured, glancing meaningfully at Snape. "Yes, I remember. One of the finest students Hogwarts has ever seen.
"And what exactly did Tom ask you, Horace?"
"He asked…" Slughorn hesitated a long time, steeling himself. "He asked if a soul could only be split once… if dividing it further might be… better. Just like what Severus asked tonight…"
Dumbledore set his empty glass down on his desk. He crossed to Slughorn's side and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It's all right, Horace," he said. "I believe it was only a slip—an accidental reveal of a dangerous theory. Anyone might've made the same mistake.
"But… would you be willing to let us see that memory? Perhaps together, we can still do something about it."