The Sorting Hat's Accusation

"Nothing, Professor." Snape quickly placed the Sorting Hat back on the shelf. "Just looking."

"Albus," the Sorting Hat suddenly twisted, a wide slit opening along its brim like a grinning mouth, from which an irate voice emerged. "He touched me."

What?!

Snape mentally formed a slow question mark. Does this hat even hear itself speak?

"How is Professor Slughorn?" Snape hurriedly asked loudly, hoping to prevent the hat from saying anything more absurd. "Is he alright?"

Dumbledore stepped forward, patting the Sorting Hat in reassurance, then said gently:

"Horace is asleep. I gave him some of Madam Pomfrey's Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"Ah, tonight really wore him out." Snape sighed. Slughorn had gone through such intense emotional turmoil tonight; at his age, it was no small feat.

"You've worked hard too," Dumbledore said, looking at Snape with approval in his eyes. "To extract such important information from Horace."

"But," he shifted tone, his voice turning serious, "it seems you've cast aside the advice I gave you last time, still investigating Voldemort's information on your own."

"That's not fair, Professor," Snape said with dissatisfaction. "If you've made no progress here, are you saying I'm not allowed to investigate myself?"

"Ah, forget it," Dumbledore said helplessly. "Tonight's information is extremely important. Regardless, I must thank you, Severus.

"Apologies, I can't award you points this time; this matter requires absolute secrecy. Aside from that, is there any reward you'd like?"

"Oh, no points, huh," Snape grumbled inwardly. Who cared about a few house points anyway? But his face put on a look of regret. "What a pity, Professor.

"How about you give me a phoenix and let me be Male Student Council President next year?"

"The latter half is worth considering," Dumbledore nodded, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "As long as you don't go running off to a place like Borgin and Burkes after graduation to be some ordinary shop assistant."

"Ha, ha, ha," Snape let out a dry laugh. "You sure know how to joke, Professor. I'm rather fond of this face of mine."

"Well said," Dumbledore praised. "A young wizard should cherish his appearance as much as his talent.

"By the way, Severus. Do you remember the McKinnon family, attacked by Death Eaters over the summer?"

"I do. What about them?" Snape pressed. "Have they been attacked again?"

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "But tonight's information gave me a theory."

He paused, then continued.

"After their attack, I kept wondering what made the McKinnons special. Now, if Voldemort created Horcruxes, everything makes sense.

"The McKinnons have run a small potion shop in Dundee for generations. If there's anything unique about them, it's their experience treating accidental soul damage—they're fairly well-known in the magical world for it."

"You mean Voldemort sought them out to treat his soul damage?"

"Yes. I can't think of any other reasonable explanation at the moment."

"Are they safe now?"

"No need to worry. They've temporarily closed their shop and gone into hiding."

Snape thought to himself: While he didn't particularly care about their safety, that answer was hardly reassuring. So he pressed further: "Who's the Fidelius Charm secret-keeper?"

"Oh, you know that spell." Dumbledore looked somewhat surprised. "I am the secret-keeper."

Not completely clueless this time, Snape thought.

"Now, tell me," Dumbledore asked, "when you mentioned a Horcrux in the castle to Horace, was it to fish for information, or is it true?"

"Mm—" Snape hesitated for a moment, then decided to tell the truth. "It's true, Professor. The Horcrux is in the Room of Requirement."

"Ah, the 'Come and Go Room,'" Dumbledore sighed softly. "That is a very remarkable room.

"One morning, I took a wrong turn on my way to the toilet and somehow found myself in a beautifully decorated room I'd never seen before, filled with all sorts of exquisite, luxurious chamber pots.

"When I went back to investigate, the room had vanished. I theorized it could only be entered at half past five in the morning, or perhaps only during a crescent moon—or maybe when the person looking for the toilet had a particularly full bladder."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "It was the kitchen elves who later told me that room only appears when someone truly needs it. They call it the 'Come and Go Room' or the 'Room of Requirement.'

"Still, Tom was foolish enough to hide a Horcrux in the Room of Requirement. You see, Severus, another lesson: we should not defy nature by splitting our souls."

"I agree, Professor," Snape replied. "But I must confirm with you in advance—do you have a way to destroy the Horcrux?"

"Though I don't think it will be an easy task," Dumbledore said, lifting his chin slightly with confidence, "with my power—I'm sorry to say it—if even I can't do it, no one can."

"Overconfidence isn't always a good thing, sir." Snape barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "Voldemort taught us that too."

"You're right. I apologize; I shouldn't be so complacent." Dumbledore immediately offered a sincere apology. "Now, why don't you take me to see that Horcrux?"

"Let's go, Professor. Another sleepless night. Can you write me an excuse note tomorrow?" Snape said resignedly, turning to lead the way.

"No problem." Dumbledore agreed readily.

Staring at the mountain of assorted objects before him, Dumbledore couldn't help but marvel: "This must be the accumulation of generations of students and teachers. Who knows how many stories are hidden in here."

"—Or accidents," Snape added.

He led Dumbledore through walls of piled-up junk, past a stuffed troll, and by the wreckage of a Vanishing Cabinet, until they reached a tall stack of debris.

After clearing away the items covering it, Snape spotted his own torn sleeve.

"Professor, don't look directly at the Horcrux. It can bewitch you, make you want to put it on."

Seeing Dumbledore nod in agreement, Snape took a deep breath, tried his best not to let his pupils focus, and with difficulty used magic to shift the sleeve aside.

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," Dumbledore murmured the words engraved on the diadem, a flicker of complex emotion in his eyes. "Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem."

"Professor, you—"

"Rest assured, I thank heaven for granting me extraordinary intellect; I will not be easily deceived by it."

"Oh."

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