Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures - H.P.S.T Chapter 1416: Slughorn's Memory

Like Harry, Evan also looked at Dumbledore curiously, wondering what he meant by saying that the ring had other uses.

This ring was a special Horcrux. Evan knew why it was special, but he was not sure about its other uses. Was it related to the spell on Dumbledore’s right hand?!

Without thinking too much, the answer was yes. Dumbledore’s right hand could not have become like this for no reason.

So, what about the things related to this ring?

Evan quickly thought back and recalled what fifteen-year-old Riddle had said before, that is, the process of the fifteen-year-old Riddle being separated from Voldemort’s main soul, the world he had entered, and the strange “Death” he had met. Evan felt as if he had grasped something.

Riddle had said that he had defeated the “God of Death” at that time, so he was “rewarded”, and the first Horcrux appeared.

Evan speculated that the “God of Death” Riddle saw and the reason for the Horcrux’s appearance were tied to magic left behind by Salazar Slytherin.

Slytherin’s magic had helped Riddle create a Horcrux, a Horcrux composed of the goodness in Riddle’s soul.

It sounded a bit unbelievable, but it was very possible. Slytherin was familiar with the method of making Horcruxes, and after learning from Evan about what his sole descendant, Voldemort, would do a thousand years later, there was no way he would simply do nothing. Given his personality, doing nothing would have been highly abnormal.

In other words, since the magic spell on Dumbledore’s right hand was related to the ring, then what he was doing now was related to Salazar Slytherin, either to the key to a treasure Slytherin left behind or to something else entirely…

Evan continued down this train of thought, but as always, Dumbledore had no intention of explaining. He poured the memory from the crystal phial he had just taken out into the Pensieve. The process wasn’t easy, as this memory was different from those they had seen before. The contents proved difficult to empty into the Pensieve, as though they had congealed slightly; did memories go bad?

“This will not take long,” said Dumbledore, when he had finally emptied the phial. “We shall be back in a few minutes.”

At Dumbledore’s signal, Evan followed Harry into the Pensieve and fell again through the silver surface, landing this time right in front of a man he recognized at once.

It was Horace Slughorn, a much younger Professor Slughorn. He was no longer bald, but had thick, shiny, straw-colored hair that made him look as though he had his head thatched, though there was already a shiny Galleon-sized bald patch on his crown. His mustache, less massive than it was these days, was gingery-blond.

He was not quite as rotund as the Slughorn Evan knew, though the golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat were taking a fair amount of strain.

But his style was no different from the present. His little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, he was sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystalized pineapple.

Slughorn was quite capable of enjoying himself, even in his youth.

A few seconds later, Dumbledore appeared beside Evan and Harry, looking around with interest.

At this moment, they were standing in Slughorn’s office. Half a dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. Evan recognized Tom Riddle at once.

This was not difficult because he had the most unique temperament among all the students and it was difficult to ignore him.

To put it in a metaphor, Riddle seemed to be glowing among this group of students, attracting everyone’s attention.

Ordinarily, only exceptionally beautiful girls would produce this effect.

Of course, if a boy as outstanding and striking as Riddle were to dress as a girl, he could achieve the same effect as well…

Sitting at the center of the group, Riddle had the most handsome face and he looked the most relaxed of all the boys. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair; and he was wearing Marvolo’s gold-and-black ring.

It followed that this memory was after the night Riddle had killed his father and framed his uncle.

“Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?” Riddle asked.

“Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn’t tell you,” said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle, though ruining the effect slightly by winking. “I must say, I’d like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are.”

Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.

“What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn’t, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you’re quite right, it is my favorite —”

As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened.

The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that Evan could see nothing but the faces of Dumbledore and Harry, who were standing beside him. This was really intriguing. It meant that Slughorn was modifying his memory and hiding an extremely important part. This was easy to understand. If Riddle and Slughorn had discussed Horcruxes or other sensitive topics, Slughorn, being who he was, would have erased those details rather than reveal them to Dumbledore.

He probably wanted to avoid offending anyone and would not reveal Voldemort’s secret.

Though Slughorn often presented himself as a bumbling fool, he was, in reality, an incredibly shrewd wizard.

He was sharper than most people and knew exactly where the lines were drawn.

Two or three seconds later, Slughorn’s voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly, “You’ll go wrong, boy, mark my words.”

The fog cleared as suddenly as it had appeared and yet nobody made any allusion to it, nor did anybody look as though anything unusual had just happened until a small golden clock standing upon Slughorn’s desk chimed eleven o’clock.

“Good gracious, is it that time already?” said Slughorn. “You’d better get going, boys, or we’ll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it’s detention. Same goes for you, Avery.”

Slughorn pulled himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk as the boys filed out.

Voldemort, however, stayed behind, and it was obvious that he had dawdled deliberately, wanting to be last in the room with Slughorn.

“Look sharp, Tom,” said Slughorn, turning around and finding him still present. “You don’t want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect …”

“Sir, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask away, then, m’boy, ask away. …”

“Sir, I wondered what you know about … about Horcruxes.”

The expression on Slughorn’s face changed, but then it happened all over again: The dense fog filled the room, obscuring everything from view.

Beside Evan, there was only Harry, who looked bewildered, and Dumbledore, who was smiling serenely.

Then Slughorn’s voice boomed out again, just as it had done before.

No — this time, it even sounded angry!

“I don’t know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn’t tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don’t let me catch you mentioning them again!”

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