Chapter 314 — Hesitant Dumbledore
For now, let's leave aside the awkward scene Alexander had just witnessed—Harry and Ginny's sudden, overly enthusiastic reunion.
Far away from the chaos of teenage emotions, the atmosphere inside the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts was utterly different. Strange silver instruments ticked and whirred softly; portraits of former headmasters muttered among themselves. And in the center of the room, floating silently above a desk, hovered a cold, translucent crown.
"Amazing… simply amazing!"
Dumbledore circled the crown with the excitement of a child examining a new toy. His fingertips passed through the pearly white diadem, and he shivered.
"So cold—almost exactly like passing through a ghost."
He tapped it again, as though hoping for a different result.
"But does it truly contain magic?"
"Yes, Dumbledore," Helena Ravenclaw replied calmly.
The ghost of Ravenclaw's daughter hovered a few inches above the ground, her long silver hair flowing like drifting mist. Her ethereal robes trailed behind her, shimmering faintly in the candlelight.
"I have tested it myself. It has the same effect as the real Ravenclaw diadem… but only for ghosts. And no matter where I take it, it eventually returns to me—like it's a part of my soul."
Behind her, Phineas Black suddenly perked up in his portrait.
"Aha! The implications! The implications!"
He leaned forward eagerly.
"If this can be replicated, then objects might become ghosts as well! Ghosts could acquire everything they lack—food, touch, magic—why, there would be no difference between being alive and being dead!"
A few portraits murmured in agreement. Others groaned.
Dumbledore, however, only smiled faintly.
"Phineas, you're not wrong. This may indeed change the very definition of life and death in our world." His tone softened. "Even so, I would still prefer a normal passing. My family is waiting for me in the next great adventure."
The portraits fell silent at those words.
Helena's expression suddenly darkened.
"I should go."
She didn't bother retrieving the crown. Instead, she simply slipped downward—straight through the floor—vanishing like a breath of winter air.
Dumbledore didn't need to guess why.
A moment later, the door opened, and a handsome young man stepped in with the ease of someone who had been here many times before.
Tom Riddle.
He blinked the moment he saw the crown.
"Ah. So it was Lady Grey's."
Dumbledore made a small wave of his wand, and a table appeared, neatly set with dishes and a pair of chairs.
"You used to call her Helena, as I recall."
Dumbledore sat first, took a sip of gin, and smacked his lips in satisfaction.
Riddle took his usual seat across from him, looking mildly annoyed.
"I no longer encourage unnecessary attachments. I intend to take the real Ravenclaw diadem eventually; letting her misunderstand my intentions now would only complicate matters."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"Tom… that was your main soul. At the time, you were already a Horcrux."
Riddle scowled.
"Regardless, I want distance. She may be over a thousand years old, but emotionally, Helena Ravenclaw is still a child living under her mother's shadow. Spoiled, sensitive, self-important… she assumes any kindness directed her way means something more."
"And yet you pursued her knowledge at the time," Dumbledore reminded him lightly. "You are speaking of Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter."
"That's exactly why I bothered." Riddle took a slow drink. "But she was a disappointment. Magical knowledge? Insight? Talent? Almost nothing. A thousand years, and she hasn't grown at all."
He grimaced.
"Even Bellatrix was better company—at least she could hold a conversation about magic, even if she was insane."
Dumbledore chuckled.
"Well, let's set Helena aside. You met Harry today. Your impression?"
Riddle paused, his expression turning serious for the first time.
"His power is real. If I held even a hint of ill intent toward him, I might end up worse than the locket you handed me last month."
"And he wasn't using his full strength."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"So it was the strength that bothered you."
He waved his wand again. A shimmering vision appeared: Harry, confidently answering questions in Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
"What makes Harry remarkable isn't raw power," Dumbledore said softly.
"It's his heart."
"He answered with sincerity. He empathized even with those who wished him harm. His magic flows from that kindness. If you or I had Lily's protective spell, we still wouldn't be able to use it the way Harry does. That power you fear comes from who he is."
Riddle snorted.
"Then I'll pass. There are many forms of strength, and not all involve sentiment." His voice sharpened.
"There is dark and light, yes—but also the grey in between. Determination forms magic just as surely as love does."
He raised his chin.
"Ravenclaw herself wasn't 'kind.' She took many of the books now housed in Hogwarts by force. And yet she created what no wizard—before or since—has ever replicated."
"Admit it, Dumbledore. 'Love' is not some divine miracle. It's simply a branch of magic."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore murmured.
His eyes drifted toward the floating crown.
"Tom… do you think I should continue? If I manage to understand this magic fully—"
He hesitated. Actually hesitated.
A rare sight.
With his brilliance, he could already see the consequences clearly: a magic that could blur the line between life and death, a discovery that could reshape the wizarding world.
Riddle scoffed.
"Knowledge is not evil. And whether it's you or someone else, this crown will eventually be researched. If you are the one who uncovers its secret, you can control how this knowledge affects the world."
He leaned back, expression cold.
"You're simply too hesitant, Dumbledore."
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