Chapter 114
The next day…
The Potions class was shared between two houses, Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Students sat clustered at their cauldrons as Professor Slughorn waddled to the front of the room.
"Well then," he announced cheerfully, "that's the end of today's lesson. Don't forget your homework, I've already explained the details, so be sure to hand it in next class. You're dismissed!"
Chairs scraped back as the students began to file out. Slughorn himself started gathering his belongings into his bag, humming under his breath, when he noticed something unusual.
One student had not left.
Tom Riddle remained seated. Slowly, he rose and walked toward his professor.
Slughorn paused, watching him with curiosity. "Yes, Tom? What is it, my boy? Do you need something?"
Tom clasped both hands behind his back in a gesture of respect.
"Professor," he said evenly, "I wanted to ask you about a kind of magic. I know nothing about it, this is the first I've ever heard of such a thing. Could you perhaps tell me what it means?"
Slughorn's round face softened into a smile.
This was no surprise to him. Slughorn adored gifted students, and none shone brighter than Tom Riddle. He had taught the boy since his first year at Hogwarts, and over the years his admiration had only deepened.
Indeed, Slughorn sometimes imagined a dazzling future for Tom. With his brilliance and talent, perhaps in twenty years he might rise to the highest post of all, Minister for Magic.
It was no small dream. To be Minister required immense strength, knowledge of every branch of magic, Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, even Astronomy, and the ability to protect the entire wizarding world. Few ever reached such heights. But Tom… Tom might.
"Well then," Slughorn said warmly, "tell me, Tom. Don't be shy!"
Tom smiled faintly. His professor was in good spirits, he would not refuse him now.
"Professor," Tom began, voice steady, "could you tell me about… Ancient Magic?"
Slughorn blinked. His expression did not change, but inwardly he was puzzled. How could a boy of Tom's age have even heard the phrase? No Hogwarts textbook mentioned it. Such knowledge was scarce even among scholars of pure-blood magic and the Dark Arts.
Still, Slughorn stepped closer and, after a moment's thought, gave Tom a measured explanation of Ancient Magic.
Tom listened intently. His mind connected this new insight with fragments of what he had already discovered. Slowly, the puzzle pieces fell into place.
From the start of his schooling, Tom had outshone his peers. Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, he excelled in them all. Yet beyond talent and ambition, one thought plagued him more than any other.
Death.
The inevitability of it terrified him. He believed nothing was worse. Everything else, failure, weakness, pain, paled in comparison to the horror of death.
He hesitated, then chose his next words carefully.
"Professor," Tom said, "while reading about Ancient Magic… I happened to come across a term. Horcrux. What does that mean?"
For the first time, Slughorn looked at him with true caution. His jovial face grew grave, and he studied Tom's eyes for a long moment.
Finally, he sighed.
"Well, Tom… it's a matter of great secrecy. I cannot tell you much. But since you are my favorite student, and because I want only the best for you, I will explain a little."
He walked slowly across the classroom, as though the act of speaking weighed heavily on him.
"A Horcrux, sometimes called a devil's shard, is a vessel in which one can conceal a fragment of their soul. By doing so, the wizard ensures survival… even if the body is destroyed. As long as the Horcrux exists, you cannot truly die."
Slughorn's voice dropped to a whisper.
"If you split your soul into six pieces, and hid each fragment in a different object, then even the destruction of one Horcrux would leave you with five lives. But… the method of creating one… no. That, I cannot tell you, my boy. It is too terrible. Forgive me."
Tom masked his disappointment with a graceful nod. He had not learned the method itself, but he had gained something invaluable: confirmation. Proof that such a magic existed.
"Thank you, Professor," he said sincerely. "I'm truly grateful. I've learned a great deal from you today."
Slughorn smiled, though uneasily, and dismissed him.
Yet as he gathered the last of his papers into his bag, a shadow lingered in his heart. He had spoken too freely. Every wizard who had ever pursued Horcruxes had become a monster, their soul twisted beyond recognition.
And the process itself, the act required to make one, was a horror so vile it could shatter a man's very being.
Slughorn left the classroom with a heavy sigh, unaware of the gleam of cold determination already fixed in Tom Riddle's eyes.