I hope our story has a happier ending

all the pain and the truth

When they show up at Dumledore's office with the memory, he's entirely unsurprised, and doesn't look especially impressed or pleased that they've managed to procure it—just smiles, casually, and opens the doors that hide the pensive.

(Unbothered that he encouraged teenagers to emotionally manipulate a professor, however necessary.)

Something about this meeting feels—different, though.

(Like something big is about to happen.)

The weight of it all, the anticipation and mounting pressure, it crashes over them as they fall into the memory, the very air electrified.

The beginning is the same; the end of a potions class, Tom approaching Slughorn with a dazzling smile.

But this time, when he asks about horcruxes, instead of the warped scream, Slughorn's expression grows worried. "That's dark magic, m'boy. What on earth would you want to know about those for?"

Riddle plays it off, of course, citing intellectual curiosity and a need to be prepared; Harry's clutching at Hermione's hand as Voldemort's child self charms his way into seeming innocent even as he inquires about the darkest of magic.

And Hermione's confused, because the questions he's asking Slughorn are clearly distractors, things he already knows—she can see a book about dark magics in his schoolbag, making a mental note of the title.

And then he asks the question he really wants to ask, and the pieces fall into place as she sucks in a gasp of understanding.

"Seven?" Harry demands in a whisper beside her.

(Seven pieces of his soul—six horcruxes.)

The diary and ring are gone, of course, and they have the locket and diadem in their possession, but that leaves two others—the snake, as they'd established last year, and god only knows what the last one could possibly be.

(Two final horcruxes they have no idea how to track down.)

The memory ends, and they're spat back out onto the cool tile of Dumbledore's office, all silent for a moment as they process their shock.

"Is it possible? Could a person survive splitting their soul that many times? We're sure he carried out that plan?" she asks the Headmaster, looking to him for information for perhaps the first time in her life.

"While a very intelligent individual, Tom Riddle's weakness has always been his attachment to significance," Dumbledore says grimly, with a slight shake of his head. "Having been treated so horribly for so long, he became obsessed with feeling like he belonged in the magical world, and proving it. Seven has historically been seen as a powerful magical number—if he fixated on it for something as important as his soul, I doubt he would've been able to focus on anything else until he had succeeded in doing so."

"But what that would do to a person..." Hermione shudders instinctively.

The older man nods, though he doesn't look nearly as disturbed; unfortunately, he's rather unsurprised. "I agree, it is likely the root of the loss of his sanity and humanity, so fractured is his very core. Given the way he produced a new body without the use of any horcrux, it's arguable that the being he is now is entirely soulless, though I'm not sure about the technicalities of such a thing."

They're all quiet, for a moment, taking it in—really, truly attempting to fathom the implications.

"You understand the role you must play in this?" Dumbledore asks, gaze darting between them. "For the remainder of the year, the three of us will attempt to track down and/or destroy the four horcruxes still in commission, but beyond that it will be up to you."