Stepping over the sprawled bodies of several black-robed figures, Severus Snape dragged an unconscious Death Eater by the collar into a vast, circular chamber.
Everything in the room was black, the walls, the floor, and the ceiling.
Set into the dark walls were many identical black doors. Apart from the keyholes, there were no markings, no handles, nothing to distinguish one from another.
From the walls, branch-shaped sconces burned with trembling blue flames. The wavering, cold light danced across the polished marble floor, making it seem as though Snape were walking over the surface of a dark and bottomless pool.
He flung Corban Yaxley roughly onto the cold floor and came to a stop.
At Yaxley's unconscious groan, a deep rumbling filled the circular chamber.
The candles began to slide along the walls, and the entire circular structure rotated.
Within seconds, the scene blurred, the blue flames stretched into dizzying neon streaks that spun madly around Snape.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the rumbling stopped. The room stilled once more.
Snape looked around; every door appeared exactly the same.
He walked forward a few steps, reached out, and pressed his palm to the cold, gleaming surface of one door.
A light push and the door swung open instantly.
The room beyond was much brighter. Several lamps hung from the ceiling by fine golden chains, casting a soft, even glow.
It was a rectangular chamber, sparsely furnished with a few tables. But at its center stood a massive glass tank.
It was large enough for several people to swim in, filled with a dark green liquid. Floating and sinking lazily within that greenish depth were numerous pearly white shapes.
The Brain Room. Snape instantly knew where he was.
He stepped closer.
Now he could see them clearly, each of those white shapes was a complete human brain.
Under the eerie light they pulsed and writhed faintly, the folds on their surface shifting in and out of focus, resembling clumps of sticky cauliflower.
As he approached, the slender tendril-like nerve fibers trailing beneath each brain seemed to sense his presence. They began to twitch and coil uneasily.
Tiny, ominous ripples spread across the surface of the green liquid.
"Bloody hell," Snape muttered under his breath. "What on earth were they researching here?"
Disgusted, he stepped back a few paces, no longer wishing to look at those grotesque floating things. Raising the Elder Wand, he cast the complex detection spell Dumbledore had taught him, one meant to locate powerful Dark objects.
Nothing. The wand's tip gave no reaction.
The Horcrux was not here.
Confirming this, Snape retreated into the dark circular chamber again, marking the door to the Brain Room with a clear magical sign.
Once more, the familiar rumble began. The walls spun rapidly, carrying the blue flames with them.
When the movement ceased, Snape chose another door.
This one, he noticed, bore marks of violent damage around the lock.
He hesitated briefly, then stepped forward and pushed it open.
Cold air swept out, the kind that seemed to have been stored for years.
In the middle of the room lay a heap of ruins, what might once have been a fountain, now reduced to shattered stone and broken pipes.
Something dark and dried was splattered across the walls and floor. Through the cracks, faint traces of pinkish color could still be seen beneath.
The air carried the stench of something burnt, acrid, unpleasant, and within it, an extremely faint, elusive fragrance of flowers that stirred a strange sense of familiarity in Snape.
He frowned, trying to catch that fleeting scent, but it was too faint, soon smothered by the charred stench of magic.
He raised his wand to probe again, still nothing. Without hesitation, he withdrew.
As the walls rotated once more, blue light spinning around him, two faint red marks glimmered among the blur. Snape's mind sharpened.
That chaotic, ruined room with its lingering floral scent... could it be,
"The Love Room?" he murmured. The thought flashed and vanished. This was not the time.
He moved on.
The next chamber ticked with endless, intricate sounds. Clocks of every size and origin filled the space, their pendulums swaying in solemn rhythm.
The Time Room. He crossed it swiftly into another, even larger, cathedral-like chamber.
Rows upon rows of towering shelves stretched upward, each lined with countless dust-coated glass orbs.
The Hall of Prophecy.
Yet even here, among all this ancient and mysterious magic, he felt no trace of the cold, malignant resonance of a Horcrux.
Only a few rooms remained unexplored.
Returning to the circular chamber, he reinforced Yaxley's Stunning Spell, then pushed open another door.
The Death Chamber.
It was the largest he had entered yet.
Dimly lit, the center of the room sank into a great stone pit nearly twenty feet deep.
Encircling it were rows of steep stone benches, descending like the tiers of a Roman amphitheater.
From the highest row, Snape gazed down.
At the bottom stood a raised stone platform. Upon it, an ancient stone archway, old, decayed, crumbling, rose alone without any wall or frame to support it.
Hanging from the arch was a tattered black curtain, a veil that shifted faintly as though stirred by invisible hands.
There was no wind. Yet the veil swayed, softly, persistently, as if someone had just brushed against it.
A chill crawled up Snape's neck.
He lifted the Elder Wand and murmured the detection incantation again.
This time, the wand's tip flared faintly, pointing straight toward the center of the pit, to the arch, and to that whispering black veil.
Gripping the wand tightly, he descended the steep stone benches step by step until he stood at the bottom.
His footsteps echoed harshly as he moved closer to the platform.
From here, the arch looked far taller than it had from above.
The veil still rippled silently, as though someone had just passed through it.
Snape felt a strange sensation, as if someone stood just beyond, on the other side of that shifting curtain.
Through the gaps in the wavering fabric, in the dim shifting light, he caught sight of something,
A small golden cup with two delicate handles.
Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.
Tom had hidden it here, beyond the boundary between life and death.
"A perfect, and cruel, hiding place," Snape thought grimly. "But how do I retrieve it?"
The gentle motion of the veil mesmerized him.
He felt a powerful urge to climb the platform and pass through it.
Faint murmurs drifted from beyond the veil, soft, indistinct voices.
They grew louder. Before he realized it, one of Snape's feet had stepped onto the platform. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers clenching tightly around the cold, hard Resurrection Stone.
Then something jolted within him. He shuddered violently, as though scalded, and staggered back from the platform, yanking his hand from his pocket. His palm was icy.
"Won't you come in?" A hollow, echoing voice drifted from behind the veil.
Snape froze for two seconds, then asked evenly, "Who are you?"
The voice was eerily familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd heard it.
"Didn't you summon me here?" the voice replied, with a faint, mocking lilt.
Snape inhaled slowly, then ascended the platform.
He stood before the arch, peering through the rippling black fabric,
A pale, sallow face, drawn and light-starved, yet unmistakably familiar.
Long, dark hair. Black eyes. A hooked nose. Tightly pressed lips.
It was himself, or rather, the man he used to be.
A chill breeze seemed to whisper from beyond the veil, stirring the black strands of hair on his forehead.
The other Snape stared back at him, those dark eyes burning with a hunger that bordered on madness.
"How wonderful..." the figure murmured, voice drifting like smoke. "How... wonderful..."
Snape said nothing, watching that form, less solid than the living, yet far more tangible than a ghost.
The other spoke again.
"Do you know?" His black eyes never blinked. "Hufflepuff's Cup carries a legend, one that few know.
"They say whoever drinks from it may rise from the dead... or live forever."
"The Holy Grail," Snape whispered.
The reflection nodded slowly, lips curling into a cold smile.
"Unfortunately," he said, "that too is only a legend."
A long, stifling silence followed. Only the faint fluttering of the veil could be heard.
"I thought... you were gone," Snape finally said, his voice hoarse. He studied the other's face. "When I used the Resurrection Stone before, why didn't I see you?"
"I am part of you," said the other Snape, the smile on his pale face twisting strangely. "The part you no longer need."
Black eyes locked onto black eyes.
"Can you take the Cup out for me?" Snape asked cautiously, glancing toward the faintly gleaming golden chalice.
The doppelgänger's smile vanished.
He stared hungrily at Snape's face, eyes brimming with a devouring emotion.
Just as Snape braced for a strike, the figure slowly nodded.
"Thank you," Snape said quietly.
At those words, the other Snape's expression contorted with fury and disgust.
"No!" he shrieked, voice rising to a razor's edge. "I don't need your thanks!"
Before the echo faded, the other Snape lunged through the arch.
Snape's pupils contracted. Instinctively, he raised the Elder Wand,
But nothing happened. No impact. No attack.
Only the sharp, metallic clatter of something rolling across stone.
Snape's gaze flicked downward. Hufflepuff's Cup had rolled out from beyond the veil and now lay motionless at his feet.
He did not pick it up at once. Instead, he stood taut, wand in hand, eyes fixed on the hanging black curtain.
The whispering had ceased. The veil hung limp, utterly still, as though all strength had drained from it.
It was as if everything had been an elaborate illusion.
After several long seconds, Snape finally stooped, snatched up the Cup, and straightened swiftly.
"Are you still there?" he called to the motionless veil.
No answer. Only his own breathing and heartbeat echoed through the Death Chamber.
Snape slipped the Cup into his robe pocket, then drew out the Resurrection Stone from another.
Closing his eyes, he turned it three times in his hand, as the legend prescribed.
When he opened them again, nothing had changed. The ancient archway and its tattered veil stood silently before him.
He waited a moment longer, then murmured to the empty air, "Goodbye."
Without another glance back, Snape strode up the stone steps, leaving the pit behind and returning to the black circular chamber.
As the walls began another low, grinding rotation, he walked to where Yaxley lay bound and whimpering faintly.
Snape drew a small parcel from his pocket, unfolded the parchment, and placed the Portkey in his palm.
Pressing his hand to Yaxley's forehead, he said quietly, "It's time to end this."