The young Professor Horace Slughorn wasn't yet bald. He had a thick head of glossy blond hair.
However, the observant Sherlock noticed a Galleon-sized bald spot had already formed on his crown.
Additionally, his ginger mustache wasn't as bushy as now. His figure wasn't as rotund either, though the gold buttons on his embroidered waistcoat were already quite tight.
Slughorn's small feet rested on a large velvet cushion, and he was half-reclining in a comfortable winged armchair. His right hand held a small glass of wine, while his other hand picked through a box of crystallized pineapple. He looked very relaxed and comfortable.
"The Slytherin Head of House's office," Sherlock said softly.
Just then, Harry and Dumbledore appeared beside Sherlock.
Sherlock didn't converse with them. He scanned the surroundings and found six or seven fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boys sitting around Slughorn.
Tom Riddle was the most eye-catching among them. Not only because he was the most handsome, but also because he happened to be surrounded by the boys in the center.
Compared to the other somewhat awkward young boys, his posture was most relaxed. his right hand casually draped over the chair's armrest, wearing an antique, exquisitely crafted black gemstone ring.
Just then, the memory officially began.
It was Tom Riddle who spoke first. "Sir, is Professor Merrythought retiring?"
"Tom, Tom, even if I knew, I couldn't tell you." Slughorn shook a sugar-frosted finger at him as if in reproach, but winked at him. "I must say, I'd like to know where you got your information, boy—you know more than half the staff."
Riddle smiled slightly, and the other boys laughed too, casting him admiring glances.
Sherlock noticed that these boys' admiration was genuine. This brought a slight smile to Sherlock's lips. "Interesting."
Slughorn continued. "You little rascal, always knowing things you shouldn't know. And carefully ingratiating yourself with important people—by the way, thank you for the pineapple, you guessed right, it really is my favorite—"
Several boys snickered again. Slughorn relaxed his posture, and his words began to get carried away. "I believe you'll be Minister of Magic within twenty years, maybe just fifteen—if you keep sending me crystallized pineapple—I have 'strong' connections in the Ministry."
The other boys laughed for the third time, but Tom Riddle only smiled throughout, appearing very elegant.
"I don't know if politics suits me, sir," Tom Riddle said slowly after the laughter subsided. "First of all, I have no background."
The two boys closest to him exchanged smiles at this.
Based on Sherlock's knowledge of Voldemort, he knew that by this time, Tom Riddle had already begun quietly building his reputation at school, making people believe he came from an ancient wizarding family that had simply fallen on hard times.
"What are you saying?" Slughorn laughed heartily. "Talent like yours must come from a respectable wizarding family. That's perfectly clear. You have a bright future ahead, Tom. I've never been wrong about a student."
"..."
As soon as he said this, Harry and Dumbledore, observing the memory, couldn't help but shake their heads—this time he was gravely mistaken.
At the same time, the small golden clock on Slughorn's desk struck eleven.
"Good heavens, is it that late already? Time to go, boys, or we'll be in trouble. Lestrange, hand in your essay tomorrow or it's detention. You too, Avery."
As Slughorn called out two boys' names, he slowly climbed from his chair and took the empty glass to the desk.
The boys left Slughorn's office one by one, but Riddle lingered behind.
Even without Sherlock's explanation, Harry could see he was deliberately dawdling, hoping to be left alone with Slughorn.
When Slughorn turned around, he found Riddle still standing there and urged. "Hurry up, Tom—you don't want to be caught out after lights-out, do you?"
"..."
"You know, you're a prefect..."
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."
"Then ask quickly, boy, quickly..."
"Sir, I wanted to ask if you know about... Horcruxes."
As soon as this proper noun was spoken, Slughorn's gaze suddenly contracted.
But soon, his plump fingers began absentmindedly stroking the stem of the empty wine glass. "A Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment, is it?"
Sherlock couldn't help but sneer.
Slughorn's behavior told him that this old professor knew very well that Horcruxes were definitely not school coursework.
Yet even so, he was still willing to say this. He truly thought highly of Tom Riddle.
"No, sir—I came across it in some miscellaneous book, but didn't quite understand it."
Riddle appeared very honest.
Slughorn looked deeply at Riddle. "Well... yes... it's indeed very difficult to find a book at Hogwarts that discusses Horcruxes in detail, Tom. Because they're very evil things, very evil indeed."
"But you obviously know quite a bit, sir?"
Riddle looked at Slughorn with a sincere expression, using an admiring tone. "I mean to say, a wizard like you—sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me... Obviously—I just know that if anyone could tell me, it would be you—so I thought I'd ask—"
Riddle's performance made Sherlock regard him even more highly.
In Sherlock's view, this Tom Riddle, who hadn't yet become Voldemort, was actually far more sophisticated than after he'd achieved his dark powers.
That hesitant, casual tone. That subtle flattery. One bit more would seem excessive, one bit less would be insufficient. Just right.
Sherlock himself had too much experience extracting information from unwilling people—he'd had another instance just ten minutes ago—so he couldn't fail to recognize an expert.
Of course, no matter how well Tom Riddle disguised himself, he couldn't fool Sherlock's eyes.
For this moment, he might have been planning for several weeks.
"Tom..." Slughorn didn't look at Riddle but continued playing with the ribbon on the crystallized pineapple box.
"Actually, giving you a simple introduction won't do any harm, just to help you understand the term. A Horcrux refers to an object that contains a portion of a person's soul."
"...But I still don't quite understand, sir, how exactly does it work?"
Riddle carefully controlled his voice. This time, even Harry sensed his excitement.
However, Slughorn seemed completely oblivious and continued with the topic. "Compared to the term 'Horcrux,' I actually prefer to call it a 'soul fragment,' because it can split a complete soul and hide it in a certain object. This way, even if your body is attacked or destroyed, you won't die. Because part of your soul remains in the world, undamaged. But, of course, strictly speaking, a soul existing in this form..."
Speaking of this, Slughorn's brow furrowed tightly. He seemed to be organizing his words.
Sherlock immediately recalled Voldemort from two years ago, whom he'd encountered in the room where the Philosopher's Stone was kept.
Without a body, he could only cling to the back of Quirrell's head, existing in that humiliating way.
To some extent, at that time, he was even worse off than Hogwarts ghosts.
Yet he was still alive. Barely surviving.
"Very few people would become like that, Tom, very few indeed. Rather than become like that, it would be better to simply die—at least that would be quicker."
Slughorn didn't forget to remind Tom Riddle, but unfortunately, by this point Riddle's greedy expression could barely be hidden.
He showed a look of desperate hunger and continued pressing. "How do you split your soul?"
"Oh?"
Hearing Riddle's words, Slughorn became somewhat uneasy.
"Tom, you must understand that a human soul—no, the soul of any living thing—should remain intact. We should revere life. Splitting the soul is unnatural, it goes against objective laws. Even those evil Dark wizards are unwilling to understand these things."
"But... exactly how do you split it?"
Riddle ignored these warnings and continued pressing.
"Through an evil act—the most evil act." Slughorn emphasized. "Murder—only killing can split the soul. The wizard who wants to create a Horcrux uses this destruction to seal away the fragmented soul piece—"
"Seal it? But how specifically—?"
"There's a spell. Don't ask me, I don't know!" Slughorn began shaking his head desperately. "Do I look like I've tried it—do I look like a murderer?"
"No, sir, of course not." Riddle also realized he'd gone too far and quickly apologized. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to offend..."
"Not at all, not at all, no offense taken." Slughorn said gruffly, "It's natural to be curious about these things... talented wizards like you are always drawn to the other side of magic..."
From this scene, Sherlock could see that Slughorn truly did like Tom Riddle very much, no less than Lily—it could be said to be true love.
"Yes, sir." Riddle seized the opportunity decisively. "But what I don't understand is—of course, purely out of curiosity. What I want to ask is, is one Horcrux very useful?"
Slughorn immediately tensed up. "Tom, what—what are you saying?"
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