"My dear Albus, you truly have an exceptional student."
Horace Slughorn looked at Sean with undisguised envy.
Since retiring, Slughorn had often found himself regretting his decision.
Over the past decade, he had watched wave after wave of brilliant young witches and wizards graduate from Hogwarts and make names for themselves in the magical world.
And every time he thought about all those remarkable talents he had never taught—young people who neither knew him nor owed him any favors—he felt a deep and inexplicable sadness.
Sean Grylls, according to rumor, had survived a Killing Curse cast by Bellatrix Lestrange.
Granted, that feat did not carry quite the same legendary weight as Harry Potter's survival.
Still, it had made Sean famous from childhood.
"Speaking of talent," Dumbledore said with a smile, "your eye for gifted students has always been remarkable. Just look at them now."
He gestured to the framed photographs covering the walls.
Sean studied the moving pictures.
He did not recognize most of the faces, but he knew some of the smiling figures were long dead.
Slughorn positively beamed.
He eagerly pointed from photo to photo.
"Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet. I frequently owl him my thoughts on current affairs."
"Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Extraordinary player. I can obtain complimentary tickets to any of their matches."
Then Slughorn's voice softened.
"Lily Potter. Dear Lily. One of my favorites. A natural talent in Potions."
Sean took a closer look.
Even in the magical photograph, Lily appeared elegant and striking.
Her eyes were especially vivid.
No wonder Severus Snape had loved her so deeply.
"Harry Potter's mother?" Sean asked.
Slughorn, oblivious to the trap Sean was setting, nodded warmly.
"Indeed. The mother of the Boy Who Lived."
Sean sighed.
"How tragic. Harry survived, but Mrs. Potter died at Voldemort's hands."
He glanced at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore was watching Slughorn carefully.
The old wizard's smile vanished instantly.
His eyes darted away, and he swallowed as though his throat had suddenly gone dry.
"Don't say that name," Slughorn muttered nervously. "It invites trouble."
"Horace," Dumbledore said gently, "I believe you already know that Voldemort is alive."
Slughorn did not answer.
Dumbledore continued.
"I have discovered his secret. The secret that made him nearly immortal."
Slughorn forced a calm expression.
"What secret?"
"Horcruxes," Dumbledore said quietly. "And I have already destroyed one."
Slughorn blurted out before he could stop himself.
"How did you do it?"
The question gave him away.
"Fiendfyre," Dumbledore replied. "I reduced it to ashes."
He leaned forward.
"If we can locate the others and destroy them, Voldemort will become mortal again."
Slughorn stiffened.
"Why come to me? Do you think I'm hiding one?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"You were one of Tom Riddle's favorite professors. Did he ever discuss Horcruxes with you? For example… how many he intended to make?"
Slughorn denied it immediately.
"I was fond of him, yes. But we never discussed such dark magic."
Each Horcrux required murder.
Each required the tearing apart of a soul.
Every time Slughorn thought of that, guilt washed over him.
He felt as though every life Voldemort had taken carried a shadow of his own responsibility.
But he still could not bring himself to admit the truth.
Sean had anticipated this.
Slughorn would reveal what he knew eventually.
But Sean did not want to wait months.
The sooner they knew how many Horcruxes existed, the sooner they could destroy them.
So Sean stepped forward.
"Professor, there is a student at Hogwarts whose life is in immediate danger."
Slughorn looked up sharply.
"Do you know who it is?"
"Who?"
Sean met his gaze.
"Harry Potter."
Slughorn's pupils dilated.
Sean exchanged a quick glance with Dumbledore and pressed on.
"A fragment of Voldemort's soul lies dormant within Harry. If that fragment encounters the remaining Horcruxes, Voldemort may awaken—and Harry will die."
"Horace," Dumbledore said solemnly, catching on at once, "we must learn what Horcruxes Voldemort created. Only by destroying them can we save Harry."
Slughorn stared at Lily's photograph.
Young Lily sat smiling beside him.
His thoughts drifted back more than a decade.
The student he had cherished was dead.
Killed by another student he had cherished.
And now Lily's son was threatened by the same monster.
He could not bear to let history repeat itself.
At last, his conscience overcame his shame.
"Tom Riddle came to me in his third year," Slughorn said quietly.
"He asked whether a wizard could split his soul into seven pieces."
He shook his head.
"I thought it was only theoretical speculation. Splitting the soul is unimaginably painful. To do it even once would be horrifying."
Dumbledore's face grew grave.
"In reality, he succeeded. We already know of three fragments."
Three.
The diary.
The diadem.
And the soul fragment sleeping inside Draco.
As for Sean's statement about Harry, Dumbledore assumed Sean had simply used Harry as an emotional lever to sway Slughorn.
He had no idea Sean was speaking the truth.
Dumbledore's mind raced.
Seven pieces of soul.
One remained with Voldemort himself.
Six were intended as Horcruxes.
If the fragment within Draco was Voldemort's main soul, that left four Horcruxes yet to be found.
Sean, meanwhile, knew the reality was slightly different.
The fragment in Harry had been created accidentally.
And Voldemort had already reabsorbed the soul fragment from the Gaunt ring.
Which meant the true remaining Horcruxes were:
Ravenclaw's DiademHufflepuff's CupSlytherin's LocketNagini
Dumbledore continued questioning Slughorn, but beyond the revelation about seven soul fragments, the old professor knew little else.
At last Slughorn offered one final insight.
"Tom was obsessed with power and blood purity. If he chose objects for Horcruxes, they would be items worthy of his importance."
Dumbledore already suspected as much.
He had taught Tom Riddle for seven years and had watched him closely.
Even if he had never been as close to Tom as Slughorn had, he understood the boy's vanity.
When they left Slughorn's house, they did not immediately Apparate back.
Instead, Dumbledore strolled along the beach.
"Horace certainly knows how to live," he said.
"A seaside home, pleasant weather, sunshine, sand… and beautiful women."
"Beautiful women?" Sean repeated.
Dumbledore coughed.
"Well… leaving that aside, your performance back there was superb."
He chuckled.
"You nearly convinced me as well."
"Using Lily to crack Horace's defenses was particularly clever."
Sean laughed awkwardly.
"I just took advantage of the emotional angle."
Inwardly, he wanted to shout:
I wasn't acting, Professor. Harry really is a Horcrux.
"You and I worked well together," Dumbledore said. "Bringing you was an excellent decision."
Sean asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Professor, do you have any idea where the remaining Horcruxes might be?"
Rather than answer directly, Dumbledore asked another question.
"Have you ever visited Wiltshire?"
Sean shook his head.
"You know I grew up in the Leaky Cauldron. The farthest I usually wandered was around London."
Dumbledore smiled.
"Excellent."
He extended his arm.
"Our next destination is Wiltshire."
Sean grasped Dumbledore's arm, bracing for another wave of dizziness.
He had no idea why Dumbledore wanted to visit Wiltshire.
Moments later, they arrived.
Wiltshire was not far from Hampshire, and this time Dumbledore's Apparition was perfectly accurate.
Sean surveyed their surroundings.
Overgrown weeds.
Towering shrubs.
Scattered stones.
Ahead, several ancient trees intertwined so densely that they nearly concealed an old wooden shack.
The walls were covered with thick, twisted vines.
It looked abandoned.
But what truly caught Sean's eye was the dead snake nailed to the front door.
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