The smoke rising from the ruins of the old house had not yet completely dispersed.
Snape carefully scanned his surroundings. Though the tremors nearby had been impossible to avoid, the birds perched on distant branches were still hopping about happily.
That meant the explosion loud enough to shake the entire village had been perfectly contained within this area by his spellwork.
As his wand traced intricate patterns through the air, new protective charms shimmered into being around him, forming a transparent halo. This time, he included more advanced anti-curse and magical detection wards.
Picking up a branch from the flattened shrub he had fallen into earlier, he began to move slowly toward the pile of debris.
Every step was like walking on thin ice; each crunch of rubble beneath his boots grated sharply in the silence.
Inside, the house looked even worse than it had from outside. Sunlight filtered through the damaged roof and walls, forming golden beams that cut through the dust, illuminating the chaos within, splintered planks, shattered pottery, scattered stones. The last residence of Slytherin's descendants was now nothing more than a monument of decay and ruin.
Snape advanced cautiously down what had once been a corridor, his eyes sweeping over every inch like a hawk, searching for any trace or clue.
Suddenly, something caught his eye, a faint, unnatural glint of reflected light.
He turned sharply, wand raised toward the source. It was a small hollow at the very center of the ruins. That had once been the drawing room, right where, in his memory, Morfin Gaunt used to sit in his armchair.
Now, only a few broken boards and stones remained. But beneath them, something was hidden.
Snape used his wand to carefully lift away the wood and rubble.
As the covering was removed, a delicate golden box slowly came into view.
It was no larger than the palm of his hand, its surface engraved with lifelike serpentine patterns. Two tiny emeralds gleamed from its eyes, flickering eerily in the dim light.
"Found you," Snape whispered, unable to conceal the thrill in his voice. But he did not touch it.
Holding his breath, he let the tip of his wand glow with a pale blue light, moving it slowly above the box. A series of complex detection charms extended like invisible tendrils, probing the potentially lethal object.
Then, stepping back a few paces, he drew from his bag a small lead-lined container, a cube designed to block most magical resonance.
With painstaking care, he used the branch to nudge the golden box inside.
But the moment it left its original spot, a plume of black smoke surged upward, twisting violently in midair before solidifying into the form of a serpent. Its mouth gaped wide, revealing gleaming fangs as it lunged straight at him.
"Back!" Snape hissed in Parseltongue, reacting instantly. His wand swept a bright silver arc.
The light sliced through the smoky serpent like a blade, severing it cleanly in two.
But almost at once, the black mist reformed. This time, it didn't attack.
The serpent hovered in confusion, hissing sharply.
Snape stood still, wand aimed, eyes unblinking.
"Leave," he hissed softly again.
After a moment, the snake seemed to recognize something, and slowly dissipated into the air.
Snape exhaled, sealing the lead container shut and reinforcing it with several layers of locking spells.
"Now to deal with the scene," he murmured, glancing around, calculating.
He would not leave a decoy here. Too risky, and pointless besides.
For one, replicating Voldemort's protective enchantments was beyond him.
For another, unlike instant charms such as Lumos, Bombarda, or Reparo, sustained protective or attack spells left long-lasting magical residues that Dumbledore could easily identify.
From Snape's perspective, it would be far more logical for Tom not to have left the Horcrux here at all.
So, he chose the simplest, most direct approach: restore the ruins exactly as they had been before, leaving no trace except for the erased magical signatures.
Tucking away the sealed container, Snape lifted his wand. "Reparo Totalum!"
With a series of soft clicks, the ruins began to tremble.
Scattered stones and rotten beams started shifting, as though drawn by invisible hands.
Walls reassembled, roof tiles flew back into place, even the moss, cobwebs, and stains returned precisely where they belonged.
When the final stone settled, the Gaunt Shack looked exactly as it had before Snape's arrival, derelict, filthy, lifeless. Only a faint trace of dust in the air hinted that anything had happened at all.
Still, he did not relax.
He backed out carefully, wand aimed at the ground, erasing his footprints and traces one by one, even restoring the displaced dust to its proper layer.
Finally, he circled the exterior, inspecting every detail, the cracks in the stone wall, the bird droppings on the window ledge, the shape of the cobweb beneath the eaves. All of it was perfectly restored.
He replaced the branch where he had found it, and even the crushed shrubs sprang upright again.
"Perfect."
After one last survey to confirm there were no remaining traces, Snape nodded in satisfaction and prepared to leave.
Just then, his pocket vibrated.
He frowned, pulling out the diary.
Fresh ink was spreading across the blank page, forming new, blurred words:
"What enemy did you encounter, Snape? Tell me about it, perhaps I can help you. Fighting isn't always the only option."
Snape pressed his lips into a hard line. He couldn't tell if Tom had sensed something or was simply probing him.
He gave no reply. Snapping the diary shut, he stuffed it deep into his pocket.
"Time's short," he thought grimly. "I have to leave before Professor Dumbledore arrives."
He cast one last glance at the Gaunt Shack beneath the trees, clearing every remaining trace of his presence as he retreated onto the narrow dirt path that led toward Little Hangleton. The worn trail bore enough footprints from villagers to cover his own.
Stepping into sunlight, Snape gripped his wand. In the next instant, his figure vanished from the country lane, leaving only the whisper of the wind brushing through the hedges.
Evening wind swept through the pines, and candlelight flickered in the towers of Hogwarts against the dimming sky.
Snape checked the lead container, intact, no sign of magical leakage.
"Still in time for dinner," he murmured with a faint smile, tucking it safely back into his robes.
The Great Hall was nearly empty, yet the four long tables were still laden with food. Snape quietly took a seat at the far end of the Slytherin table and began to eat.
His gaze drifted occasionally toward the staff table, Dumbledore's chair was empty. The Headmaster had not yet returned.
Finishing his meal calmly, Snape rose and left the hall, debating whether he could handle the golden box on his own.
Just as he stepped past the threshold, a tall figure appeared before him.
Dumbledore was ascending the stairs, his expression somber, his black robes still dusted with travel.
"Not joining us for dinner, Professor?" Snape asked smoothly.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus," he said in a mild tone, "would you come with me for a moment?"
"Do you need my help with something?" Snape asked casually, heart quickening even as his face remained calm. He kept his hand deliberately still, resisting the urge to touch the concealed container under his robes.
The Headmaster didn't answer, only motioned for him to follow. They walked in silence through the winding corridors until they reached the Headmaster's Office.
Snape's thoughts raced, had Dumbledore gone to Little Hangleton? What had he discovered? Had Snape left any trace behind?
After closing the door, Dumbledore reached into his pocket and produced a small vial filled with swirling, pearly substance.
"Morfin Gaunt's memory?" Snape asked, eyes narrowing.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied, setting a Pensieve upon the desk. Silver utensils clinked softly in the background as he poured the contents into it. "I went to Azkaban."
"I see." Snape nodded. He was already familiar with the process.
He stepped closer, bent forward, and plunged into the memory.
The familiar sensation of falling swept over him, and then he stood once more in the filthy sitting room of the Gaunt home, decades earlier.
The vision was vivid. A handsome young Tom Riddle was conversing "pleasantly" with his uncle, Morfin Gaunt.
Snape watched coldly as Tom manipulated the drunk man skillfully, drawing from him every vital detail.
From Morfin, Tom learned about the Muggle father who had abandoned his mother, and that family's home just across the valley.
When the memory ended, Snape and Dumbledore returned to the present.
"After that," Dumbledore said, motioning for him to sit, "Morfin awoke the next morning alone on the floor. The Slytherin Ring was gone.
"At the same time, in Little Hangleton, a maid ran screaming through the streets, shouting that there were three bodies in the Riddle Manor drawing room, old Tom Riddle and his parents."
Snape listened silently, wearing a mask of controlled surprise and contemplation while his mind worked furiously, analyzing every detail.
Dumbledore continued, recounting how Morfin confessed easily, proud of killing the Muggles, yet terrified by the loss of his father's ring.
"A masterful framing," Snape observed dryly. "Much like Hokey's case, both had scapegoats, both remembered committing the murders clearly. Tom had the technique perfected even before graduation. A pity he never joined the Ministry."
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed quietly, fatigue lingering in his tone. "It confirms some of our earlier suspicions, that Tom obtained Slytherin's ring and likely turned it into a Horcrux."
"And did you find the ring afterward?" Snape asked, his dark eyes fixed on him.
"After obtaining Morfin's memory, I went straight to the Gaunt Shack." Dumbledore shook his head slowly, disappointment glimmering in his eyes. "To my dismay, I found no trace of Tom's magic there. The ruin seemed untouched for years."
Snape relaxed inwardly, though he allowed only a faint frown to appear. His restoration work had held perfectly.
"And," Dumbledore sighed, "unwilling to give up so easily, I visited the Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton as well.
"It too was damp, desolate, and decaying, not much better than the Gaunt home. Unfortunately, I found no sign of a Horcrux there either."
Snape pretended to ponder. "I don't believe Tom would have chosen either place for such a purpose.
"The Riddle Manor represents his Muggle father, he despised that heritage. Why would he ever anchor his soul there?"
Dumbledore nodded slightly, inviting him to continue.
"As for the Gaunt Shack," Snape went on, calm and analytical, "that seems unlikely as well. Think about it, Professor, in Morfin's memory, Tom was filled with disgust and disappointment toward that place. To him, the Gaunts' squalor was an insult to the legacy of Slytherin.
"In my opinion, Tom would more likely hide a Horcrux somewhere connected to Slytherin's ideals, not his failures."
"Sound reasoning, Severus," Dumbledore admitted with a thoughtful nod. "I assumed the Gaunt home was a symbolic link between Tom and Slytherin, but I overlooked his disdain during that encounter." He sighed deeply. "Perhaps I never understood Tom Riddle as well as I thought."
"It's all right, Professor," Snape said sincerely. "Everyone makes mistakes. You must learn to forgive yourself. Look forward, don't look back."
For a moment, silence hung between them.
"Did you see anything unusual in the Chamber of Secrets?" Dumbledore suddenly asked.
"No, aside from the basilisk and Slytherin's statue, there was nothing," Snape replied. Then, as if struck by an idea, he added, "Perhaps you should examine it yourself. My knowledge of magic doesn't compare to yours.
"The entrance is in the girls' lavatory on the second floor, the old, disused one. There's a tap with a serpent engraved on it. Speak 'Open' in Parseltongue, and the entrance will appear."
"You do know how to say that, don't you, Professor?" Snape asked lightly, and before Dumbledore could answer, he hissed the phrase in Parseltongue: "Sss-open."
"Just like that," he said. "Have you got it memorized?"
"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore, eyes glinting with curiosity. "I'll inspect the Chamber soon. Perhaps there are still clues to be found."