June 7, 1993, later that day.
There are moments in life when even a man such as myself must cease basking in well-earned glory and attend to more… troublesome matters.
This, regrettably, was one of those moments.
The final bell had barely finished echoing through the stone corridors of Hogwarts when I made my decision. No more postponing. No more elegant sidestepping. No more pretending this particular problem didn't exist simply because I looked far too good to deal with it.
I was going to see Dumbledore.
And, as I suspected, the castle itself seemed to know.
The moment I reached the corridor of the seventh floor, the griffin gargoyle guarding his office stirred. Its stone wings shifted. Its beak turned ever so slightly toward me.
I hadn't even opened my mouth to speak the password when the statue began to rotate, revealing the spiraling staircase behind it as if it had been expecting me.
Of course it had.
Even enchanted stone appreciates greatness.
I stepped onto the moving stairs, my robes whispering over the smooth marble as I ascended. The familiar sensation of magic grew stronger with each slow rotation upward, like ascending directly into the mind of the most famous wizard alive.
At the top, the door swung open of its own accord.
"Come in," Dumbledore's voice called warmly.
I stepped inside, staff tapping once against the polished floor, and found him seated behind his desk, hands folded, looking far too pleased for my liking.
He lifted his head, blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.
"Gilderoy… what a pleasant surprise."
"Oh, spare me the lies, Albus," I replied, rolling my eyes and sweeping toward the chair across from him. "You clearly knew I was coming. The gargoyle practically bowed."
A small chuckle escaped him. "Would you care for some tea?"
"With a slice of ginger, please" I said smoothly, settling into the seat.
The tea set materialised instantly between us: delicate porcelain cups, a silver teapot softly steaming, and, most importantly, a neat plate of scones, still warm. Raspberry jam glistened on the side.
Ah. He'd been prepared.
Naturally.
We began our familiar ritual.
One sugar cube in my cup. Then two. Three. Four. Five.
I glanced up.
Dumbledore, infuriatingly unbothered, continued at his own pace. Ten. Fifteen. Eighteen…
He stopped at twenty.
I narrowed my eyes and carefully dropped my twentieth cube as well.
A tiny, perfectly petty victory. As if declaring, without saying it aloud, that I now belonged on the same level as him.
We stirred in silence, the clinking of spoons echoing softly through the office, both of us painfully aware of the meaning of that small gesture. When we sipped at the same time, we gave matching, approving nods.
Perfection.
I broke the silence by pulling a small, square, sealed case from inside my robes and set it atop the desk.
The atmosphere shifted immediately.
"I brought the Horcrux," I said calmly.
Every trace of amusement vanished from Dumbledore's face.
In an instant he became the man who had defeated a dark lord, who commanded armies, who held the fate of the wizarding world in his mind like a chessboard.
He leaned forward slightly, eyes now razor-sharp. "May I?" he asked quietly.
"Go right ahead," I replied with a casual gesture, already reaching for a scone.
With my other hand I casually spread raspberry jam like this wasn't one of the most dangerous objects in Britain I had just presented.
Dumbledore drew his wand and began murmuring spells under his breath. The air around the case vibrated as layers of magic unknotted, unsealed, and unraveled. The powerful protections fell away one by one, each accompanied by a faint surge of dark energy.
Then the lid finally opened.
Inside, gleaming with forbidden beauty, rested Ravenclaw's lost diadem.
Its silver surface shimmered in the light from the tall windows. Blue gemstones sparkled like trapped pieces of sky. Runes, older than Hogwarts itself, circled the delicate band.
Even I had to admit that it was absolutely breathtaking.
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose ever so slightly at the sight of it.
"Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem…" he murmured.
For one brief flicker of a moment, a dark pressure pulsed in the room; cold, probing, whispering at the edges of thought.
The Horcrux reached for him.
But Dumbledore straightened, his mind slamming shut like a fortress gate. The moment passed as quickly as it came.
"Yes," he said solidly. "This is clearly a Horcrux."
I shot him an "I told you so" look as I swallowed the last of my scone.
He ran his wand slowly over the diadem again, muttering diagnostic spells.
"It also doubles as the anchor for the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position," I added.
"Indeed," he said quietly. "The magic is unmistakable."
He looked up at me now. "Shall we destroy it?"
The question hung there in the air.
And, to his visible surprise… I shook my head.
"That would be an absolute tragedy," I said. "This is a lost historical artefact of immeasurable value, Albus. Rowena Ravenclaw did not lace her crown with wisdom just for it to be smashed like a common trinket."
"But it contains…"
"A fragment of a very unpleasant soul, yes, I'm well aware," I cut in smoothly. "Which is why I'm asking the more pressing question…"
I leaned forward slightly. "Is there any way to destroy the soul fragment… without destroying the diadem itself?"
Dumbledore fell silent, stroking his long white beard in contemplation.
"You are not the first to desire such a separation," he admitted, eyes lowering to the object. "But the standard procedure, when dealing with soul containers, has always been absolute destruction. No matter how priceless."
"I have already asked the goblins," I said. "Even when dealing with ancient phylacteries of long-dead Pharaohs, they destroy them on sight. They refuse to take risks."
A faint hum of respect flickered in his eyes. "Wise of them," he murmured.
"It's also extremely inconvenient," I muttered.
Dumbledore sighed quietly.
"You might have more success consulting a necromancer," he said carefully, "as they are the only ones who study the tethering of souls in such detail. But unfortunately, or fortunately should I say," His mouth drew thin. "There have been none seen in the last five centuries. And even if there were, these kinds of wizards are… not to be trusted."
I slumped back in my chair with a groan.
"I was hoping you might simply have an answer. Or a secret underground network of morally ambiguous contacts."
"Not one I would encourage you to meet," he replied lightly.
Then something clicked in my mind.
Wait.
"What about Mr. Flamel?" I asked, suddenly straightening.
Dumbledore considered it.
"This is not Nicolas' field," he said thoughtfully, "but you lose nothing by asking. If nothing else, he may have encountered such a case in his long life."
My hope flickered.
"And if that doesn't work…" he added, "I have a certain old friend who might know a thing or two about such dark magics."
I looked up at him sharply. "You mean… Grindelwald?"
For a moment, the air in the office felt heavier.
A note of true surprise passed over his face. "You are very perceptive," he admitted quietly.
"You do keep such interesting company, Albus. But isn't he imprisoned in Nurmengard?" I said.
"You are correct," Dumbledore replied, eyes distant now. "But that does not mean we cannot pay him a visit."
A very dangerous smile slowly formed on my face. "Well," I said, standing and lifting my staff once more, "this just became very interesting, didn't it?"
His gaze lingered on the diadem… then returned to me.
"Gilderoy," he said carefully. "This path is lined with shadows."
"Oh, I don't mind the shadows," I replied smoothly, resting the glowing staff against my shoulder. "They only make the light look better when it finds me."
He watched as I turned toward the door.
"But do let me know if your former nemesis proves useful," I added lazily. "I do so love a redemption subplot."
And with that, I strode out of the office.
Behind me, the door shut softly.
Inside, the greatest wizard of the age sat staring at a crown containing the shriveled soul of one of his most promising former students…
And thinking about visiting his even darker ex-best friend.
Truly.
What a delightful mess.
…
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