The people inside Snape's memory froze all at once, as though someone had pressed pause on the entire scene.
Dumbledore lowered his hand and walked over to Sorimus, his eyes fixed on the ring on the boy's right hand.
"Severus, did you see this?" Dumbledore asked, pointing at the ring.
"A ring," Snape answered flatly. "And I also noticed that he was wearing clothes. Ah yes, and shoes on his feet as well."
His voice dripped with sarcasm.
"What is a ring supposed to prove? Is it dangerous?"
Dumbledore ignored Snape's mockery completely. He examined the ring on Sorimus's hand with painstaking care, then looked at the wand in Sorimus's left hand.
"All right, Severus. I think we can return now."
...
Inside the Headmaster's office, Snape folded his arms and stared at Dumbledore, waiting for an explanation.
"To you, it may have looked like a ring," Dumbledore said as he sat down again, "but I know it is a wand, Severus. A wand."
"And what exactly is that supposed to prove?"
"It is not an ordinary wand. Years ago, when I was travelling the world with... someone, I found it. Later, I returned it to the family who rightfully owned it."
"The Selwyns."
"Yes. The Selwyns."
"And what does that prove? That child is a Selwyn too."
"It is different. Sorimus is an illegitimate child. He has no right to receive a wand from within the family itself."
Dumbledore shook his head and began to explain.
Ancient pure-blood families could accumulate astonishing wealth over long stretches of time. That wealth would be passed down from generation to generation. Even if their descendants were wasteful, even if they squandered gold Galleons, precious potions ingredients, or alchemical materials, things like wands were rarely ever truly consumed, even when they changed hands many times.
Across the river of history, too many magical creatures and magical trees had gone extinct to count. But the wands made from them remained. Wands crafted from powerful creatures and ancient woods were far stronger than modern wands. Only pure-blood families with enough heritage and substance could preserve such old wands.
"There are not even enough of these wands to distribute among a family's legitimate heirs," Dumbledore said, looking at Snape. "So why would an illegitimate child receive one? And the wand he used just now was one from Garrick's shop. That child is carrying two wands, Severus. Why do you suppose that is?"
"I suggest you ask him yourself."
Snape remained unmoved.
"I recognize that ring, and I was the one who returned it to the family that had lost it. In gratitude, the Selwyns donated it to the school."
Dumbledore gestured behind Snape.
When Snape turned around, he saw a tall standing mirror with golden trim. After just one glance, he could no longer move his eyes away.
Regret and longing seemed to flash across his face for only an instant. Then numbness and cold indifference returned once more.
"What is this?" Snape almost could not stop himself from looking into the mirror again.
"The Mirror of Erised."
Dumbledore glanced at it, then looked away at once.
"I am using it to protect the Philosopher's Stone."
He turned back to Snape.
"Would you say that makes it foolproof?"
"There is no such thing as 'foolproof.' If there is nothing else, I'm leaving."
Snape had made it clear that he had no desire to remain here any longer.
Watching Snape shut the office door behind him, Dumbledore rose again, walked over to the Pensieve, plucked another memory from the tip of his wand, and dropped it inside.
...
At that very moment, Sorimus had only just finished arranging the single room that now belonged to him. Ever since helping Draco secure the prefect position, he had been occupied with reworking the place.
Now the prefect's private room no longer looked anything like it had before. Sorimus had made sweeping changes to it, throwing out every decorative object he considered useless and having the house-elves dispose of them. From now on, this room, which belonged to him alone, would be used only for sleeping and for theoretical magical research. He would find some other place for potion brewing and spell practice. After all, he had no wish for the place where he slept to be filled with the strange smells of potion ingredients, nor did he want to leave his room in utter chaos from practicing spells.
In any case, there were plenty of empty classrooms around the Slytherin common room. When the time came, he could simply pick one that was secluded enough.
It was already very late, but Sorimus showed no intention of sleeping. He was leaning against the headboard, reading one of his large, heavy books.
Tomorrow morning, the first class was History of Magic, which was ideal for catching up on sleep. The second was Charms. Slytherin only shared Potions, Transfiguration, and Defence Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor. All the other classes were taken together with Ravenclaw.
To be honest, compared with Gryffindor, Sorimus much preferred dealing with Ravenclaws.
As Sorimus would put it, people with similar temperaments were simply easier to get along with. If you tried dealing with a Gryffindor, their first sentence would probably be, "You evil Slytherin, stay away from me." Or else, "What scheme does a Slytherin snake have, coming near me like this?"
Just thinking about it gave Sorimus a headache. Neville had gone to Gryffindor, so his chances of dealing with Gryffindors in the future would certainly not be few.
Sorimus decided not to think about such irritating matters for the moment. For him, the urgent thing was to find what he needed in the book in his hands.
It had been mentioned before that Sorimus was very close to his younger half-sister. Back in Selwyn Castle, she had been the only thing that ever gave him any real warmth. Sorimus had his first burst of accidental magic when he was four, earlier than either of his two older brothers. Dax had been five, and Sabiantis six.
Among pure-blood wizards, a wizard's talent was judged mainly by the age at which they first displayed accidental magic. The earlier it happened, the greater the talent was thought to be. A child whose accidental magic came earlier would usually see their magical power grow faster as well.
Of course, earlier was not always better.
Four years old was almost the limit. Any earlier than that, and there was a serious chance of becoming an Obscurial.
That was no different from a death sentence.
No Obscurial ever lived past the age of ten.
Soon after Sorimus's accidental magic erupted, he was sent to Scholomance, that school which was open only to special wizarding families. Leaving aside the torment and cruelty he endured there after turning seven, he was only allowed to return home once a year, if the Selwyn family's castle could truly be called home.
His eldest brother disliked him. His second brother ignored him. If his father happened to be back, then perhaps Sorimus would get a few proper words from him. As for Mrs. Selwyn...
Heh.
Sorimus wanted to stay as far away from that woman as possible. The matter of his birth mother's death had never been made clear, after all.
In that entire castle, only little Silna was close to him.
Then again, the little girl had no one else she could really be close to. Their eldest and second brothers had both been driven half-mad by that school, only in opposite directions: one violent, the other silent. To a little girl, both were impossible to talk to. That left Sorimus, the one brother who still seemed the most normal, as the only person she could speak with. And Sorimus, for his part, truly needed something to anchor his mind, something to shift his attention, otherwise sooner or later he would have ended up just like his two older brothers.
Although Sorimus had finally managed to escape Scholomance, what had first begun as nothing more than a means of enduring it all had, over time, become a genuine support for his spirit.
He wanted to find some way to change the fate of his Squib sister.
And that hope lay within the book in his hands.