Memories of the Heart || Harry Potter x Reader

Y6 ~ Ring of Fire

Dumbledore carefully withdrew the shimmering memory from a delicate vial, his long fingers steady despite the weight of what he was about to reveal. The silvery substance swirled and pulsed as he tipped it into the Pensieve, sending ripples of light across its surface. The dim glow reflected in his half-moon spectacles, shadowing the deep lines of his face. Harry and Y/N exchanged a glance—both curious, both apprehensive—before leaning forward. A rush of cool air enveloped them as they were pulled into the memory, their surroundings dissolving into streaks of silver and black.

When their feet touched solid ground again, they found themselves standing in a warmly lit, book-lined room. The scent of aged parchment, melting wax, and spiced mead hung in the air, mingling with the faint traces of smoke curling from the candles. A long table in the corner bore the remnants of a small gathering—half-drunk goblets of wine, a plate of crystallized pineapple, and the golden shimmer of a nearly empty decanter.

But the room's prior warmth was now absent. Only two figures remained: Tom Riddle, his posture deceptively relaxed, and Professor Slughorn, who was nursing a drink with a slight furrow in his brow.

"I was in the library the other night," Tom began, his voice smooth, deliberate. "In the Restricted Section." He tilted his head slightly, watching Slughorn with keen interest. "And I came across something... rather curious. A bit of rare magic."

Slughorn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet. "Oh? And what might that be, dear boy?" he asked, attempting to keep his tone light.

"A Horcrux," Tom said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet the word seemed to slice through the room like a blade.

Slughorn visibly stiffened, his ruddy cheeks paling. "I-I beg your pardon?"

"A Horcrux," Tom repeated, slower this time, savoring the way the word hung in the air. His dark eyes gleamed with something unsettling. "I came across the term while reading, but the text was... incomplete. I hoped you might be able to enlighten me, Professor."

Slughorn set his goblet down with a soft clink, his fingers trembling slightly. "I don't know what you were reading, Tom, but this is very dark magic. Very dark indeed."

"Which is why," Tom leaned forward just a fraction, his smile pleasant but his eyes cold, "I came to you."

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows across his face, accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones, the way his lips curled slightly at the edges. He was polite, respectful—on the surface. But underneath, there was something predatory in his gaze, something that made Slughorn avert his eyes, suddenly preoccupied with the dregs of his drink.

"A Horcrux," Slughorn murmured, his voice thick with reluctance, "is an object in which one conceals a fragment of their soul."

Tom's fingers traced the rim of his own goblet, his expression carefully neutral. "And how does one go about doing that?"

Slughorn hesitated. "One... splits the soul, and places a portion of it inside an object. By doing so, should the physical body be destroyed, the soul remains... tethered to this world."

Tom's lips parted slightly, eyes darkening with what could only be described as fascination. "So... one becomes immortal?"

Slughorn swallowed, gripping the edge of the table as though grounding himself. "A crude way to put it, but yes," he admitted.

"And how," Tom asked, leaning forward with the air of a student deeply engrossed in his studies, "does one split their soul?"

Slughorn let out a shaky breath, his fingers twisting in his lap. "I think you already know the answer to that, Tom."