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Honeydukes Sweetshop buzzed like a small marketplace, teeming with Hogwarts students.
Shelves lined the walls, brimming with the most delectable treats: plump, juicy chocolates, Pepper Imps that made your mouth puff with smoke, glistening pink coconut ices, and barrels overflowing with Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
After making their purchases, Severus Snape and Pandora wrapped their scarves tightly around their faces, pulled on their gloves, and pushed their way out of the warm, sugary haven, clutching paper bags stuffed with sweets.
The biting wind lashed at their faces like a blade.
They trudged forward, heads bowed against the howling gale, making their way along the main road toward Hogwarts with difficulty.
Snape's brow furrowed, his heart heavy. Each step felt like wading through treacle.
All along the path, his mind churned over the news Mundungus had shared earlier.
Caractacus Burke, one of the co-founders of Borgin and Burkes, had lost all his memories last month and was now confined to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Snape mentally reviewed everything he'd done since arriving in this timeline, certain none of his actions could have directly altered Burke's fate.
In the original books, Borgin and Burkes seemed to be run solely by Borgin. Burke's only appearance was in a memory, glimpsed through the Pensieve in the Headmaster's office.
So, according to the original timeline, when exactly did Dumbledore acquire Burke's memory?
The more he thought, the deeper his frown grew.
Suddenly, a realization struck Snape like a bolt of lightning.
In the memories Dumbledore showed Harry, only Caractacus Burke's memory was recounted directly by the man himself—a frail, ghostly figure with thick hair obscuring his eyes, emerging from a swirling silver-white mass in the Pensieve.
All the other memories—Dumbledore's own, Bob Ogden's from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Morfin Gaunt's, Hokey the house-elf's, even Slughorn's tampered recollection—were experienced firsthand by Dumbledore and Harry, immersed in the Pensieve.
Could Dumbledore have already retrieved Burke's memory?
Or had Burke's resistance been so fierce, his magical prowess so formidable, that Dumbledore resorted to drastic measures, damaging Burke's mind in the process?
A flicker of unease stirred in Snape's chest. The more he pondered, the more questions arose. Apart from Slughorn, his old colleague, why did everyone else whose memories Dumbledore collected—human or elf—end up dead for one reason or another?
With the timeline now drastically altered, would they still meet the same fates Dumbledore described to Harry—succumbing to age or ailment?
A chill crept down Snape's spine, colder than the wind that whipped around him. He didn't dare speculate further on the reasons behind it.
But one thing was certain: he had to tread more carefully than ever. Dumbledore must never discover his secret as a time-traveler.
Even more troubling, Snape needed to find a way to stop Dumbledore from visiting the Gaunt shack alone and slipping on the Peverell ring.
If Dumbledore fell prematurely, Snape might have to resort to drastic measures—perhaps even tricking or cajoling a group of people to flee with him to Australia.
Lately, the Headmaster had been absent from the staff table at meals. Snape had no idea how far Dumbledore's plans had progressed.
And now, with the Elder Wand and the Invisibility Cloak already in Dumbledore's possession, what would happen if he acquired the Resurrection Stone, completing the trio of Deathly Hallows?
"Hey, Severus, what's on your mind?"
Pandora's clear voice broke through his thoughts, her fingers waving in front of his face.
Unbeknownst to him, they'd reached the castle gates.
"Oh, nothing," Snape said, snapping back to reality. "Let's head inside."
Pandora's concerned expression deepened the unease in his heart.
The wind's relentless howl was the only sound around them.
From the next day onward, Snape found himself instinctively scanning the castle grounds for Dumbledore, but the Headmaster remained elusive.
It wasn't until the next meeting of the Slug Club that Snape still had no clue where Dumbledore had gone.
At each gathering, Snape brought Slughorn a box of meticulously prepared candied pineapple. The old professor couldn't resist them—a preference once endorsed by the charming, cunning Tom Riddle himself.
"If you keep bringing me candied pineapple, Severus," Slughorn said, wagging a sugar-frosted finger with a smug grin, "I wager you'll rise through the ranks at the Ministry in no time. I've got solid connections there, you know."
"Within twenty years—no, perhaps fifteen—you could be heading a key department."
Snape offered a faint smile, nodding as Slughorn rambled on about old wizarding tales and his vast network of contacts, all while quietly biding his time.
Finally, the golden clock on Slughorn's desk chimed eleven.
"Good heavens, is it that time already?" Slughorn said, reluctant to end the evening. "Time flies when you're enjoying yourself. Off you go, children. Black, don't let Quidditch practice make you forget that essay due tomorrow, or it's detention for you."
The students rose, filing out in an orderly line.
Slughorn heaved himself from his chair, carrying his empty cup to the desk.
But Snape lingered in the office. He had a question for Slughorn.
He knew he couldn't let the sword of Damocles hang over his head forever. Even if Dumbledore was absent for now, Snape had to prepare. The moment the Headmaster returned, he'd request a meeting.
Snape was certain Dumbledore hadn't yet approached Slughorn. Given the current circumstances, there was no way Dumbledore could have deduced from Riddle's diary that Voldemort had created more than one Horcrux.
"Ahem." Snape cleared his throat softly.
The sound made Slughorn turn, spotting Snape still standing there.
"Hurry along, Severus. You don't want to be caught out after curfew."
Snape hesitated, the words sounding oddly loaded.
But he pushed the thought aside, took a deep breath, and said, "Sir, I'd like to ask you something."
"Well, spit it out, boy, spit it out…"
"Sir, do you know anything about… Horcruxes?"
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