The dust rising from the ruins of the old house had not yet fully settled.
Severus Snape cautiously scanned his surroundings: though the nearby tremors were unavoidable, the birds perched on distant branches still hopped about cheerfully.
This meant the explosion, loud enough to startle the entire village, had been perfectly contained within this area by his spell.
With a flick of his wand, tracing intricate patterns, new protective charms formed a transparent halo around him. This time, he wove in more advanced counter-curses and magic detection spells.
Picking up a branch from a flattened bush, he slowly approached the heap of rubble.
Each step felt like treading on thin ice; each step crunched harshly as his boots ground against the debris.
The interior was far worse than it appeared from outside. Sunlight streamed through the broken roof and walls, casting golden beams through the dust, illuminating a scene of utter chaos—splintered wood, shattered pottery, scattered stones... The last refuge of Slytherin's heirs was now nothing but decay and ruin.
Snape carefully navigated the corridor, his gaze sharp as a hawk's, scouring every detail for possible clues.
Suddenly, a faint, unnatural glint caught his peripheral vision.
He whipped around, wand aimed at the source—a peculiar depression in the center of the ruins. It was where the living room of the old house should have been, right beside the armchair where Morfin Gaunt once sat in his memories.
Now, only broken planks and stones remained, but beneath them, something seemed hidden.
With utmost care, Snape used his wand to gently lift the splintered wood and rubble.
As the debris was cleared, an exquisite golden box came into view.
It was no larger than his palm, its surface etched with lifelike serpentine patterns. Two tiny emeralds, set as the snake's eyes, gleamed with an eerie light in the dim surroundings.
"I've found you," he whispered, his voice tinged with barely concealed excitement. But he didn't touch it rashly.
Holding his breath, Snape's wand tip glowed with a faint blue light, hovering over the box. A series of complex detection spells extended like invisible tendrils, probing the potentially deadly treasure.
Then, stepping back, he retrieved a small lead container from his bag—one designed to block most magical emissions.
Slowly and meticulously, he used the branch to nudge the golden box into the container.
The moment the box left its resting place, a wisp of black smoke rose from beneath it, twisting and coalescing in the air until it formed the shape of a venomous snake. The serpent opened its gaping maw, revealing venom-dripping fangs, and lunged at Snape.
"Back!" Snape reacted swiftly, hissing in Parseltongue as his wand slashed a silver arc through the air.
The light cut through the smoke like a blade, splitting it in two.
The mist quickly reformed but didn't attack again.
The snake hovered in the air, hissing sharply, seemingly confused.
Snape held his wand steady, unmoving.
"Leave," he hissed softly.
Finally, the serpent seemed to acknowledge something and slowly dissipated into the air.
Snape exhaled in relief, swiftly sealing the lead container and adding several binding charms to its exterior.
"Now, to deal with the scene," he muttered, surveying the area and considering his next move.
He had no intention of leaving a decoy in the old house. That was too risky and unnecessary.
For one, replicating Voldemort's protective enchantments was beyond his capability.
For another, unlike Lumos, Bombarda, or Reparo—spells that were instantaneous and left no lasting trace—complex defensive or offensive magic would leave marks easily recognizable to Professor Dumbledore.
Besides, from his perspective, it made more sense for Tom not to hide a Horcrux here.
He opted for a simpler, more direct approach: restore the scene to its original state, as if nothing had happened, save for the absence of magical traces.
Tucking the lead container away, Snape raised his wand. "Reparo!"
With a soft clatter, the ruins began to tremble.
Scattered stones and decayed beams shifted, as if guided by an invisible hand, returning to their original places.
Walls reassembled block by block, roof tiles flew back to their positions, and even the moss, cobwebs, and grime returned precisely where they belonged.
When the final stone settled, the Gaunt shack was restored to its state before Snape's arrival—dilapidated, filthy, lifeless. Only the lingering dust in the air hinted at what had transpired.
Snape didn't relax. He backed out of the room, wand trained on the floor, erasing his footprints and traces, restoring the dust to its undisturbed state.
Finally, he circled the house, inspecting every detail: cracks in the stone walls, bird droppings on the windowsills, the shape of cobwebs under the eaves—all perfectly restored.
Returning the branch to its place, even the flattened bush sprang back to its original shape.
"Perfect," Snape said, nodding in satisfaction after a final sweep to ensure no traces remained. He prepared to leave the shack.
Just then, a vibration came from the diary in his chest pocket.
Frowning, he pulled it out.
On a previously blank page, ink spread of its own accord, forming a new, faint line of text: "What enemy did you encounter, Snape? Can you tell me? Perhaps I can help. Fighting isn't always the only option."
Snape's lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn't sure if Tom had sensed something or was merely probing.
He didn't respond, quickly shutting the diary and tucking it deep into his pocket.
"There's no time," he thought. "I must leave before Professor Dumbledore arrives."
With a final glance at the Gaunt shack nestled in the shade, Snape erased his tracks and retreated along the narrow dirt path to the road leading to Little Hangleton. The villagers' frequent comings and goings would mask his presence.
Stepping into the sunlight, Snape gripped his wand tightly, and his figure vanished from the country lane, leaving only the rustle of a breeze through the hedgerows.
The evening wind swept through the pine forest as the candles in Hogwarts' towers flickered in the twilight.
Snape checked the lead container—intact, with no signs of magical leakage.
"There's still time for dinner," he muttered to himself, a faint smile crossing his lips as he tucked the container securely away.
The Great Hall held only a few students, but the four long tables were still laden with abundant food. Snape took a seat at the end of the Slytherin table, quietly eating his meal.
His gaze occasionally flicked to the staff table—Dumbledore's seat was empty, suggesting the headmaster hadn't yet returned.
Finishing his meal unhurriedly, Snape left the Great Hall, pondering whether he could handle the golden box alone.
As he crossed the threshold, a tall figure appeared. Dumbledore was heading toward the stairs, his expression somewhat heavy, his black robes dusted from travel.
"Not staying for dinner, Professor?" Snape asked casually.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus," he said gently, "could you come with me?"
"Is there something I can help with?" Snape asked, feigning nonchalance, though his heart quickened slightly. He maintained his calm demeanor, resisting the urge to touch the lead container hidden in his robes.
The headmaster offered no explanation, merely gesturing for him to follow. They walked silently through winding corridors until they reached the Headmaster's office.
Snape's mind raced: Did the professor visit Little Hangleton? Did he find something? Did I leave any flaws in my work?
Once the door closed, Dumbledore pulled a small vial from his pocket, filled with swirling, pearly substance.
"Is this Morfin Gaunt's memory?" Snape asked, his eyes fixed on the vial.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied, retrieving the Pensieve from a cabinet and setting it on the desk. Amid the soft clinking of silver instruments in the office, he poured the shimmering contents into the basin. "I visited Azkaban."
"I see," Snape said, nodding. He was well-versed in this process.
He approached the Pensieve, leaned forward, and submerged his face in the memory.
The familiar sensation of falling enveloped him, and moments later, he stood once more in the filthy living room of the Gaunt shack—only this time, it was decades in the past.
The memory was vivid: a handsome young Tom Riddle engaged in a "friendly and pleasant" conversation with his uncle, Morfin Gaunt.
Snape watched coldly as Tom skillfully manipulated the dialogue, extracting key information from the drunken Morfin.
From him, Tom learned about the Muggle father who abandoned his mother, living with his family in the manor across the way.
When the memory ended, Snape and Dumbledore returned to the present.
"Next," Dumbledore said, gesturing for Snape to sit, "Morfin woke the following morning alone on the floor, with Slytherin's ring gone.
"Meanwhile, in Little Hangleton, a maid ran screaming through the streets, claiming there were three bodies in the Riddle manor's drawing room: old Tom Riddle and his parents."
Snape listened quietly, his face showing just the right mix of surprise and contemplation, while his mind rapidly analyzed how this connected to him.
Dumbledore continued, recounting how Morfin readily confessed, proud of killing the Muggles and terrified of losing his father's ring.
"A brilliant frame-up," Snape remarked. "Much like Hokey's case. Both involve scapegoats with clear memories of the murders. It seems Tom was quite practiced in this process even before graduating. A pity he didn't join the Ministry."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, his tone heavy with lingering weariness. "This confirms some of our earlier suspicions—that Tom acquired Slytherin's ring and likely turned it into a Horcrux."
"Did you find the ring afterward?" Snape asked, his dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on the headmaster.
"After retrieving Morfin's memory, I went straight to the Gaunt shack," Dumbledore said, shaking his head slowly, disappointment in his eyes. "To my great frustration, I found no trace of Tom's magic in those ruins. The dilapidated stone house seemed untouched for years."
Snape exhaled inwardly, though his face showed only a slight frown. His restoration and trace-erasing spells had clearly worked.
"And," Dumbledore sighed, "unwilling to give up easily, I visited the Riddle manor in Little Hangleton as well.
"That manor is now damp, desolate, and ruined, not much better than the Gaunt shack. Unfortunately, I found no trace of a Horcrux there either."
Snape adopted a thoughtful expression. "I doubt Tom would choose to hide a precious Horcrux in either of those places.
"The Riddle manor represents his Muggle father, a name he refused to bear. Why would he entrust a fragment of his soul to Little Hangleton?"
Dumbledore nodded slightly, encouraging him to continue.
"As for the Gaunt shack," Snape went on, his voice calm and rational, "think about it, Professor. In Morfin's memory, Tom showed nothing but disgust and disappointment for that place. The so-called Slytherin heirs, the Gaunts, were so degraded—how could they match Tom's ambitions?
"In my view, Tom would more likely hide a Horcrux somewhere tied to Slytherin."
"That makes sense, Severus," Dumbledore said, nodding thoughtfully. "I considered the Gaunt shack a link between Tom and Slytherin but overlooked his attitude toward Morfin." He took a deep breath. "Perhaps I don't understand Tom Riddle as well as I thought."
"It's alright, Professor," Snape said earnestly. "Everyone makes mistakes. You must learn to forgive yourself. Look forward, don't look back."
A brief silence fell.
"Did you see anything unusual in the Chamber of Secrets?" Dumbledore asked suddenly, looking up.
"Nothing beyond the Basilisk and Slytherin's statue," Snape replied, feigning a sudden idea. "Perhaps you should check it yourself? My knowledge of magic pales compared to yours.
"The entrance to the Chamber is in that dilapidated girls' bathroom on the second floor. There's a tap with a small snake carved on it. Say 'Open' in Parseltongue, and the entrance will reveal itself."
"You know the Parseltongue phrase, don't you?" Snape asked, not waiting for a reply before hissing softly. "Like that," he said. "Did you catch it?"
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, his eyes glinting with interest. "I'll check the Chamber soon. Hopefully, it will yield new clues."
————
Supporting me on Patreon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .com/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Patreon normally.)