Orphanage

Professor Gradelan finished assigning the after-class essay, and as the students packed up to leave, she called out to Snape and handed him a roll of parchment.

Snape unrolled the parchment as he walked out, revealing familiar thin, slanted handwriting—

"Dear Severus, If you have no other plans today, please come to my office at seven o'clock this evening.

Yours faithfully, Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I do not like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans."

"He doesn't like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans?" Aber said, leaning in to read Dumbledore's note over Snape's shoulder, his face full of confusion.

"Good little boys better not know what that means."

Ignoring Aber's protests, Snape tucked the parchment away.

That evening, he walked along the familiar corridor and once again arrived outside the Headmaster's office.

"Haha, of course I know you, the stone beast pair at the teacher's office door is my brother."

"Yeah, yeah, we've both been forced to have our bones separated from stone for centuries."

The stone beast responded to Snape in a low voice.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with the stone monster at the door, Snape ascended the moving spiral staircase behind it and arrived at the door of Dumbledore's office.

He raised his hand and gently knocked with his knuckles.

"Come in." Dumbledore's cheerful voice came from inside immediately, as if he had been waiting for Snape.

"Good evening, Professor," Snape said, pushing open the door and stepping into the Headmaster's office. "Is there something you need from me?"

"Ah, good evening, Severus. Sit down," Dumbledore said, a warm smile on his face as he pointed to a chair nearby. "How has your first week of the new term been?"

"Not bad, Professor," Snape said, sitting down and cutting straight to the point. "Are we about to set off?"

"Not yet," Dumbledore shook his head. "I think we need to do some preparatory work before we depart."

"Dumbledore, your choice this time is very wise." An old Headmaster in a portrait on the wall, who had been sleeping, suddenly let out a long yawn and opened his eyes. "You can never solve a problem without a man from Slytherin."

He was a wizard with a goatee and a clever look, dressed in silver and green Slytherin robes.

"Phineas," Dumbledore called out the clever-looking wizard's name, "Slytherin has always been a part of Hogwarts."

"Are you the legendary Headmaster who earned unanimous 'praise' from all four houses?" Snape looked up at Phineas, a hint of curiosity in his tone, and he deliberately emphasized the word "praise."

"Oh, good lad," Phineas said, seemingly missing the sarcasm, looking pleased. "Young people from Slytherin are sometimes quite right."

"You're right, Phineas." Dumbledore turned back and smiled gently at Snape. "I called you here because, since you already know that Voldemort is Tom Riddle, "and that he chose Ravenclaw's Diadem as his Horcrux, it's time for you to learn more information."

Dumbledore paused for a moment after speaking before continuing.

"Last term, through your research into history, you deduced Tom's identity. Inspired by you, I further realized the importance of understanding Tom's past, so I also conducted some investigations.

"I went to Borgin and Burkes and had a friendly chat with Caractacus Burke."

"Friendly enough to land him in St Mungo's?" Snape's lips curled slightly.

"Oh, that was an accident. You know, Burke isn't particularly cooperative."

As he said this, Dumbledore stood up, walked around the desk, and passed by Snape.

Snape turned in his chair, watching Dumbledore walk to the cabinet by the door that held books related to Horcruxes, bending down to open its door.

When Dumbledore straightened up, he was holding a shallow stone basin that Snape had seen before with Slughorn, its rim carved with a circle of strange runes.

Dumbledore placed the Pensieve on the table in front of Snape.

"Are we going into Burke's memory, Professor?" Snape asked.

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "First, we're going into my memory. You go first, Severus..."

Snape leaned over the Pensieve, his face plunging into the basin's icy memory, and then he was once again falling uncontrollably through darkness... A few seconds later, his feet landed on solid ground.

He opened his eyes and found himself and Dumbledore standing on a busy, old-fashioned street in London.

They unhurriedly followed a young Albus Dumbledore, wearing an exquisite magenta velvet suit, as he crossed the road and walked all the way to a square building with a sign hanging on the wall that read "Wool's Orphanage."

After passing through a large iron gate, they entered a bare courtyard.

Behind the courtyard stood a square, gloomy, and austere building, surrounded by high iron railings.

"This is the orphanage where Tom grew up?" Snape asked.

At that moment, young Dumbledore was speaking to a slovenly girl wearing an apron.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, a hint of reminiscence in his eyes. "Let's follow."

Mrs. Cole, looking anxious, led them into a small room that seemed half living room, half office.

The room was furnished as shabbily and sparsely as the entrance hall, with old, mismatched furniture.

"You came in person to invite Tom to enroll back then?" Snape asked, already knowing the answer. "How does this help us find the Horcrux?"

"Patience, Severus." Dumbledore gestured toward Mrs. Cole.

Mrs. Cole was holding a glass of Gin, calmly recounting a story from years ago:

"I remember it clearly, because I had just started working here then. It was New Year's Eve, snowing outside, freezing cold...

"That girl—she wasn't much older than I was at the time—stumbled up the front steps... In less than an hour, she gave birth. In less than another hour, she was dead..."

Mrs. Cole nodded meaningfully and took another large gulp of Gin.

"But there was never any Tom, Marvolo, or Riddle family member who came for him, nor did he have any relatives..."

Almost absentmindedly, Mrs. Cole poured herself another full glass of Gin. Two red patches bloomed on her cheekbones.

"What was Voldemort's mother's name, Professor?" Snape asked.

"Merope Gaunt, or rather, Merope Riddle," Dumbledore said. "Come, Severus, let's go meet eleven-year-old Tom."

Still no recommendations, and after 100,000 words the data still isn't enough—I'm really too mediocre.

I need to reflect on this book's problems.

I won't make any promises about continuing to write (people who say that usually end up dropping it, right?), but at least there are still some stories in my head that haven't made it to paper. I'll try my best to show them to you all (if anyone still wants to read).

I'm truly sorry, everyone. Thank you for your reading, votes, and tips up to now. My apologies.