"I have called you here precisely because I need your help. Given that you are a student of Slytherin House, I hope you can make enquiries within the House and try to find out the current whereabouts of Slytherin's relics, and confirm whether they are still safe and sound," Dumbledore said solemnly to Draco, breaking the silence in the Headmaster's office.
Draco was so exasperated he almost laughed.
"You have just shamelessly admitted to taking advantage of my poor mother, and now you are brazenly taking advantage of me as well?"
"There is no one more suitable than you. The fewer people who know about this, the better," Dumbledore said calmly. "Even Sirius only thought he had destroyed a Dark artefact. I did not tell him about Horcruxes. He still does not know what he destroyed."
"You seem to trust me quite a great deal," Draco said with a forced smile.
Professor Dumbledore said calmly, "What you have done has proven to me that you are worthy of my trust."
Draco looked into his calm and wise eyes, then suddenly slumped back into his chair, deflated, unable to vent his frustration.
"Even so.... even if I were truly willing to look.... I would not know the specific details of Slytherin's relics. There are too many fakes, and too many copies based on hearsay. In the end, they are all just legends," Draco said dejectedly, his mood sinking inexplicably.
Dumbledore smiled. He stood up, walked around the table, and passed Draco. He took a shallow stone basin engraved with strange runes from the cabinet near the door.
Draco recognised it as a Pensieve. There was a similar one in the corner of his grandfather's study. However, Abraxas had never been a Pensieve enthusiast.
Wizards who can use the Pensieve are mostly masters of Legilimency. Draco examined the Pensieve and was once again glad that he had used Occlumency before coming.
At this moment, Dumbledore was still unable to get Draco to lower his guard and reveal everything.
"Let us walk through Bob Ogden's memory together," Professor Dumbledore said, unaware of Draco's thoughts. He busied himself pouring a bottle of silvery substance into the Pensieve and said lightly, "You will be able to see clearly what Slytherin's relics look like from his memories."
Draco took a deep breath in front of the Pensieve and plunged headfirst into the silvery substance.
--------
After a long while, Draco stood steadily back on the floor of Dumbledore's office. The sunlight outside the window had dimmed, and the sky was filled with the glow of sunset.
Draco was completely oblivious to the changing scenery outside the window. A deluge of information overwhelmed his chaotic mind, occupying all his attention.
That poor girl named Merope .... and the golden locket around her neck .... the Gaunt family .... the dead snake nailed to the door .... the black gemstone ring .... that fleeting glimpse of the Peverell coat of arms....
"Those two items, the black gemstone ring and the golden locket, are Slytherin's relics.... " Draco murmured.
"That is right. Those were the last two possessions of the Gaunt family. Marvolo valued them greatly .... as much as his son Morfin, and far more than his daughter Merope," said Professor Dumbledore.
"Marvol .... is he.... " Draco asked, his voice tinged with doubt.
"Voldemort's grandfather."
"Is he also a Parselmouth?" Draco asked again, certain of the answer.
"I suspect they all are."
"Unfortunately, I could not understand what they were saying," Draco said curiously. "How is it that you could understand and translate for me? Are you also.... "
"No. I can only understand a little," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I do not speak Parseltongue myself."
"Can one really learn Parseltongue later in life?"
"Yes, but it is extremely difficult." Dumbledore shrugged. "In my opinion, even Mermish is easier than Parseltongue."
Draco paused for a moment, then began to ask, "Is the girl in the shack.... Merope.... his mother?"
"Very clever," Dumbledore said, a hint of approval in his eyes.
"As everyone knows, the last male descendant of the Gaunt family was Morfin, and we have never heard of him having any offspring," Draco said.
Moreover, last school year he had already made a fairly accurate guess based on the Dark Lord's middle name "Marvolo."
The reason he is called "Tom Marvolo Riddle" and his surname does not contain "Gaunt" can only mean one thing: he is Marvolo's grandson, not his great-grandson.
"Oh, wait .... Merope's husband, is he not the Muggle outside the window?" Draco asked, frowning.
During his holidays, he had searched through the Malfoy family library but never found a noble family with the wizarding surname "Riddle."
"I must admit, your deductive thinking is quite impressive. That Muggle, old Tom Riddle, is quite handsome, is he not?" Dumbledore said with a smile.
"So .... the Dark Lord is a half-blood wizard," Draco said softly, a chill running down his spine from the shock of the conclusion.
"Very perceptive," Dumbledore said with great interest. "You seem quite shocked by it."
Draco was, of course, shocked.
The Dark Lord, who keeps clamouring to "revive the glory of pure-blood wizards," is actually a half-blood wizard himself.
Is there anything more ironic than this?
Do those fanatical supporters know this?
Did his father know .... how fervently he had supported the Dark Lord?
What about his mother? Did she know about this? Her sister, Bellatrix, had such a close relationship with the Dark Lord .... did she know all this?
Draco cried out inwardly.
He had long suspected that the Dark Lord was not what he claimed! He had long felt that the Dark Lord showed no true regard for the pure-blooded wizards' bloodline and was extremely cruel. Every murder he committed against pure-blooded wizards trampled on the very principles that pure-blooded wizards adhered to.
In the past, pure-blood wizards never killed each other, even if they held conflicting stances.
Wizard bloodlines are such precious and rare things. Even if they are not of the same lineage, there is a basic respect between them. Protecting, preserving, and passing on the wizard bloodline was once a fundamental consensus among all wizards.
The Dark Lord follows no such boundaries. He disregards this basic consensus. He kills indiscriminately and squanders human lives.
Now, everything has an answer.
A half-blood wizard!
How could the Dark Lord truly want to restore the glory of pure-bloods when he himself is no longer a pure-blood?
"I think he is using the pure-blood wizards," Draco said bitterly. "Using people's convictions to achieve his own goals.... whatever those goals may be, they are certainly not what he claims them to be."
"I must say, I am very surprised." Dumbledore gave him a deep look. "I did not expect you to see it this way. Few people would realise this, especially not a teenager."
"This is just a reasonable deduction of mine," Draco said, without making eye contact with Dumbledore.
This is bad. His last words were a little too heartfelt, and Dumbledore had noticed.
That will not do. He cannot reveal too much of his true thoughts.
What is wrong with him today? Why is he so emotionally unstable?
Draco took a deep breath, regained his composure, and changed the subject.
"That Muggle man.... he did not seem to like her at all. I suspect she was using some means to influence him." Draco thought of the love potion Professor Slughorn had once brewed.
"A reasonable speculation." Dumbledore's eyes flickered slightly, and he let it pass, continuing his explanation, "I suspect she did use some means, but those means obviously did not last. Here is some background.... just a year later, old Tom Riddle left her whilst she was pregnant, returned to Little Hangleton, and claimed that he had been deceived."
"How pitiable," Draco said dryly.
Being forced to fall in love with someone you do not love, versus falling in love with someone who will never love you back.... I really do not know which is more tragic.
"But I remember Harry telling me that Tom Riddle in the diary grew up in an orphanage. What happened to Merope? Is she dead?" Draco asked.
"I suspect so," Dumbledore said softly.
"So, the golden locket also disappeared along with her?" Draco asked pointedly.
Dumbledore poured some new memories into the Pensieve and gave it a gentle stir.
The figure of an old man emerged from the silvery-white substance. His hair was so thick that it completely covered his eyes.
"Yes, we obtained it under very particular circumstances.... a young witch, just before Christmas .... dressed in rags, looking haggard, and heavily pregnant.... I looked closely, and sure enough, the locket bore the mark of Salazar Slytherin.... that thing was beyond price.... I bought it for a mere ten Galleons.... "
"This is the memory of Caractacus Burke," Dumbledore sighed. "Merope sold it when she was destitute. I have heard from Burke that he later sold the locket to Hepzibah Smith, a very old and very wealthy witch, and a most discerning collector."
"Her? She died a long time ago, did she not?" Draco interjected.
Dumbledore nodded.
"After she died, Burke wished to buy back the locket, but he did not see it at the auction of her belongings," he said casually.
"Hepzibah Smith .... is she not a distant descendant of Hufflepuff?" Draco returned to his seat, gazing at the twilight sky outside the window, and remarked, "I have seen that branch in some wizarding genealogies."
"Yes, that is well worth investigating." Dumbledore tapped the table casually, staring at the broken golden cup. "I think there might be a connection."