After Professor Grubbly-Plank assigned the post-class essay, she called out to Severus Snape as the students packed up to leave, handing him a roll of parchment.
As Snape walked out, he unrolled the parchment, revealing the familiar, slanted, spidery handwriting:
"Dear Severus,
If you have no other plans this evening, please come to my office at seven o'clock.
Yours faithfully,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. I am not fond of Every Flavor Beans."
"He doesn't like Every Flavor Beans?" Patrick Abbott said, peering over Snape's shoulder at Dumbledore's note, his face a mask of confusion.
"Good little boys are better off not knowing what that means."
Ignoring Abbott's protests, Snape tucked the parchment away.
That evening, he made his way down the familiar corridor, arriving once again outside the Headmaster's office.
"Ha, of course I know you! Those stone beasts by the staff room are my brothers."
"Aye, aye, we've been forced to endure centuries of stone-and-bone separation."
The gargoyle responded to Snape in a deep, rumbling voice.
After exchanging pleasantries with the stone guardian, Snape ascended the moving spiral staircase behind it, arriving at the door to Dumbledore's office.
He raised his hand and lightly rapped his knuckles on the door.
"Come in," came Dumbledore's cheerful voice from within, as though he had been expecting Snape.
"Good evening, Professor," Snape said, pushing the door open and stepping into the Headmaster's office. "You wished to see me?"
"Ah, good evening, Severus. Do sit down," Dumbledore said with a warm smile, gesturing to a chair nearby. "How has the first week of the new term been for you?"
"Not bad, Professor," Snape replied, taking a seat and cutting to the chase. "Are we setting off?"
"Not quite yet," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "I thought, before we depart, we ought to make some preparations."
"Dumbledore, this time your choice is remarkably wise," said a voice from a portrait on the wall. An old headmaster, who had been dozing, suddenly let out a long yawn and opened his eyes. "You can't solve problems without someone from Slytherin House."
The wizard in the portrait sported a goatee and an air of cleverness, dressed in the silver-and-green robes of Slytherin.
"Phineas," Dumbledore addressed the sharp-looking wizard by name, "Slytherin has always been a part of Hogwarts."
"You're the legendary headmaster who won the approval of all four houses?" Snape said, looking up at Phineas with a hint of curiosity, deliberately emphasizing the word "approval."
"Oh, good lad," Phineas replied, seemingly oblivious to the sarcasm, his face beaming with satisfaction. "Slytherin youngsters can be quite right sometimes."
"You're not wrong, Phineas," Dumbledore said, turning back to Snape with a smile. "I called you here because, since you already know that Lord Voldemort is Tom Riddle..."
"And that he chose Ravenclaw's diadem as one of his Horcruxes, it's time you learned more."
Dumbledore paused for a moment before continuing.
"Last term, through your research into historical records, you deduced Tom's identity. Inspired by your insight, I realized the importance of understanding Tom's past and conducted some investigations of my own."
"I visited Borgin and Burkes and had a friendly chat with Caractacus Burke."
"Friendly enough to land him in St. Mungo's?" Snape said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
"Oh, that was an accident. You know Burke isn't exactly cooperative," Dumbledore replied, standing and walking around the desk, passing by Snape.
Snape turned in his chair, watching as Dumbledore approached a cabinet near the door, filled with books related to Horcruxes, and bent to open it.
When Dumbledore straightened up, he held the shallow stone basin Snape had seen before with Slughorn, its rim engraved with strange runes.
Dumbledore placed the Pensieve on the desk in front of Snape.
"Are we entering Burke's memories, Professor?" Snape asked.
"No," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "For now, we'll start with my memories. After you, Severus..."
Snape leaned over the Pensieve, his face plunging into the icy memory. Once again, he fell uncontrollably through darkness... and a few seconds later, his feet hit solid ground.
He opened his eyes and found himself standing with Dumbledore on a bustling, old-fashioned London street.
They followed a young Albus Dumbledore, dressed in an elegant plum-colored velvet suit, across the road to a square building with a sign reading "Wool's Orphanage" on its wall.
After passing through a large iron gate, they entered a bare courtyard.
Beyond it stood a stark, square building, grim and austere, surrounded by high iron railings.
"This is the orphanage where Tom grew up?" Snape asked.
At that moment, the young Dumbledore was speaking with a disheveled girl wearing an apron.
"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, a trace of reminiscence in his eyes. "Let's follow them."
Mrs. Cole, her face etched with anxiety, led them into a small room that seemed half parlor, half office.
The room was as plain and shabby as the entrance hall, furnished with mismatched, worn-out furniture.
"You came to invite Tom to Hogwarts yourself back then?" Snape asked, though he already knew the answer. "How does this help us with the Horcruxes?"
"Patience, Severus," Dumbledore said, pointing to Mrs. Cole.
Mrs. Cole, holding a glass of gin, was calmly recounting a story from years past:
"I remember it clearly because I'd only just started working here. It was New Year's Eve, snowing outside, bitterly cold...
"That girl, barely older than I was, stumbled up the front steps... Less than an hour later, she gave birth to the child. And less than an hour after that, she was dead..."
Mrs. Cole gave a meaningful nod and took a large gulp of her gin.
"No one named Tom, Marvolo, or Riddle ever came looking for him, and he had no relatives to speak of..."
Mrs. Cole, almost absentmindedly, poured herself another full glass of gin, her cheeks flushing with two bright spots of red.
"What was Voldemort's mother's name, Professor?" Snape asked.
"Merope Gaunt, or rather, Merope Riddle," Dumbledore replied. "Come, Severus, let's go meet eleven-year-old Tom."
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