Chapter 588: The Obsession with Seven
"Ah... it would be best if we didn't use that name, child."
Professor Slughorn's face instantly turned rigid, his jovial mask slipping into
a look of profound discomfort.
"We have evidence that he is returning," Sean said bluntly. He watched as
Slughorn's hands, clasped behind his back, began to tremble. "If possible,
Headmaster Dumbledore and I were hoping you could provide us with a specific
piece of information."
"Information? I've given him everything I have, haven't I? I have a research
project to attend to tonight, dear boy. I believe it's time I took my leave."
Slughorn began to turn away, his velvet-clad shoulders tensing.
"The more one flees, the more likely they are to collide head-on with destiny,
Professor," Sean said. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but his voice was
steady. "Headmaster Dumbledore has already left the castle. He has gone to
complete a task fraught with peril. He didn't wish to force your hand, but he
hopes—constantly—that you will choose to be brave."
"Enough!" Slughorn cried suddenly, raising a shaking hand. "Truly, dear boy,
enough... I am an old man. I don't need to hear this... I don't want to hear
this!"
"Your help would be invaluable, sir. What they are doing is exceptionally
dangerous..."
Sean lowered his gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't need to
guess where Dumbledore had gone. Even though Albus was the only man the Dark
Lord feared, in his current state of liberated, almost reckless clarity, Sean
worried the Headmaster might walk directly into a trap.
And then there were Remus and Sirius. They were facing the most powerful Dark
Wizard in history with little more than their wands and their courage.
"Don't say that," Slughorn whispered, looking as though the news of Dumbledore's
mission had only just sunk in. He stared at Sean for a long moment. "If it would
help Albus... of course... but that conversation was useless. It held no
value..."
"We have already destroyed five Horcruxes," Sean said. His voice was louder than
usual, carrying a weight that demanded attention. "Knowing the truth of that
night is the only way to find the rest."
"Five...?"
Slughorn looked at the young wizard in absolute shock. His eyes welled with
tears. "You have done such magnificent work... only the two of you? Child, you
must have endured such horrors to face him so many times."
"We have, Professor," Sean replied, not bothering to deny it.
Behind a nearby tapestry, Justin and Hermione stood paralyzed. They had expected
many things from a private conversation, but this was a revelation of a
different magnitude.
Sean and Dumbledore have been secretly hunting the Dark Lord's soul, Hermione
thought, her mind reeling.
It suddenly made perfect sense why Dumbledore had nominated Sean as his
successor. Who else could be trusted more than a brother-in-arms? But as the
realization settled, both Justin and Hermione felt a chilling sense of distance.
Sean was right there, yet he felt as though he were standing on the far side of
a vast, misty ocean, looking back at them from a shore they couldn't reach.
"I..." Slughorn looked torn, his conscience warring with his vanity.
"I know, Professor. I know how much courage it takes to look your own errors in
the eye," Sean said gently. Slughorn couldn't meet his gaze. "But I wanted you
to know that many people are fighting—right now—to end this evil once and for
all. They don't all possess legendary magic, but they all possess a noble
spirit. Headmaster Dumbledore and I believe you are one of them, sir. Even if
you haven't realized it yourself."
Slughorn covered his face with his hands, tears seeping through his plump
fingers. He looked, for a moment, like a giant, frightened infant.
"It is a shameful thing..." he sobbed. "I am ashamed of—of what that memory
shows. I fear I may have caused a great deal of harm that night..."
"Every man falters, sir. The difference between a hero and a coward is the
willingness to mend what was broken," Sean said softly.
Finally, with agonizing slowness, Slughorn reached into his robes and pulled out
his wand. With his other hand, he produced a small, empty glass phial.
He looked into Sean's eyes, pressed the tip of his wand to his temple, and
pulled.
A long, thick, silvery thread of memory followed the wand, stretching until it
finally snapped, shimmering like liquid light. Slughorn placed it into the
phial, where it coiled and uncoiled like a trapped gas. He corked the bottle
with trembling fingers and handed it across the table to Sean.
"Will I... will I be a brave man?" he asked hoarsely.
"When the great wind blows, sir, even the grass knows which way to bend," Sean
replied. He offered a deep, respectful bow. "Thank you, Professor."
"You are a good boy, Sean," Slughorn said, his tears soaking into his silver
whiskers. "You have more courage in your little finger than I have in my whole
body..."
Sean had secured the critical memory, but he didn't look happy. He offered a
quiet farewell to Slughorn and returned to Hope Cottage, his mind already
focused on the silver basin of the Pensieve.
The road was long, and their work was far from over. But for the first time, he
could see the horizon.
Inside the Shack, two heads poked around a doorframe. Justin and Hermione
hurried in, their heartbeats loud in the quiet room. Outside, the rest of the
school was celebrating the last days of the holiday. The sounds of Wizard's
Chess pieces clashing and the chime of Hand Mirrors echoed through the distant
corridors, but inside Sean's room, everything was still.
Sean poured the silver memory into the Pensieve. He felt the familiar pull as he
dove into the liquid light, falling through the darkness until he landed in
Slughorn's office decades in the past.
The younger Slughorn sat there, surrounded by his "trophy" students. Sean
watched as Tom Riddle leaned forward, his charm masking a predatory hunger.
"Sir... I wondered if you knew anything about... Horcruxes."
Slughorn's younger self stared at the boy, his fingers stroking the stem of his
wine glass. "A Defense Against the Dark Arts project, is it, Tom?"
"No, sir. I saw the term in a book. I didn't quite grasp the theory."
"Mmm... naturally. Hogwarts doesn't stock many volumes on the subject. It is a
very dark magic, Tom. Very evil indeed."
"But you understand it, don't you, sir? A wizard of your standing—pardon me, I
only mean that if anyone could explain it, it would be you."
It was a masterful performance. Riddle's tone was hesitant, seemingly innocent,
layered with just the right amount of flattery.
"Well," Slughorn sighed, clearly enjoying the role of the knowledgeable mentor.
"I suppose a basic overview wouldn't hurt. A Horcrux is an object in which a
person has concealed part of their soul."
"I don't quite follow, sir," Riddle pressed.
"You split your soul, you see," Slughorn explained. "You hide a piece of it in
an object outside the body. That way, if the body is destroyed, you cannot truly
die. A part of you remains anchored to this world, unharmed. But, of course, to
exist in such a form..." Slughorn winced. "Very few would seek such an
existence, Tom. Very few. Death would be a mercy by comparison."
But Riddle's desire was now naked on his face. His eyes were bright with a dark
greed he could no longer hide. "How does one split the soul?"
"You must understand, Tom, the soul is meant to remain whole. To tear it is an
act of supreme violation. It is against nature."
"But how?"
"Through an act of evil—the ultimate act. Through murder. Killing rips the soul
apart. The wizard seeking to create a Horcrux uses that trauma to ensnare the
fragment—"
"Ensnare it? How?"
"There is a formula, a ritual—do not ask me! I have never tried it!" Slughorn
shook his head like an old elephant bothered by a fly. "Do I look like a
murderer to you?"
"No, sir! Of course not," Riddle said quickly. "I meant no offense..."
"None taken, none taken," Slughorn grunted. "It is natural for a gifted wizard
to be curious about the boundaries of magic..."
"Yes, sir," Riddle said. Then, his voice dropped, and he asked the question that
had haunted Dumbledore for years. "What I don't understand is—and this is just a
hypothetical—is a single Horcrux sufficient? Would it not be better, more
powerful, to split the soul into multiple pieces? For example... isn't seven the
most powerfully magical number? Seven pieces...?"
"Merlin's beard, Tom!" Slughorn gasped. "Seven! Is one murder not evil enough?
To tear the soul into seven...!"
Sean watched Riddle's expression. He knew he would be replaying this moment in
his mind for weeks. Understanding Voldemort's obsession with numerical symmetry
was the only way to map their path forward.
At that moment, a wisp of white vapor—the Mists of Forgiveness—seeped from the
fractures in the Void Rune.
The mist settled over Sean's head, wrapping around his eyes. Suddenly, the
material world of the memory—the chairs, the pineapple, the wine—vanished. Sean
found himself looking at the "Naked Souls" of the two wizards.
He saw the soul-forms: blurry, shifting entities made of raw wisdom and emotion.
In that heartbeat, he saw no "Wisdom" in Tom Riddle. He saw only a searing,
blood-red light—a physical manifestation of an unyielding obsession. It radiated
from Riddle's chest, a crimson fire that refused to fade.
He will do it, Sean realized. He is already committed to the seven.
The vision shattered. Sean was thrown back into the physical world, gasping for
air as he hit the floor of the Shack.
He felt a crushing wave of exhaustion. His head was spinning, and his vision was
swimming with after-images. The Spiced Wine Tart from the kitchens combined with
the magical drain of the Pensieve was finally taking its toll.
He looked up and saw eight-headed Justin hovering over him, looking concerned.
And beside him, a six-armed Hermione was reaching out to catch him.
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