"Please, have a seat." Dumbledore turned and retrieved an ancient wooden box from behind his desk, its surface adorned with nine intricately shaped locks arranged in a neat row.
"Is the diadem in there?" Severus Snape settled into the armchair, leaning forward slightly, his eyes studying the box with curiosity.
Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. He drew his wand from his sleeve and gave it a gentle flick. Instantly, every window in the office snapped shut, and even Fawkes' soft trilling was silenced behind an invisible barrier.
The air grew unnaturally still, broken only by the faint sound of their breathing.
Once seated, the headmaster pulled a large ring of keys from a drawer and began patiently inserting them, one by one, into the box's locks. Each key matched a specific lock, producing distinct sounds as they turned.
When the ninth key was turned, the box emitted a dull thud. Snape held his breath, half-expecting to see a gaping pit, like the kind of place Mad-Eye Moody might be trapped in for a year—but inside was merely another, slightly smaller box, this one with seven locks.
For the next few minutes, Snape watched as Dumbledore repeated the unlocking ritual.
The third box had five locks, the fourth had three, and by the time the fifth box—bearing a single lock—was retrieved, Dumbledore's keyring was empty.
Under Snape's watchful gaze, the headmaster reached into his robes and produced a final key. This one was distinct, crafted entirely of silver with a small sapphire embedded in its handle.
With a crisp click as the key turned in the lock, the lid of the box slowly opened. Nestled on a bed of red velvet lay a tarnished diadem, a sapphire set in its center, the gem shimmering as if liquid swirled within.
"Ravenclaw's Diadem," Dumbledore said softly, lifting it from the box and placing it solemnly on the desk. With a wave of his hand, the nested boxes collapsed into one another and flew to a corner of the room.
Staring at the diadem up close, Snape found it nearly impossible to look away. It seemed almost alive, drawing his attention with an uncanny pull.
"A Horcrux will resist those who attempt to destroy it," Dumbledore said, taking a deep breath, breaking Snape's trance. "Especially when its creator still exists in a relatively intact form." He met Snape's eyes directly. "Are you ready, Severus?"
Snape nodded, forcing himself to focus. He stood, drew a silver dagger from his sleeve, and slowly approached the diadem.
When the dagger's tip was about seven inches from the diadem, it began to tremble faintly. The sapphire emitted a blinding light, and the desk vibrated with a faint tapping, as if a swarm of invisible insects skittered across its surface.
Whatever's inside is getting restless, Snape thought.
As the dagger drew closer, a translucent female figure rose from the diadem. Her ethereal robes flowed like water, and she wore a diadem identical to the one on the desk, her face noble yet tinged with sorrow.
Snape recognized her from a portrait in Hogwarts: A History. This was Rowena Ravenclaw herself.
"By what right do you seek to destroy the symbol of wisdom?" Her voice rang like distant bells, echoing directly in Snape's mind.
His hand faltered. The voice stirred memories of the first time he'd touched a book, the scent of parchment and ink, the joy of losing himself in words.
"Keep going," Dumbledore's voice called from what seemed a great distance.
"Do you know the weight this object bears?" the figure continued, her hands clasped over her chest. Her eyes suddenly blazed like stars in the night sky. "Destroy it, and you destroy the only key to certain ancient wisdoms. Can you do so without regret?"
Sweat beaded on Snape's forehead. His hand wavered, dipping slightly.
"Severus!" Dumbledore's voice cut through like a splash of cold water.
Snape clenched his jaw and pushed the dagger forward. The figure's expression shifted, nobility giving way to urgency.
"Wait!" Her voice grew vivid, almost alive. "I know countless lost magics—the secret of turning stone to gold, the mystery of flight without aid, potions to raise the dead. I can propel your magic to heights unknown, teach you, give you everything you desire…"
"Tell me, then," Snape said, almost unconsciously, pausing his hand. "How does one fly without aid?"
The figure's lips curved subtly. "It requires adjusting the flow of magical energy, paired with specific wand movements and incantations. I can guide you in detail—"
"How long would it take to master?" Snape pressed.
"Depending on your aptitude, as little as three months," she replied gently.
Ahem. Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly.
"Oh," Snape said, shaking his head, a cold smirk tugging at his lips. He inched the dagger closer. "I'm afraid I'm in a hurry, wise and beautiful Lady Ravenclaw. Perhaps you can teach me in person next time."
The diadem jolted upward half a foot, and Ravenclaw's face twisted into a snarl.
Dumbledore's hand shot out, pinning the trembling diadem to the desk. The figure whirled toward the headmaster, her expression now furious and distorted.
"You are the headmaster of Hogwarts, and I am the legacy of its founder, Rowena Ravenclaw," she said, her voice deepening ominously. "I am a symbol of this school's ancient heritage. It is your duty, Headmaster, to protect the founders' legacy…"
Dumbledore, however, gave a cheerful smile.
"Good evening, Tom," he said casually. "You look… rather more attractive since we last met."
The figure froze, her face melting like hot wax. Though it reformed into Ravenclaw's likeness, the noble air was gone.
"You wouldn't destroy my life, would you, Dumbledore?" she said in a chilling, masculine voice. "You're above such cruelty, aren't you?"
"There are other ways to destroy someone, Tom," Dumbledore replied lightly. "And some fates are far worse than death—"
"Nothing is worse than death, Dumbledore!" the figure shrieked, her silvery eyes turning blood-red, pupils narrowing to slits.
The strange silver instruments on the desk whirred frantically, spewing clouds of white mist. Fawkes took flight from his perch but couldn't approach closer.
"You're mistaken there," Dumbledore said calmly. With a wave of his hand, the instruments slowed, the mist dissipated, and Fawkes settled back onto his perch.
"Shall I continue, Professor?" Snape asked, a wave of discomfort washing over him at the sight of Tom's voice in a woman's form. He didn't want to hear it a second longer.
"Oh, by all means," Dumbledore said brightly.
As Snape advanced the dagger again, the diadem let out a piercing wail. The figure dissolved into a writhing mass of black mist, its red eyes glaring at him.
"You'll regret this! What do you want—power? Recognition? I can give you rewards beyond your wildest dreams! Damn it, don't you want something?"
"I want many things," Snape said coldly. "Like, say, everything you have."
The moment his dagger struck, the diadem erupted in blinding red light, growing scalding hot.
Dumbledore's hand, still pinning the diadem, began to smoke with a sizzling sound, but he didn't flinch.
"Quickly!" the headmaster's voice was taut, a rare edge to it.
With a flash of cold light and a sharp crack, the sapphire split in two. A black, viscous substance, like blood, oozed from the diadem, dripping onto the desk and carpet, hissing as it corroded the surfaces.
Rowena Ravenclaw's figure writhed, flailing wildly, her arms clawing at the air. Faint, distant screams of agony escaped her before she dissolved into a wisp of black smoke.
Snape staggered back, the dagger trembling in his hand. He watched as the ooze ate through half the desk, the carpet releasing acrid black fumes.
"Well done, Severus," Dumbledore said, releasing the diadem. His hands bore charred marks. "You were even more decisive than I expected. And, admirably, you didn't stab my hand."
Snape didn't respond to the jest. His gaze fixed on Dumbledore's scorched, blackened hands, concern creeping into his voice. "Professor, your hands…?"
"Oh, it's nothing serious," Dumbledore said with a smile. He moved to a cabinet, trembling as he tried to open it but failed. "Come, Severus, help me," he said. "Assist a helpless old man in easing his pain."
The familiar words made Snape half-believe the old man was on the brink of death, already spinning a web of intricate plans to neatly tie up everyone's fates.
"Will you die, Professor?" he blurted out, a trace of tension in his voice he hadn't noticed himself.
"What are you talking about, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled. "Come help me open the cabinet!"
"Oh, right," Snape said, snapping out of his thoughts. He hurried to Dumbledore's side and pulled open the cabinet door. "What next, Professor?"
"That black potion bottle," Dumbledore said, gesturing vaguely. Snape's hand hovered over a few crystal vials. "No… the other one… yes, that's it."
At Dumbledore's direction, Snape uncorked the bottle and poured its contents over the headmaster's hands. The potion's scent carried hints of dittany, bezoar, mandrake, and other familiar healing ingredients.
Under the potion's effect, the burns on Dumbledore's hands faded.
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, flexing his fingers. He drew his wand, pointed it at one hand, and muttered an indistinct spell. Switching hands, he repeated the process.
"Your hands are fully healed, right?" Snape asked, closely watching Dumbledore's movements.
"Of course," Dumbledore replied. "You wouldn't wish me worse off, would you?"
"Of course not!" Snape exclaimed. "It's just that your words earlier were far too easy to misinterpret!"
"Very well," Dumbledore said, turning back to the desk. "These diadem fragments…"
"I'll take them," Snape said quickly, pocketing the Horcrux shards. "They're quite… memorable. Years from now, I might point to them and regale the young with tales of my great deeds."
"As you wish, but handle them with care," Dumbledore said, breaking into a genuine smile that crinkled his eyes. "It seems I'll need a new desk and carpet."
"And," he added, "I'm planning a visit to Azkaban soon to see an 'old friend.' Could I borrow your dagger—"
"What dagger?" Snape said, swiftly tucking the weapon into his sleeve. "Oh, Merlin, I forgot—Hagrid's roosters!" He bolted toward the door. "Until next time, Professor…"
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid's cabin glowed with warm light, wisps of smoke curling from the chimney.
When Snape, leading a flock of proud roosters, knocked on the door, Hagrid's bushy face appeared at the window.
"Merlin's dragon!" Hagrid gasped, vanishing from the window. Seconds later, he flung the door open, his dark eyes fixed on the roosters in Snape's hands.
The birds immediately flapped their wings and surged toward Hagrid. Snape quickly untied their ropes.
"They're beautiful, Severus," Hagrid said, his rough fingers gently stroking their feathers, his voice trembling with emotion. "They've grown so much!"
As the crested rooster leapt onto a beam, pecking at the ham and pheasant hanging from the ceiling, Hagrid's eyes glistened with tears.
"They're eating your food," Snape pointed out.
"Let 'em eat! It'll help 'em grow!" Hagrid said, gazing adoringly at the roosters hopping along the beams. "Eat up, my darlings…" Then, lowering his voice, he leaned toward Snape. "What'd you feed 'em, Severus?"
"Don't ask questions you shouldn't, Comrade Hagrid!" Snape said sternly. "Remember the Order's rules!"
"Right, right," Hagrid said, scratching his head. "I won't ask."
"Good," Snape said, pointing at the roosters. "These ones helped Professor Dumbledore with something big. You're not going to eat them, are you, Hagrid?"
"Eat them?" Hagrid's voice rose in shock, his face a picture of disbelief, as if Snape had suggested something utterly unthinkable. "How could I do such a thing? I'm gonna build 'em a new, bigger coop! Maybe even breed a new kind!"
Minutes later, Snape waved a bag of rock cakes, smiling as he bid Hagrid farewell. As he turned to leave, he heard Hagrid's off-key singing drifting from the cabin…
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