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"By wicked deeds—by the most wicked deed.
Through murder, which tears the soul apart.
The sorcerer who wishes to create a Horcrux uses this destruction, sealing the fragments of their divided soul—"
Slughorn looked utterly distraught, unable to meet Voldemort's eyes.
"But how?" Voldemort pressed on, his curiosity undeterred.
"There's a spell—don't ask me, I don't know!"
Slughorn shook his head violently, like a weary elephant swatting away flies.
"Do I look like I've tried it? Do I look like a murderer?"
A flicker of realization crossed Slughorn's face—he had said too much.
Desperate to end the conversation, he waved his hands dismissively.
"No, sir, of course not," Voldemort said quickly.
"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to offend—"
He had noticed his slip, his enthusiasm betraying too much interest, and now he scrambled to smooth things over.
"No offense, no offense," Slughorn muttered gruffly, though his expression remained troubled.
"It's only natural for talented wizards to be curious about these things... Dark magic does have a way of drawing people in—"
Voldemort seized the opportunity.
"Yes, sir," he said smoothly, "but what I don't understand is—purely out of curiosity, of course—is a Horcrux truly useful? Can the soul only be split once? Or would dividing it into more pieces make one stronger? Seven, for example—that's the most magical number, isn't it?"
Slughorn blanched.
"My God, Tom!" he gasped, staring at the young Voldemort as if seeing him for the first time.
"Seven! Is it not evil enough to kill even one person? Splitting the soul at all is already unnatural—seven times over—" Slughorn's face had gone deathly pale.
Regret settled deep in his features. He wished he had never let the conversation get this far.
"Of course," Slughorn whispered hurriedly.
"We're only speaking hypothetically, aren't we? Purely academic—"
He looked as though he needed to convince himself more than Voldemort.
"Yes, sir. Of course." Riddle smiled—an easy, charming smile.
But Slughorn still seemed uneasy.
"Tom, what we've discussed—don't repeat it. People wouldn't be happy to know we even spoke of Horcruxes. You know Dumbledore, he's particularly—"
He tugged at his collar, glancing around as if the headmaster might appear at any moment.
"I won't say a word, sir," Riddle assured him.
Then, without another glance, he turned and left.
From the shadows, Ethan watched.
His eyes followed Voldemort's retreating figure, lingering on the young man's face. It was twisted—ecstatic.
The expression of a man who had just uncovered a terrible, thrilling secret.
The memory wavered and dissolved.
A moment later, Ethan and Dumbledore were back in the headmaster's office.
Dumbledore stared into the shimmering surface of the Pensieve, lost in thought.
His fingers tapped idly against the edge, deep lines of contemplation etched into his face.
At last, he spoke.
"I have waited for this confirmation for a long time," he murmured.
"It proves my suspicions correct… and reminds me that the road ahead is still long."
His hands clenched slightly, his knuckles whitening.
"I suspected Voldemort had split his soul multiple times, but I had not considered—seven."
Even Dumbledore, who had known the darkest corners of magic, seemed momentarily shaken.
Ethan exhaled. "We've already destroyed most of the Horcruxes—Voldemort's diary, Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem. Four down."
"The rest," Dumbledore said gravely, "will not be so easily found."
"Especially Harry," Ethan said, his gaze locked onto Dumbledore.
"How do you plan to deal with him? You know the Horcrux must be destroyed."
There was no avoiding it—Harry was a Horcrux.
A part of Voldemort's soul resided within him, an unintentional fragment tethering them together.
If Voldemort was to be completely destroyed, then every Horcrux had to be eradicated—including the one inside Harry.
"Trust me, Ethan," Dumbledore said solemnly.
"I will find the best way, and I will do everything in my power to protect Harry."
"Are you still planning to keep this a secret?" Ethan's voice was steady but edged with disapproval.
"The Order of the Phoenix has stood by you, risking their lives. Keeping them in the dark—is that fair?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I understand your concern, Ethan, but this truth carries too much weight. With the Death Eaters running rampant, such a revelation could fracture the Order from within. We cannot afford that."
Ethan studied Dumbledore's expression and felt a chill settle in his bones.
Dumbledore was a man of unwavering integrity—but also of unwavering resolve.
If sacrificing someone meant ensuring Voldemort's downfall, he would not hesitate.
He would sacrifice himself, he would sacrifice others, and he would do so without flinching.
And that made him the most terrifying kind of person.
Silence settled over the office. Neither spoke.
Finally, Dumbledore broke it.
"For now, our priority remains the destruction of the remaining Horcruxes. As for another one of Voldemort's Horcruxes… I believe I've found a clue."
Ethan looked up sharply. "A clue?"
Dumbledore nodded. "For years, I have studied Voldemort's past, retracing his steps, searching for the remnants of his dark magic."
He paused, eyes flickering with thought.
"You saw it yourself, Ethan. In Slughorn's memory—Voldemort had a ring. A family heirloom. That ring, I believe, is another Horcrux."
Ethan's breath caught.
"And I believe I have found it," Dumbledore continued, his voice tinged with a rare hint of excitement.
"Voldemort hid it in the Gaunt family's old home. Though he layered it with protective enchantments, I have tracked it down."
He straightened, his usual composed demeanor giving way to urgency.
"Ethan, I must destroy that ring. I need your help."
"When?" Ethan asked, already knowing the answer.
"Now. At once." Dumbledore's voice was firm.
"The sooner we act, the greater our chances of striking a decisive blow against Voldemort."
Ethan hesitated only a moment before nodding. "I'll help you."
He knew the truth—if Dumbledore went alone, he would not return unscathed.
He would fall into Voldemort's trap, just as before.
The cursed ring would weaken him, setting in motion the chain of events that would eventually lead to his death.
Ethan would not let that happen.
"Then we must move quickly," Dumbledore said.
"Time is precious, and we mustn't waste it."
Before Ethan could reply, Dumbledore reached out.
Ethan barely had time to grasp his arm before the familiar pull of Apparition yanked them away from Hogwarts.
In the blink of an eye, they landed on a narrow country road, surrounded by tall, tangled hedgerows.
The night was still, save for the rhythmic chirping of cicadas hidden deep in the undergrowth.
The air was thick with the scent of summer.
Ethan exhaled, steadying himself. The hunt for the next Horcrux had begun.