The magic of the Yule Ball faded, leaving behind the quiet, studious atmosphere of a Hogwarts deep in winter. The second task of the Triwizard Tournament loomed, a new puzzle to be solved. One afternoon, Ariana found Harry in the common room, staring blankly at the golden egg he had won from the Horntail. It was smooth, inert, and utterly silent.
"It just sits there," Harry said in frustration, having tried every standard opening spell he could think of. "It won't open."
Ariana sat down opposite him, her gaze analytical. She didn't touch the egg, but she could feel the complex, water-aspected magic woven into its golden shell. "You are approaching it as a lockbox," she said calmly. "That is the wrong paradigm. The organizers of this tournament favour theatricality. The clue is likely not in the egg, but is the egg. It is a message that needs the correct medium to be heard."
"A medium?" Harry asked, confused.
"You retrieved it from a nesting mother. The preparation of the second task is being done at the Lake," she stated, laying out the variables. "The connecting element is water. The egg's magic feels fluidic, auditory. The logical conclusion is that you must submerge the egg in water to hear its message."
The solution was so simple, so elegant, that Harry felt foolish for not seeing it himself. "The lake, or I guess a bathroom would do!" he exclaimed. "Do I take a bath with it!"
"A sound suggestion," Ariana confirmed with a nod. "The environment is secure and provides the necessary medium. I suggest you pursue that line of inquiry."
With Harry's immediate problem set on a logical path, Ariana turned her formidable intellect to her own, far more dangerous projects. The Maledictus and Lycanthropy research had reached a stable, successful conclusion for now. The papers were published, the bracelets were in production, and the Greengrass and Lupin families were beginning their long, slow journeys to a new kind of normalcy. Those projects were about healing others.
The final project was about confronting evil.
It was time to deal with the locket.
This was a task she undertook in absolute solitude. She did not involve Hermione or Daphne. Their work on the previous curses had been a collaboration, but this was different. This was not a disease or a hereditary flaw; this was a deliberate act of soul-mutilation performed by the most powerful dark wizard in history. To involve her friends would be to needlessly expose their minds to its corrupting, whispering influence. This was a battle she had to fight alone.
In the deepest, most secure configuration of the Room of Requirement, she began her work. The room transformed at her will into a sterile, white chamber, more like a high-tech laboratory from her past life than a magical workshop. In the center, on a pedestal of pure, non-conductive marble, sat Slytherin's locket.
She spent days, then weeks, simply observing it. She did not touch it. She did not try to open it. She surrounded it with diagnostic spells of her own invention, weaving intricate webs of magic to analyze its properties. She mapped its aura, quantified its dark energy output, and studied the soul-fragment's reactions to various stimuli—light, sound, proximity to other magical objects.
She confirmed what Dumbledore had told her: destroying the Horcrux required destroying the vessel beyond magical repair. Basilisk venom, Fiendfyre—these were crude, destructive tools. They were the equivalent of using a sledgehammer for brain surgery. Her goal was not just to destroy the soul-fragment, but to understand and master the process of its removal.
Her plan began to form, a daring synthesis of her previous two projects.
Problem: The soul-fragment is inextricably linked to the physical object.
Previous Solution (Maledictus): A magical parasite, latched onto a flawed core. Solution: Detach and transfer.
Hypothesis: The soul-fragment can be treated as a parasite latched onto the locket's own innate magical matrix.
The key, once again, was the principle of magical anesthesia.
"The soul-fragment is sustained by the locket's own enchantments," she murmured to herself, pacing the white, sterile room. "It has integrated itself, creating a symbiotic bond. If I attack the locket, the soul-fragment will defend it. If I attack the soul-fragment, the locket's own powerful preservation charms will protect it."
She needed to sever that bond.
Her plan was audacious. She would use a modified, far more powerful version of the anesthetic potion she had developed for Astoria. She would not be administering it to a person, but to the locket itself, forcing the ancient, powerful enchantments on the object into a state of temporary dormancy.
"If I can put the locket's magic to sleep," she reasoned, "I can momentarily break the link between the object and the soul-fragment. For an instant, the Horcrux will be… exposed. A parasite without a host."
The next step was transference. She couldn't just pull the soul-fragment out; it would likely dissipate or attempt to latch onto the nearest living thing—her. She needed a new vessel. A magical prison.
The Room of Requirement provided the materials. She designed a small, hollow sphere made from magically inert obsidian. She spent a week meticulously carving it, inside and out, with a new runic matrix—a combination of containment runes, siphoning runes, and runes of perpetual magical silence. It was designed to be a perfect magical vacuum, a space with an empty, waiting "core" that would be irresistible to a disembodied, hungry piece of soul.
The final procedure would be a sequence of pure, high-level magic.
Administer the anesthetic potion to the locket, placing its innate enchantments into a dormant state. In the brief window this creates, use a modified runic siphoning spell, powered by her own will, to create an energy conduit between the locket and the obsidian sphere. Lure the untethered soul-fragment along the conduit and into the sphere's prepared vacuum. Activate the final, permanent sealing runes on the sphere, trapping the soul-fragment inside, isolated from any physical vessel it could corrupt.
The result, if she was successful, would be twofold. The locket of Slytherin would be cleansed, its dark passenger evicted, leaving the historical artifact intact. And she would have a contained, isolated piece of Voldemort's soul to study safely—a Horcrux in a jar. It was a plan of incredible risk and unparalleled genius.
As the date of the second task approached, Ariana stood before the pedestal in her secret laboratory. On one side lay the cold, golden locket. On the other, the polished, empty black sphere. In her hand, a vial of shimmering, powerful anesthetic. The time for theory was over. It was time to perform surgery on a soul. And this time, her magic was fully replenished and ready to tackle it.