The Wizengamot chamber echoed with raised voices and Amelia sighed before the sharp crack of her gavel rang against the stone podium.
Three days had passed since the Hogsmeade attack, and the emergency session she’d called was descending into chaos.
“Order!” Amelia’s voice cut through the din like a blade. “I will have order in this chamber.”
The noise died down to angry muttering. Amelia surveyed the assembled members with a cold gaze, noting the cluster of traditional purebloods who sat together on the left side of the chamber. Their spokesman, Octavius Flint Sr., stood with his wand raised to amplify his voice.
“Minister Bones,” Flint began, his tone dripping with false concern. “We appreciate your efforts to maintain security during these troubled times. However, we cannot simply ignore what occurred in Hogsmeade. Over a dozen wizards died at the hands of students. Students!”
“Death Eaters,” Amelia corrected sharply. “Over a dozen Death Eaters who were in the process of murdering civilians died while those students defended themselves and others.”
“Nevertheless,” another voice called out, this one belonging to Corvus Selwyn, “we must address the use of lethal force by untrained children. It sets a dangerous precedent. Today they kill Death Eaters in self defense. Tomorrow? Who’s to say they won’t turn those same spells against anyone they deem a threat?”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the pureblood faction. Amelia felt her jaw tighten but kept her expression neutral.
“Lord Selwyn raises an interesting point,” Asad Shafiq said from the moderate section. “While I don’t question the students’ intentions, the Ministry must maintain a monopoly on sanctioned deadly force. Otherwise we descend into vigilantism.”
“Vigilantism?” Sirius Black’s voice rang out as he stood from his seat. “Those students were trapped in an active combat zone with Death Eaters attempting mass murder. They responded with appropriate force to save lives. That’s not vigilantism, that’s survival.”
“Lord Black would say that,” Flint sneered. “Given that his godson led the slaughter.”
“My godson,” Sirius said coldly, “saved over a hundred lives that day. As did every student who fought beside him. Not one civilian died. Not one student perished. The only casualties were the terrorists who came to kill them. If you find fault with that outcome, perhaps you should examine your priorities.”
“The law is clear,” Selwyn insisted. “The use of deadly force outside sanctioned Auror operations is illegal. These students broke the law, regardless of their intentions. If we allow this to go unpunished, we send a message that anyone can kill with impunity as long as they claim self defense.”
Amelia had heard enough. She stood, her presence commanding immediate attention.
“Let me be perfectly clear,” she said, her voice carrying to every corner of the chamber. “The students who defended Hogsmeade acted within their legal rights under emergency combat provisions. When Death Eaters attack civilians, any witch or wizard present has the right to defend themselves and others using whatever force is necessary. This is established law, not some new interpretation.”
“But surely there should be limits,” Shafiq protested. “Guidelines for appropriate response.”
“There are limits,” Amelia replied. “Those limits are called proportional response. When someone is trying to murder you with the Killing Curse, responding with deadly force is proportional. When someone is burning buildings full of children, stopping them permanently is proportional. The students showed remarkable discipline under circumstances that would challenge seasoned Aurors.”
“Remarkable discipline?” Flint scoffed. “They butchered those wizards like animals. Some of the bodies were nearly unrecognizable.”
“Then perhaps the Death Eaters should have reconsidered their career choices before attacking a village full of teenagers who’ve been forced to learn combat magic because the Ministry failed to protect them.” Cyrus Greengrass’s voice was like ice as he rose from his seat. “My daughter was there. She fought for her life and the lives of others. I will not sit here and listen to anyone imply she should have died quietly to preserve your delicate sensibilities.”
The chamber erupted again. Voices clashed as factions argued back and forth. Amelia let it continue for a moment, gauging the mood, then brought her gavel down three times in quick succession.
“Enough! Lord Flint, Lord Selwyn, you’ve made your concerns known. Let me address them directly. This administration will not prosecute students for defending their lives. We will not criminalize survival. And we will not send the message to Voldemort that his followers can attack our children without facing lethal consequences.”
“So you admit it,” Flint said triumphantly, even though he visibly shuddered at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name. “Your administration glorifies vigilantism.”
“I admit nothing of the sort. What I’m telling you is that this Ministry will focus its resources on hunting down Death Eaters rather than persecuting their victims. If you disagree with that priority, I suggest you bring a vote of no confidence. Otherwise, this discussion is closed.”
She could see the calculation in Flint’s eyes. He didn’t have the votes for a successful no confidence measure, not yet. But he was building momentum, using the Hogsmeade attack as a rallying point for those uncomfortable with the new reality of open warfare.
“There will be consequences,” Selwyn warned. “When students believe they can kill without oversight, without consequences, it creates chaos.”
“The chaos was created when Voldemort returned,” Sirius shot back. “These students are simply refusing to be helpless victims. If that bothers you, perhaps you should ask yourself why.”
The implication hung heavy in the air. Several members shifted uncomfortably. The pureblood faction’s sympathies toward traditional Death Eater ideology were poorly concealed, and Sirius had just thrown that in their faces.
Flint’s face flushed red. “Are you accusing me of Death Eater sympathies, Lord Black?”
“I’m saying that anyone more concerned about dead Death Eaters than the students they tried to murder needs to examine their priorities. Draw your own conclusions.”
“This session is adjourned,” Amelia declared before the situation could deteriorate further. “We will reconvene next week to discuss the formal alliance proposal from the French Ministry.”
The gavel came down with finality. Members began filing out, conversations continuing in hushed tones. Amelia gathered her notes, aware that Sirius and Cyrus were approaching.
“They’re not going to let this go,” Cyrus said quietly once they were alone.
“I know. Flint sees an opportunity to undermine my authority. The question is how far he’s willing to push it.”
“Far enough to be dangerous,” Sirius muttered. “Did you see who was sitting behind him? Half of them have family connections to known Death Eaters. They’re using legitimate concerns about lethal force as cover for their real agenda.”
Amelia nodded. She’d noticed the same thing. The traditional purebloods who’d always resented her appointment were now using the Hogsmeade incident as ammunition. They’d wrapped their opposition in legal arguments and appeals to law and order, but the underlying message was clear. They wanted her out.
“We need to shore up support among the moderates,” Cyrus advised. “Shafiq’s wavering. If we can convince him and a few others that the students acted appropriately, Flint’s faction loses momentum.”
“I’ll reach out to Shafiq personally,” Amelia decided. “Sirius, can you speak with the others from the minor houses? They respect you, and they’re concerned about student safety.”
“Consider it done. What about the Daily Prophet? If we can get them to write a sympathetic piece about the students’ heroism rather than focusing on the body count, it might shift public opinion.”
Amelia smiled grimly. “Actually, I think the Prophet’s already ahead of us on that front. Without Fudge’s interference, they’ve been reporting honestly for the first time in years. I read this morning’s edition. The headline was ‘Students Save Hogsmeade: Death Eater Attack Thwarted.’”
“Really?” Cyrus looked surprised.
“Really. They interviewed survivors who credited Harry and his group with saving their lives. There was some discussion of the lethal force used, but it was framed as necessary defense rather than vigilantism.”
“That’s a welcome change,” Sirius admitted. “Though I’m sure Flint will claim you’re manipulating the press.”
“Let him claim whatever he wants. The truth is that without Fudge breathing down their necks, the reporters are actually doing their jobs. And right now, the facts support us.”
They walked together through the Ministry corridors, their footsteps echoing on polished floors. Other workers gave them space, sensing the tension. News of the Wizengamot session would spread quickly.
“How are you holding up?” Sirius asked Amelia once they’d reached the lifts. His voice had shifted, becoming softer, more personal.
She glanced at him and felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders. “Tired. Frustrated. But managing.”
“You were magnificent in there.”
“I was angry.”
“That too.” He smiled at her, and despite everything, she found herself smiling back. They’d been courting for a while now, still keeping it quiet to avoid adding fuel to the political fires. But increasingly, Amelia found herself relying on his presence, his support, and his unwavering belief in what they were trying to accomplish.
“We should discuss the wedding plans,” Sirius said casually as the lift began moving.
Cyrus, who’d been reviewing notes, chuckled. “Finally decided to get on with it, did you?”
“About three days ago,” Amelia replied. “We were going to announce it after things settled down, but given current circumstances, perhaps sooner is better than later.”
“Congratulations,” Cyrus said sincerely before he frowned. “Though you realize this will complicate things politically. The traditionalists will claim you’re consolidating power through marriage.”
“They’ll claim that regardless,” Sirius pointed out. “At least this way we’re honest about it. Besides, House Black’s support for Amelia’s administration is already well known. Making it official through marriage changes nothing substantively.”
“It changes the narrative,” Cyrus countered. “But you’re right that the opposition will spin anything negatively. Might as well give them something real to complain about rather than letting them invent scandals.”
The lift stopped at the Minister’s floor. Amelia stepped out with both men following. Her office was at the end of the corridor, protected by multiple layers of security wards that recognized her magical signature.
Inside, her desk was covered with correspondence. Most of it she’d already reviewed, but one stack caught her attention. Letters bearing international seals, all addressed through the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
“These just arrived,” she said, sorting through them. “France, Spain, Germany, even Italy. They’re all offering some form of assistance.”
Sirius picked up the French letter, its seal bearing the official mark of the French Ministry. “Antoine came through.”
“More than just came through,” Amelia corrected, reading over his shoulder. “The French Ministry is offering to send Auror support once the situation escalates further. They’re also providing intelligence on Death Eater movements in France and offering to share their tracking methods.”
“That’s substantial,” Cyrus noted. “Especially after Fudge poisoned the relationship with France.”
“But with him gone, they’re willing to rebuild trust. Antoine’s position there helps, but this goes beyond his personal influence. The French Ministry recognizes that if Voldemort wins here, he won’t stop at Britain’s borders.”
“Smart of them,” Sirius said. “Self interest aligned with doing the right thing. What about the others?”
Amelia scanned the remaining letters. “Spain’s offering asylum for refugees and non combatants. Germany wants to coordinate on tracking dark artifact smuggling across borders. Italy’s contribution is more symbolic, but they’re offering support through the ICW.”
“Every bit helps,” Cyrus observed. “Even symbolic support matters when you’re trying to build international consensus. If the ICW formally recognizes the threat Voldemort poses, it strengthens your position domestically.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Amelia’s secretary entered, looking flustered. “Minister, Auror Shacklebolt is here. He says it’s urgent.”
“Send him in.”
Kingsley entered a moment later, his usually calm demeanor rattled. “We have a problem. There was an attempt on your life this morning.”
The office went silent.
“What?” Amelia’s hand moved instinctively toward her wand. “When? Where?”
“Your tea,” Kingsley said grimly. “The pot that was delivered to your office at eight. I ran standard security checks on it before you arrived and found Manticore venom mixed into the leaves. Enough to kill you with the first sip.”
Amelia felt cold. She’d been running late this morning, had gone directly to the Wizengamot session without stopping by her office. If she’d arrived on time, if she’d drunk that tea as she usually did...
“How did it get past security?” Cyrus demanded.
“That’s what concerns me,” Kingsley replied. “The delivery was made by a junior Ministry employee who’s worked here for five years. Clean record, no suspicious connections. She claims she picked up the tea from the usual supplier at the usual time. The supplier confirms the order but says the tea they provided was standard Earl Grey, not poisoned.”
“So someone intercepted it between the supplier and the Ministry,” Sirius concluded. “Or the employee is lying.”
“I’m holding her for questioning, but she seems genuinely shocked. Veritaserum will tell us for certain, but my instinct says she’s a victim in this, not a conspirator. Someone knew the delivery route and tampered with the tea between pickup and arrival.”
Amelia sat down heavily. An assassination attempt. She’d known it was possible, even likely, but the reality of it was jarring. Someone had tried to murder her this morning, and only luck had kept her alive.
“This changes things,” she said quietly.
“It confirms what we already suspected,” Cyrus corrected. “The traditionalists aren’t content to oppose you politically. Someone wants you dead.”
“Not necessarily someone from the Wizengamot,” Kingsley cautioned. “This could be Death Eaters acting independently. Voldemort has every reason to want you eliminated.”
“True,” Sirius acknowledged. “But the timing is suspicious. Right after the Hogsmeade attack, right after the Wizengamot session where Flint pushed hard against your policies. If this was Death Eaters, the timing couldn’t be more convenient for your political opponents.”
“Are you suggesting Flint ordered this?” Amelia asked.
“I’m suggesting we consider all possibilities. Death Eaters working on Voldemort’s orders, Death Eaters working on behalf of sympathetic Wizengamot members, or Wizengamot members taking matters into their own hands. All three scenarios are plausible.”
Kingsley nodded. “I’ll investigate thoroughly. But Minister, we need to increase your security immediately. No more standard protective details. I want a full Auror guard rotation, with members I personally vet.”
“That will look like paranoia,” Amelia protested.
“Better paranoid than dead,” Sirius said bluntly. “Kingsley’s right. You can’t take chances with your life, not when the whole administration depends on your leadership.”
“Fine,” Amelia agreed reluctantly. “But keep it as discreet as possible. I won’t hide in my office like Fudge did.”
“No one’s asking you to hide,” Sirius assured her. “Just take reasonable precautions. Let Kingsley and his team do their jobs.”
The conversation turned to logistics. Which Aurors could be trusted absolutely, what security measures needed upgrading, and how to investigate the assassination attempt without tipping off whoever was responsible. It was mundane and practical, but Amelia’s mind kept returning to one inescapable truth.
Someone wanted her dead badly enough to try poison. And that someone had access to Ministry supply chains and knowledge of her daily routine.
“We need to accelerate our plans,” she said suddenly. “Whatever timeline we were working with for reforms, for strengthening defenses, for building alliances, we need to move faster. This attempt proves they’re desperate.”
“Desperate enemies are dangerous enemies,” Cyrus warned.
“I know. But they’re also making mistakes. Whoever did this got sloppy. They relied on standard delivery protocols without accounting for security checks. That suggests either arrogance or lack of resources. Either way, it’s a vulnerability we can exploit.”
“She’s right,” Kingsley agreed. “This was sophisticated but not perfect. A true professional would have found a way around the security protocols. This feels like someone with access but not expertise.”
“So possibly a Wizengamot member rather than Death Eaters,” Sirius concluded. “Death Eaters know assassination. This was clumsy by their standards.”
They discussed possibilities for a long while before Kingsley excused himself to continue the investigation. Cyrus left shortly after, promising to reach out to moderate Wizengamot members and gauge their reactions to both the Hogsmeade debate and the assassination attempt.
Once alone, Amelia let herself slump in her chair. The mask of ministerial composure slipped, revealing the exhaustion beneath.
Sirius moved around the desk and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You should take the rest of the day off. Let yourself process this.”
“I can’t afford to take time off. There’s too much to do.”
“Amelia.” His voice was firm but caring. “Someone tried to kill you this morning. You’re allowed to be human about that.”
She looked up at him, seeing genuine concern in his eyes. Not the political concern of an ally, but the personal concern of someone who cared deeply about her wellbeing. It was that more than anything that made her defenses crack.
“I’m scared,” she admitted quietly. “Not for myself, but for what happens if they succeed. Susan needs me. The Ministry needs stability. If I die now, before we’ve secured the administration’s position, everything falls apart.”
“Then we make sure you don’t die,” Sirius said simply. He pulled her up from the chair and into an embrace. “I’m not losing you. Not to assassins, not to political enemies, not to anything. We’re in this together now.”
She let herself lean into him, drawing strength from his presence. They stood there for a long moment, two people facing an impossible situation and refusing to break under the weight of it.
“The wedding,” Amelia said finally, pulling back slightly. “We should move it up. Make it official sooner rather than later.”
“For political reasons?”
“For personal ones. If something happens to me, I want it to be as your wife, not just your political ally.”
Sirius smiled, though there was sadness in it. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. But yes, let’s move it up. Next month?”
“Next month,” she agreed.
They spent the rest of the afternoon working through correspondence together, with Sirius offering strategic advice on various issues. It was comfortable and productive, and Amelia found herself grateful for his presence in ways that went beyond the political.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. The investigation would continue, the Wizengamot would keep pushing, and Voldemort would keep threatening. But for now, in this moment, she allowed herself to feel something other than fear and responsibility.
She allowed herself to feel hope.
XXXXX
The Room of Requirement was filled with sounds of spellfire and blasts, with Harry, Daphne, and Gabrielle keeping their wands at the ready. Training dummies lined one wall, and conjured obstacles filled the center space. They’d been at this for two hours already, working on complex combination casting that required perfect timing and coordination.
“Again,” Harry called out, launching a gold bolt at Daphne while simultaneously throwing up a shield against Gabrielle’s curse.
They moved through the drill, each of them attacking and defending in rotating patterns. The goal was to maintain awareness of multiple threats while executing offensive and defensive magic simultaneously. It was exhausting, but Hogsmeade had proven how necessary these skills were.
“Hold,” Daphne said after another fifteen minutes. “I need water.”
They collapsed onto conjured couches, breathing hard. Sweat plastered Harry’s hair to his forehead, and both girls looked equally drained.
“We’re getting better,” Gabrielle observed. “That last sequence was almost perfect.”
“Almost isn’t good enough,” Daphne countered. “Bellatrix would have exploited the gap in our coverage at the end. We need to tighten up the transitions.”
“We need a break is what we need,” Harry said. “We’ve been training non-stop since Hogsmeade. Even the Room of Requirement can’t replace actual rest.”
“Fine,” Daphne relented. “But we come back tomorrow with fresh energy and nail that sequence.”
“Deal.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, letting their breathing return to normal. Harry’s mind drifted to the upcoming group meeting. The interest in joining had exploded after Hogsmeade, and they needed to figure out how to accommodate the new members without compromising the quality of training.
“Have you thought about how we’re structuring the new intake?” he asked.
“Some,” Daphne replied. “I think we need to separate them into tiers. Advanced fighters who are ready for lethal training, intermediate students who need more fundamental work, and beginners who just want basic defense.”
“Makes sense,” Gabrielle agreed. “The advanced group can continue as we have been. The others need a different approach.”
“The question is who leads the intermediate and beginner sessions,” Harry mused. “We can’t be everywhere at once.”
“The twins could handle the intermediate group,” Daphne suggested. “They’re skilled enough and people respect them. For beginners, maybe Susan? She’s solid on fundamentals and patient enough to teach.”
They discussed logistics for another few minutes before Gabrielle stood and stretched. “While we’re here and resting, we should explore. The Room has so many possibilities we’ve never bothered to investigate.”
“Like what?” Harry looked around. “This place is just a room that takes the form we want as long as it is within the acceptable laws.”
“Yeah. But this room is much larger than what we see. There are storage areas, hidden chambers, all sorts of things tucked away in here.”
“How do you know this?” Daphne asked.
“I heard about it from the elves that used to bring me stuff when I was hiding in here. The Room has been used for centuries by people needing to hide things. Some of those things are probably still here.”
The idea appealed to Harry’s curiosity. They’d been using the Room for practical training but never considered what else it might contain. “Alright, let’s explore. We can count it as a cooldown activity.”
They left the training area and began walking. The Room seemed to sense their intent, because new corridors appeared as they moved. Some were narrow and winding, others were broad and lined with doors. It was disorienting and fascinating in equal measure.
“This is mental,” Daphne muttered as they passed a door that appeared to lead to a tropical beach. “How does all of this fit inside the castle?”
“Magic,” Gabrielle said with a grin. “Sometimes that’s the only explanation that works.”
They explored for twenty minutes, finding rooms filled with musical instruments, chambers containing what looked like alchemical equipment, and one particularly strange space that seemed to exist entirely underwater despite having breathable air. It was like wandering through someone’s fever dream made manifest.
Then they found the Room of Hidden Things.
The door was inconspicuous, tucked between two identical looking walls. But when Daphne opened it, they all stopped and stared.
The room beyond was vast, easily the size of a cathedral. Mountains of objects stretched as far as they could see, piled haphazardly and reaching toward a ceiling lost in shadows. Furniture, books, cauldrons, crates, suits of armor, musical instruments, and thousands of things Harry couldn’t even identify created a maze of junk that beggared belief.
“Merlin,” Daphne breathed. “This is where students have been hiding things for centuries.”
“Look at all this,” Gabrielle whispered, stepping inside. “There must be millions of objects in here.”
They moved into the room carefully, aware that the towers of items could topple at any moment. The space had an odd quality, as if time moved differently here. Dust covered everything, but some objects looked brand new while others appeared ancient.
“Why would anyone create a room like this?” Harry wondered aloud.
“They didn’t,” Daphne said, running her finger along a desk covered in carved initials. “The Room created this because students needed places to hide things. Forbidden objects, embarrassing mistakes, stolen property, anything they didn’t want found. Over the centuries it accumulated into this.”
“So somewhere in here could be genuinely valuable items,” Gabrielle realized. “Things people hid because they were important, not just because they wanted to dispose of them.”
“Or dangerous items,” Daphne countered. “Dark artifacts, cursed objects, things that were hidden for good reason.”
They began exploring more carefully after that, keeping their wands ready. Harry found himself drawn deeper into the maze, following instincts he couldn’t quite explain. The sheer variety of items was staggering. He passed broken wands and intact ones, potion bottles both full and empty, books on every subject imaginable, and clothing from fashion trends spanning centuries.
“Over here,” Daphne called out. “Look at this.”
Harry and Gabrielle joined her beside what appeared to be a large cabinet. It was ornate and obviously expensive, with intricate carvings covering every surface. Daphne was examining it with a critical eye.
“A vanishing cabinet. I think this is one of a pair,” she said. “See these runes? They’re part of a matching set. If we could find the other cabinet, they’d create a passage between two locations.”
“Could be useful,” Harry acknowledged. “But also dangerous if someone else knows about it.”
They marked the cabinet’s location mentally and continued exploring. The deeper they went, the older the objects became. Harry spotted what looked like medieval armor, scrolls written in languages he didn’t recognize, and furniture styles he’d only seen in history books.
Then something caught his eye.
High up on a precarious pile of objects, sitting on top of a stone bust, was a diadem. Even from a distance, it looked ancient and valuable. Silver and sapphires caught what little light filtered through the room, and the craftsmanship was obviously extraordinary.
“Up there,” Harry said, pointing. “That tiara or whatever it is.”
Daphne followed his gaze and squinted at the tiara. Mere seconds later, she went very still. “That’s not a tiara. That’s a diadem. And unless I’m very wrong, it’s THE diadem.”
“What diadem?” Gabrielle asked.
“Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem,” Daphne said softly, her voice filled with awe. “It’s been lost for centuries. Literally centuries. If that’s real...”
“It looks pretty real to me,” Harry observed. He raised his wand. “Accio diadem.”
The silver circlet flew down from its perch, and Harry caught it carefully. The moment his fingers touched the metal, he felt something odd. Not painful, but definitely magical. Ancient magic that thrummed with power.
“Let me see,” Daphne demanded, taking it from him with reverent hands.
She examined it closely, turning it over to inspect every detail. The diadem was beautiful, with sapphires set in silver and an inscription along the band. Daphne read it aloud.
“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure. That’s Rowena Ravenclaw’s motto. This is definitely hers.”
“How did it end up here?” Gabrielle wondered.
“That’s the question,” Daphne replied. “According to the histories, Ravenclaw’s daughter Helena stole it from her mother and hid it in Albania. She was murdered there by the Baron who loved her, and the diadem was never recovered. If this is the real thing, someone found it and brought it to Hogwarts without anyone knowing.”
Harry felt his brows furrow. Something about this felt odd. Not the diadem itself, but the situation. A priceless historical artifact stolen and left in a foreign land, now hidden in a room of junk, forgotten and gathering dust.
“We should take this to Dumbledore,” he said. “If it’s really Ravenclaw’s diadem, it belongs in a museum or at least properly secured. Not sitting on top of a pile of garbage.”
“Agreed,” Daphne said, though she looked reluctant to let go of it. “This is an incredible historical find. The magical community thought it was lost forever.”
They made their way back through the maze of objects, with Daphne carefully carrying the diadem. Harry found himself looking back at the room, wondering what other treasures might be hidden in those mountains of junk. But that was a question for another day.
The training area had vanished when they returned to the entrance, replaced by the regular corridor. They made their way through the castle toward Dumbledore’s office, earning curious looks from students they passed. Word about the diadem would spread quickly once people saw them carrying it.
The gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s office leapt aside at Harry’s approach, apparently expecting them. They climbed the spiral staircase and knocked on the heavy door.
“Enter,” Dumbledore’s voice called.
They found him at his desk, examining what looked like very old maps. He glanced up as they entered, his expression politely curious. Then his eyes fell on the diadem in Daphne’s hands, and his entire demeanor changed.
“Where did you find that?” The words came out sharp, almost urgent.
“In the Room of Requirement,” Harry explained. “The Room of Hidden Things, specifically. It was sitting on top of a bust, just gathering dust. Daphne recognized it as Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem.”
Dumbledore stood slowly, his eyes never leaving the artifact. He moved around the desk with careful steps, as if approaching something dangerous. When he reached them, he extended one hand toward the diadem but stopped just short of touching it.
“May I?” he asked quietly.
Daphne handed it over, and Dumbledore held it up to the light. His expression was grave, almost sad. He examined it for a long moment, then set it carefully on his desk and drew his wand.
“Step back,” he instructed.
They obeyed, exchanging worried glances. Dumbledore cast a series of diagnostic spells, each one more complex than the last. Colored lights played across the diadem’s surface, and Harry saw something dark flicker deep within the sapphires.
Finally, Dumbledore lowered his wand. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he suddenly looked very old.
“It’s another Horcrux,” he said.
The words hit like a physical blow. Harry felt his stomach drop.
“What?” Daphne’s voice was faint. “But how? Why would Voldemort use Ravenclaw’s diadem?”
“For the same reason he used Slytherin’s ring,” Dumbledore replied. He moved to sit behind his desk, gesturing for them to take seats as well. “Tom Riddle was obsessed with Hogwarts’ history and the Founders. He saw himself as their heir, their successor. Using their artifacts as Horcruxes appealed to his sense of grandeur and permanence.”
“But the diadem was lost in Albania,” Gabrielle protested. “How did he even find it?”
“I suspect Helena Ravenclaw told him where it was hidden,” Dumbledore said. “The Grey Lady, as she’s known now. Tom was always skilled at extracting information from people, even ghosts. He would have researched the diadem’s history, learned that Helena hid it, and somehow convinced her to reveal its location.”
Harry thought about the ghost he’d seen in Ravenclaw Tower, always melancholy and distant. The idea of Voldemort manipulating her into betraying her mother’s legacy was disturbing but completely in character.
“So he found it in Albania, turned it into a Horcrux, and then hid it here,” Harry concluded. “In a room full of junk where no one would ever look at it twice.”
“Precisely. Tom knew the Room of Requirement from his time as a student. He would have recognized it as the perfect hiding place. Thousands of objects accumulated over centuries, with no catalog or organization. The diadem could remain hidden indefinitely.”
“Until we stumbled across it by accident,” Daphne said.
“Not entirely by accident,” Dumbledore corrected. “You were exploring, following your curiosity. That brought you to the Room of Hidden Things and drew you to this particular artifact. Call it fate, call it fortune, but you found something Voldemort believed was perfectly concealed.”
Silence fell over the office. Fawkes shifted on his perch, watching them with intelligent eyes. The portraits of previous headmasters whispered among themselves.
“Can we destroy it?” Harry asked. “Like we did with the ring?”
“We can,” Dumbledore confirmed. “The same method should work. However, I want to study it briefly first. Each one of his horcruxes teaches us something about Tom’s methods and psychology.”
“What have you learned so far?” Gabrielle asked.
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, considering his answer. “Tom favored objects with historical significance. The diary was a connection to his younger self, but the ring and diadem are artifacts from Hogwarts’ Founders. He saw himself as their equal, perhaps their superior. By using their possessions as Horcruxes, he was claiming dominion over their legacy.”
“Arrogant,” Daphne muttered.
“Extremely. But also revealing. If this pattern holds, we can theorize about his other Horcruxes. He would have sought items connected to the other two Founders.”
“Hufflepuff and Slytherin,” Harry said, the realization dawning. “He already had something from Slytherin with the ring. But he might have another Slytherin artifact.”
“And something from Hufflepuff,” Dumbledore agreed. “Though identifying those specific items will be challenging. We know far less about Hufflepuff’s possessions than those of the other Founders.”
“What about Gryffindor?” Gabrielle asked.
“I don’t believe Tom would have used a Gryffindor artifact,” Dumbledore replied. “He saw Gryffindor as lesser, a house for foolish bravery rather than true power. He would have dismissed anything connected to it.”
“So we’re looking for something from Hufflepuff and possibly another Slytherin item,” Harry summarized. “Plus Nagini. You said the snake was likely a Horcrux too.”
“The important thing,” Dumbledore continued, “is that we’ve now started to find and destroy them. That’s significant progress. Each Horcrux we eliminate weakens Tom’s hold on life.”
“But he still has the others,” Gabrielle said. “And we don’t know where they are.”
“Not yet,” Dumbledore agreed. “But we’re learning. The pattern of Founder artifacts gives us a framework. We need to research Hufflepuff’s possessions and determine what Tom might have acquired. In the meantime, I believe it’s time to destroy this Horcrux.”
Dumbledore retrieved the sword of Gryffindor from behind his desk. The blade gleamed in the firelight, and Harry once again recalled how they’d destroyed the ring with the same artifact mere days ago. He placed the diadem on a clear space on his desk and raised the sword.
“You may want to shield your eyes,” he cautioned.
Harry, Daphne, and Gabrielle erected shields as Dumbledore brought the sword down. The blade struck the diadem with a sound like breaking glass. Dark mist erupted from the sapphires, and a shriek filled the office. For a moment, Harry saw a face in the smoke, twisted with hatred and rage. Then it dissipated, and silence returned.
The diadem lay in pieces on the desk, the silver tarnished and the sapphires cracked. Whatever dark magic had dwelt within was gone, leaving only broken metal and stone.
“One more down,” Harry said quietly.
“Indeed.” Dumbledore lowered the sword and examined the remains. “Though we should consider what this means. We stumbled upon this Horcrux entirely by accident while exploring the Room of Requirement. That raises an interesting question.”
“What question?” Daphne asked.
“If we could find one Horcrux by chance, might there be others hidden in places we haven’t thought to look? Tom was clever about concealment, but perhaps not as clever as he believed. The ring was in his family home. The diadem was in Hogwarts, a place Tom loved and knew intimately. Perhaps his other Horcruxes follow similar patterns.”
“So we should search places that were important to him,” Harry concluded. “Places he had strong connections to.”
“Precisely. Though we must be careful. Tom would have protected his Horcruxes with more than just obscurity. The ring nearly killed me. We can assume the others are dangerous.”
“What places were important to Voldemort?” Gabrielle wondered.
“Hogwarts obviously,” Daphne said. “We already found the diadem here, but there might be others. He was a student for seven years here.”
“The orphanage where he grew up,” Harry suggested. “Though I imagine that’s long gone by now.”
“Destroyed in the Blitz, actually,” Dumbledore confirmed. “I checked. But there are other locations. Tom’s years at Hogwarts. The places he traveled after leaving school. His time working at Borgin and Burkes.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Gabrielle said doubtfully.
“Which is why we must be systematic,” Dumbledore replied. “We start with the most likely locations and work methodically. I will research Hufflepuff artifacts. Harry, I wonder if you might investigate the Chamber of Secrets more thoroughly.”
Harry blinked in surprise. “The Chamber? Why?”
“Because it was a place of great significance to Tom. He discovered it, opened it, and used it to attack students. If he had another Slytherin artifact to convert into a Horcrux, the Chamber would be a logical place to hide it.”
“I haven’t been down there since second year,” Harry admitted. “After we killed the basilisk, I never really thought about it again.”
“Then perhaps it’s time to return. Take Miss Greengrass and Miss Delacour with you. Explore thoroughly. Look for anything that seems out of place or particularly well hidden. Tom’s arrogance might have led him to hide something in plain sight, assuming no one else could access the Chamber.”
“When should we go?” Daphne asked.
“Tomorrow evening, if possible. I’ll arrange for the entrance to remain accessible. But be cautious. Even with the basilisk dead, the Chamber may contain other dangers.”
They talked for another few minutes about logistics and safety precautions. Dumbledore warned them about potential wards and traps, emphasized the importance of staying together, and made them promise to retreat if anything seemed too dangerous.
They walked through the castle in silence for a while, processing everything they’d learned. Horcruxes destroyed, but still more to find, and still so many questions unanswered.
“The Chamber of Secrets,” Daphne said eventually. “I can’t believe we’re going down there.”
“Should be fun,” Gabrielle said dryly. “Exploring a thousand year old chamber that once housed a giant serpent. What could possibly go wrong?”
“At least the giant serpent is dead,” Harry pointed out.
“There’s probably other things down there that aren’t dead,” Daphne countered. “But Dumbledore’s right. If Voldemort has another Horcrux hidden at Hogwarts, the Chamber is the logical place.”
They reached the Ravenclaw Tower and said goodnight to Gabrielle. Harry escorted Daphne to the dungeons before making his way to the Gryffindor Tower.
As Harry slid under the sheets, his mind drifted to the next task at their hand. The Chamber of Secrets, where he’d nearly died fighting a basilisk, where Ginny had almost been lost to Tom Riddle’s memory.
If there was another piece of Voldemort’s soul hidden down there, they would find it.
And they would destroy it.
No matter what it took.
To be continued…