Snape stared at Dumbledore's face without flinching.
A faint breeze slipped through a crack in the window, rustling the parchment spread across the desk.
Dumbledore soon sank back into his chair. In the flickering, golden light of the office, he appeared a little older, more weary.
"You know what that name means, don't you?" Dumbledore was the first to break the silence.
"That's exactly what I came to ask you," Snape replied, a question he had long since turned over in his mind.
"It seems like everywhere in Hogwarts I find traces of him," he said, ticking off points on his fingers.
"A recipient of the Special Award for Services to the School, a prefect, Head Boy, Slughorn's golden boy, the enemy of the gamekeeper—possibly the cause of a ghost haunting the lavatory?"
He paused for a few seconds, then continued.
"Someone that brilliant, surrounded by accolades, leaves school and chooses to work at Borgin and Burkes—then vanishes completely."
"What exactly have you learned from the Death Eaters, Severus?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
Snape thought he detected a chill beneath the question, a flicker of icy calculation behind the blue eyes.
"Professor," he said, striving to keep his tone measured, "after that night on the Knight Bus, I remembered something. Mulciber once boasted about it to me."
"He said his father had served the Dark Lord loyally since his own school days—and that he himself was destined for greatness."
Dumbledore said nothing. The silence pressed down.
Snape pressed on.
"It gave me a direction. Since term started, I've been researching who among the older generation at Hogwarts stood out during Mulciber Senior's time."
"And one name outshone the rest. Riddle."
"A man who vanished from the future, and a Dark Lord who emerged without a past."
Snape took a breath.
"So, Professor... may I ask the question?"
He leaned forward.
"Is Tom Riddle Lord Voldemort?"
Dumbledore sat up straighter, fingertips pressed together—the pose of a man prepared to deliver a painful truth.
"Incredible," he murmured with a sigh. "Severus... if you've come this far, I suppose it wouldn't matter if I denied it. You wouldn't believe me anyway, would you?"
"Tom was, perhaps, the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen. Over thirty years ago, I taught him myself."
Dumbledore's voice turned reflective, his eyes growing distant, like he was staring through the office into memory.
"After he left the school, he disappeared. Travelled far and wide. Lost himself in the darkest reaches of magic. He consorted with the worst of our world."
"Eventually, through many twisted and dangerous magical transformations, he returned under a new name: Voldemort."
"By then, almost no one could recognize him."
"Few today would ever guess that the Dark Lord once wore the badge of Head Boy."
"So it really is him..." Snape murmured. "Of all the paths he could've taken... he chose the worst."
He looked up, meeting Dumbledore's gaze. The headmaster offered a faint, rueful smile.
"I'm glad you've chosen a different path," he said gently. "But I urge you not to dig any deeper. You're still a student, and not yet of age. Your job now is to learn and protect yourself."
"And whatever you've found out, do not share it. You could put others in danger."
"Yes, sir. I won't. Thank you for your trust," Snape said, though he looked about as moved as a cow listening to a flute solo.
He yawned.
"Bit late, Professor. Shall we end it here for tonight?"
Dumbledore gave a slight nod. "Good night, Severus."
Snape left the office, descending the spiral staircase slowly.
At the base, the stone gargoyle sprang aside again, revealing the corridor beyond.
Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, painting the hallway in bands of silver.
He was already halfway down the steps toward the dungeons when it struck him—he'd completely forgotten about the wreckage in Myrtle's bathroom from his earlier duel with James.
"Well, I made the mess. I ought to clean it up."
He pulled out the Marauder's Map to ensure the coast was clear.
Satisfied, he turned back upstairs and made his way to the second floor, pushing open the bathroom door.
The sobbing halted instantly.
"Severus!"
Myrtle zoomed to the door in a flurry, her voice brimming with melodrama.
"You came back so soon!"
"What?!"
Snape almost drew his wand on instinct.
"Er—yes, it's me again. Myrtle, it's only been a little while. Are you doing okay?"
"Wonderful," she said, face aglow. "I thought maybe you were just lying to me earlier."
"Ah—sorry about the mess we left."
"It's fine," she said sweetly. "If it's you, I don't mind at all."
"Uh-oh."
Snape could feel danger brewing and longed to escape.
He had no interest in becoming the next wizardly ghost whisperer.
If he had any private, mildly embarrassing dreams, it was maybe sneaking off to the Albanian Forest to check if there was still time to do something for Nagini.
"Wait—don't talk."
He raised his wand and began casting restorative charms around the bathroom.
With each flash of light, shattered mirror pieces reassembled, floating into place over the sink. The crooked candle holder snapped back upright. Wax-stubs jumped onto their perches and flickered to life.
Fragments of porcelain swirled together into a complete toilet bowl.
Every crack, stain, and scorch mark vanished like it had never been.
"You're... you're so thoughtful," Myrtle sniffled, eyes watering again. "I don't even know how to thank you."
"No need," Snape muttered, already stepping toward the door. "I've got to go. Goodnight."
"Couldn't you stay a little longer?" Myrtle asked wistfully. "I'll give you any stall you want."
"Nope, I'm good!" Snape shouted, bolting for the exit. "No need to see me out!"
He yanked the door shut behind him and finally exhaled.
"What the bloody hell was that... utterly terrifying..."