Voldemort had created six Horcruxes so far. The seventh, bound to Nagini, had not yet come into existence.
The first, the diary, was already gone. Rowan had drained it dry and destroyed it long ago.
The second was Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, hidden on the eighth floor of Hogwarts, inside the Room of Requirement.
The third was Marvolo Gaunt's ring, buried in the ruins of the Gaunt family home.
The fourth, Salazar Slytherin's locket, lay sealed within the Black family house at Grimmauld Place.
The fifth, Helga Hufflepuff's cup, rested deep inside the Lestrange vault at Gringotts.
The sixth was Harry Potter himself, a fragment of Voldemort's soul lodged within him the night the Killing Curse rebounded.
Rowan knew the location of every one of them.
With his current abilities, destroying them would be effortless. Even the fragment inside Harry could be removed cleanly using advanced soul-extraction magic he had mastered elsewhere.
But he wasn't in a hurry.
Voldemort, as he was now, posed no real threat. Even if he returned, he would be little more than a nuisance. More importantly, a living enemy had its uses. Every time Voldemort resurfaced, Rowan gained influence, reputation, and leverage within the Ministry. That kind of momentum couldn't be rushed.
Destroy everything at once, and Voldemort would vanish into hiding. Remove one piece instead, and fear would drive him into reckless action.
Pettigrew was already in Azkaban. No one would help Voldemort regain a body. If provoked, he might abandon the Albanian forests and act on his own.
That suited Rowan just fine.
That night, under an invisibility charm, Rowan returned to the eighth floor.
The corridor was familiar. Offices, towers, portraits, and hidden passages intersected here. The entrance to the Room of Requirement lay behind a tapestry depicting a wizard being chased by a troll for attempting to teach it ballet.
Rowan stopped before the bare wall opposite it.
"I need the place where things are hidden."
He passed the wall three times, holding the image of the cluttered storage chamber in his mind. A smooth door appeared.
Inside stretched a vast space, cathedral-sized, filled with towering heaps of abandoned objects. Centuries of secrets stacked into a labyrinth of forgotten lives.
Rowan paused, not to search for the diadem, but to observe.
This room was extraordinary.
It conjured matter, reshaped space, concealed itself from detection, and responded to intent. The magic involved was layered, precise, and far beyond ordinary spellwork.
"Whoever created this," Rowan murmured, "was a true master."
Even with his current skill, replicating the Room of Requirement in full was beyond him. But understanding it was another matter. The principles alone were invaluable.
He already had ideas. Combined with advanced magical simulations and adaptive environments, something far greater could be built.
Satisfied, Rowan released his focus and extended his awareness.
He found the diadem quickly.
It rested atop the head of a cracked stone bust, half-hidden beneath a wig and dust. Rowan lifted it carefully. Dark magic pulsed from the metal, carrying Voldemort's presence like a malignant echo.
Rowan smiled faintly.
He reached out.
"Separate."
The air twisted. A violent pull erupted from his palm, tearing a screaming fragment of corrupted soul from the crown.
Before it could speak, Rowan opened his mouth and exhaled a tri-colored flame.
The soul fragment vanished without a trace.
Rowan did not destroy the diadem.
It was too valuable for that.
Forged by Rowena Ravenclaw herself, the diadem was one of the finest magical artifacts ever created. Its enchantment enhanced clarity, comprehension, and creativity. Even a dull mind sharpened under its influence. A sharp one became brilliant.
With it, Rowan could accelerate his mastery of magic and alchemy. And if he could unravel the enchantment woven into its design, he could reproduce the effect through spells or artifacts of his own.
Temporary brilliance. Artificial insight. Wisdom, on demand.
Rowan turned the crown over in his hands, thoughtful.
This, he decided, was worth keeping.
...
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