The gathering had just ended, and the air still buzzed with excitement.
By the reading nook, a few younger students were engrossed in heated discussion.
"Look at this," a young wizard said, clutching a Muggle comic book, his nose practically glowing with enthusiasm. "The pictures don't move, but the stories are way more fun than The Tales of Beedle the Bard…"
"Your idea was a hit," Patrick Abbott said in a low voice, sidling up to Severus Snape. "Though the most popular Muggle books aren't exactly my taste."
"The things you like, Patrick," Snape replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, warm smile, "hardly anyone else would."
"That's not good enough," Patrick said with a grimace, his voice tinged with clear dissatisfaction. "What's the point of them reading these children's books?"
"Different ages have different interests," Snape said calmly. "But you've reminded me of something. The One Mind Society's structure is too loose right now. It's good for recruiting members, but it's holding back the cohesion of our best ones."
"What are you thinking?" Patrick leaned forward, his voice eager.
"Perhaps," Snape said slowly, "we should create a distinction within the society. Form a more exclusive, core group for our most capable members."
"How would you do it?" Patrick pressed.
"Hold on." Snape's gaze drifted to the other end of the classroom, where students were still chatting animatedly.
The two fell into a practiced silence. The last few students gathered their bags and left, leaving the classroom quiet.
Snape and Patrick stepped out, closing the wooden door behind them, and descended the stone steps toward the Slytherin common room.
"My idea," Snape's voice echoed clearly in the corridor, "is a tighter organizational structure. Only members who meet certain standards would be admitted."
"You mean…?"
"Eternal glory," Snape said, reciting the password. The stone door slid open slowly.
"Relying on goodwill and honor alone isn't enough. We need stronger bonds." They continued down into the basement. "A magical contract, as a way to ensure mutual trust and benefit. Members would gain privileges but also bear responsibilities."
"Like… marking their arms?" Patrick asked.
Snape shook his head lightly.
In the common room, only the flicker of the fireplace illuminated the space. They settled into armchairs in a corner, the silence so deep they could hear each other's breathing.
"We don't need marks like that," Snape said. "A shared charter and guidelines, signed by all who agree. Everyone, including you and me, would be bound by it."
"Fourth years and above," Snape added thoughtfully, "with mature enough minds to understand the stakes."
Patrick suddenly sat up straight, his eyes gleaming. "My father's study—" he lowered his voice, "has a book, Ancient Oaths and Blood Pacts, locked in a glass case. Next month, he's off to Brussels for the International Confederation of Wizards' meeting. I'll find a way to 'borrow' it."
"Be careful," Snape warned. "He's not easily fooled."
Patrick just grinned. "He's never understood me," he said with a hint of disdain. "To him, I'm just a child who needs discipline."
Snape nodded, letting the topic drop.
His gaze drifted to the fireplace. "There's another issue," he said slowly. "I'm graduating next year, and you won't be here much longer either. We need to rethink communication for core members, especially after we leave Hogwarts."
"We can't keep relying on owls," Patrick said, frowning. "I've heard of something called a two-way mirror, but they're expensive and only work one-on-one…"
A faint, mysterious smile curved Snape's lips. "We don't need to transmit voices or images," he said. "Just the simplest messages—'yes' or 'no,' '1' or '0.'"
Patrick tilted his head, his straw-colored hair falling across his face. "What good is something that basic?" he asked, puzzled.
"It's just the first step," Snape explained. "I've bought a few books on 'coding.' If you're interested, you can look at them after finishing primary and secondary courses."
"Then you'll see," he continued, "that with such simple methods, we can build an entire system to send any message we want."
"I'll study it with the others," Patrick said, nodding, though his tone held a trace of skepticism. "This involves alchemy too…"
"It might be complex," Snape admitted, "but it'll be effective. Imagine a system that lets us send messages instantly, even from miles away. The Ministry monitors owls, but they'd have no clue about this."
Their discussion stretched late into the night. By the time they decided to rest, the fire in the hearth had dwindled to faint embers.
The next morning, the sunlight was almost blindingly bright. Sunbeams filtered through the gaps in the leaves, and the lake's gentle waves lapped against the rocky shore, accompanied by the sound of birds skimming the water.
Under the shade of a tree, Snape and a few friends shared a breakfast packed from the Great Hall, savoring a rare moment of calm in their school lives.
"This morning, I was up in the tower and saw Professor Dumbledore leave the school," Pandora said, sitting on the grass beside Snape. She squinted happily, biting into a slice of jam-smeared bread. "He was wearing a traveling cloak and looked like he was in a hurry."
Snape had been listening absently, twirling a leaf between his fingers. But at her words, his fingers stilled. "Dumbledore left the school?" A vague idea began to form in his mind.
"Maybe he's off to the Ministry?" he said, though he realized the headmaster was likely headed to Azkaban to find Morfin Gaunt. That was the lead they'd gotten last term from Bob Ogden—Tom's uncle, locked away in that dreadful prison in the middle of the North Sea.
The topic was soon drowned out by the others' chatter, but a faint unease began to coil in Snape's chest.
At noon, the Great Hall's ceiling displayed a perfect azure sky, with a few white clouds drifting lazily. After setting their plates aside, Snape and his group returned to their dormitories.
He lay on his four-poster bed, staring at the patterns on the canopy.
Sleep was as elusive as a cunning vixen, slipping away just as he thought he'd grasped it. Pandora's words lingered in his mind, and the unease grew stronger.
He sat up abruptly, his dark eyes glinting in the dim room.
"You think destroying the ring will break the curse?"
"Something like that… I must've been out of my mind… Well, it makes things simpler."
Snape's breathing quickened.
All this time, he'd assumed Dumbledore destroyed Slytherin's ring before wearing it.
"Something like that…" Dumbledore's future words echoed in his ears.
But what if… what if Dumbledore believed destroying the Horcrux would render the Resurrection Stone useless? Would he choose to…
"The Gaunt shack!" Snape shot to his feet, his heart pounding like thunder. Patrick stirred, mumbled, and sank back into sleep.
He had to act—now.
As Hogwarts' gates closed behind him, the hot summer breeze brushed his cheeks.
Snape had never been to the Gaunt shack in person. He'd only seen the dilapidated stone house in Ogden's memories.
But time was short, and he had to take the risk. Closing his eyes, he focused on every detail of the place—the moss on the walls, the nettles choking the ground, the gnarled trees, the grimy doorframe… Magic surged within him, and he spun sharply.
The suffocating squeeze of Apparition was stronger than usual.
When his feet hit the ground, Snape stumbled, catching himself on a tree trunk to keep from falling. The side effects of Apparition left him dizzy, his stomach churning.
"Lucky no one's built a new house here," he thought, steadying his breathing. "Or maybe Tom cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm."
Lifting his head, he found himself in the woods of Little Hangleton. Not far off, the Gaunt shack loomed, even more decrepit than in his memory, like a forgotten corpse.
Stepping from the shade into the sunlight, he saw a large tree branch piercing the roof, dislodging most of the tiles. The walls were cloaked in dark green moss, gleaming almost black in the sun.
The shack's appearance bore no trace of its connection to the illustrious Slytherin line.
Snape paused, glancing at his watch. The dial still showed a serene blue sky with birds flitting through white clouds—a good sign, at least.
"Maybe it's not that dangerous…" he muttered, but his wand was already gripped tightly. It could also mean Tom's magic was too advanced for ordinary detection.
He approached the stone house cautiously. The rotting wooden door hung precariously on its hinges, devoid of any serpent carvings. Only a distorted, blurry mark remained, indistinguishable from the wood's natural grain.
Snape took a deep breath and gently pushed the door with his wand.
The hinges groaned like a dying beast, and dust danced in the sunlight.
His wand tip glowed softly. The room was empty, everything coated in thick dust.
He exhaled slightly, though he couldn't tell from the scene whether Dumbledore had been here—after all, the headmaster could easily erase all traces. But Snape was calmer now.
From his last experience, he knew the trip to Azkaban wasn't as simple as Apparating. Even at his fastest, Dumbledore couldn't make the round trip in half a day.
Casting a powerful Shield Charm, Snape stepped inside. The rotting floorboards creaked ominously underfoot, sending up clouds of dust with each step.
Covering his nose and mouth, Snape scanned the room: a rusted stew pot, filthy pottery shards, broken furniture… It looked like an ordinary abandoned house, with no trace of magical activity.
"Revelio!" He waved his wand, and a silvery-blue light swept the room, revealing nothing.
"Specialis Revelio!" He tried another detection spell, still finding nothing. The failure of standard detection magic was expected.
He cast several other detection spells, but none yielded results. No disturbances in the magical field, no traces of enchantments.
"No wonder Dumbledore always says he knows Tom's style…" Snape muttered with a self-deprecating shrug.
But he had an advantage: he knew the ring was hidden in a cavity under the floor, stored in a golden box.
Stepping outside into the sunlight, Snape considered his options.
Digging up the floor would take too long and could trigger unknown dangers—Voldemort wouldn't leave a Horcrux unprotected. He needed a safer, faster method.
He mentally reviewed his strongest protective spells, then paused, pulling a black-covered diary from his robes—Tom Riddle's diary.
"Horcrux against Horcrux," he said, staring at the diary. "You can only be destroyed by something immensely powerful. Don't let me down."
Snape quickly cast a Muffliato Charm and a Muggle-Repelling Charm around the area, then layered multiple protective spells: Protego, Salvio Hexia, and Protego Totalum.
Holding the diary tightly to his chest, he aimed his wand at the crumbling shack. "Confringo!Bombarda!"
A blinding red light shot from his wand, followed by a second, then a third.
In a deafening explosion, the Gaunt shack collapsed like a house of cards. Stones and beams scattered, and a cloud of dust billowed into the sky.
Amid the chaos, a murky black light shot from the ruins, striking like a venomous snake.
The protective barriers shattered like paper. Snape barely had time to raise the diary before a green light slammed into it, the impact hurling him backward.
Thud! He crashed into a cluster of bushes, branches tearing at his robes.
Struggling to his feet, Snape saw the diary trembling violently, its black cover fading and aging before his eyes.
After a full minute, the shaking stopped.
Cautiously, Snape unsealed the diary and opened it. On the once-blank pages, a faint, scrawled line appeared: What are you doing, Snape?!
"I was attacked, Riddle," Snape wrote, pulling a quill from his pocket. "I've got to get out of here. Listen, thank you!"
He sealed the diary, tucked it back into his robes, and fled.
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