Memories and Horcruxes

On a clear night, the sky was filled with twinkling stars, like countless brilliant silver pearls densely embedded in the deep black curtain of night.

Yet strangely, the moonlight, which should have been bright and pure, carried a delicate haziness. A faint, unnatural red had seeped into the misty glow, as though a bloodstained hand had lightly brushed across the moonlight.

A light breeze rushed from the vast Forbidden Forest toward the castle. It gently pushed open Amosta's window, allowing the reddened moonlight to slip inside and spread a crimson halo across the dormitory's dark brown floor.

The stone casket on the desk had already been pulled halfway open. The box seemed to possess a magic that devoured light; the candlelight shone into it, yet not a trace escaped. Thus, the other half of the box remained pitch-black, its contents impossible to make out.

Amosta leaned against the back of his chair, his gaze fixed on the thumb-sized glass vial pinched between his fingers. The silvery mist within the bottle slowly swirled like a rotating galaxy.

This was a vial of extracted memory. Its owner was Amosta, yet he had no idea when he had left this thing behind.

That morning, when Professor McGonagall had encountered Harry Potter, a message had automatically surfaced in his mind. It told him that he had hidden something extremely important beneath the dormitory floor, and that once his memory was restored, he had to retrieve it immediately. The condition for triggering the message was seeing Harry Potter with his own eyes.

Why had he set such a condition back then?

Amosta stared at the dazzling silver mist as he pondered the question. Suddenly, his heartbeat quickened as a possibility occurred to him.

"Could the memory in here be related to the plot of Harry Potter? Is the reason I haven't been able to recall my past life's memories about the Harry Potter plot all these years because I extracted that memory myself?"

Amosta murmured, but then he shook his head and dismissed his own speculation.

What was a transmigrator's greatest advantage? Nothing more than knowing the plot in advance.

Knowing the plot meant being able to avoid every danger ahead of time and profit for oneself. No matter what happened, Amosta did not believe he would abandon such an enormous advantage.

Amosta could have simply merged with this memory and had all his doubts answered. But being cautious by nature, he did not dare try it lightly.

Memories represented a person's past and experiences. To some extent, they could even alter one's personality. Amosta was not even sure whether the information in his mind had truly been left there by his past self, or whether someone had forcibly implanted it with Memory Magic.

If it was the latter, then the caster must have anticipated that, after seeing the message, he would retrieve and merge with the memory. What if they had planted false information within it to deliberately mislead his actions—

Of course, someone capable of forcibly extracting and altering his memories would not need to go through such trouble. Perhaps it would have been far simpler to use magic to control his actions directly.

But Amosta still could not disregard the possibility. Back when he was still a student, he had not been nearly as powerful as he was today. It was entirely possible that someone had taken advantage of him.

After hesitating for a long time, Amosta ultimately decided to postpone merging with the memory. His attainments in Memory Magic were not exceptional. If the memory in the vial had been altered by a master who specialized in Memory Magic, he might not have the discernment to notice it. Rather than take the risk, it would be safer to find a memory master to appraise it for him.

Was there a master proficient in Memory Magic at Hogwarts?

Amosta pondered it. Dumbledore certainly counted as one, but unless he downed two huge bowls of Felix Felicis, he would never make such a foolish choice.

After tucking the memory vial securely away, Amosta rose and pulled open the half-covered stone lid. He silently watched the object inside the box. The gently flickering candlelight fell over his face, making his expression difficult to read.

The beloved possession of Rowena Ravenclaw—the founder of Ravenclaw House and one of the four great figures who had founded Hogwarts a thousand years ago—a treasure representing the beautiful qualities of calmness and wisdom, lay quietly at the bottom of the box.

But now, that treasure was nothing more than garbage, its surface crusted with blackened, dried scabs and split into two halves.

Ravenclaw's Diadem had been lost for a thousand years. Amosta did not know how much effort Voldemort had spent finding it, but he was deeply infuriated by Voldemort's act of turning such a treasure into a Horcrux.

Amosta could imagine the uproar it would cause if this thing appeared in the underground world. Countless wizards from ancient schools whose magic shared the same origin as that of the four founders would likely be willing to trade their entire fortunes for it. They might even be willing to wipe out the Malfoy family, the wealthiest family in the public wizarding world, just to scrape together enough Galleons to buy it.

He had been only one step away from financial freedom, yet he had to destroy that opportunity with his own hands. Even now, the thought made Amosta's chest tighten.

Speaking of destroying the diadem with his own hands, that was another question worth considering.

Amosta clearly remembered how he had discovered the diadem. He could also sense that the lingering aura of Fiendfyre upon it was steeped in his own magic. Yet his memories of destroying the diadem were vague. As for why that was, the answer was probably in that small vial of memory.

"Reparo!"

Amosta pointed his wand at the diadem. The two pieces of ancient, faded crown resting in his palm trembled for a moment, then fell still again.

This was hardly surprising. Although the powerful Dark Magic attached to the diadem by the Horcrux had been melted away by Amosta's Fiendfyre, the diadem itself still contained strange magic. Restoring a legendary magical item with such powerful magic was no simple matter.

"Does the diadem truly possess the wondrous power rumored to grant its wearer unimaginable wisdom?" Amosta guessed.

At the very least, Voldemort had certainly never uncovered the diadem's own power back then. Otherwise, he would not have done something so wasteful.

"Keep it for now," Amosta said to himself. "Some other day, I'll try gluing the diadem back together. Maybe those Secret Witchcraft school fanatics with addled brains won't be able to tell!"

The cold current outside and the warm air inside created a convection, and a fierce gust slammed the open window shutters with a loud bang. Amosta walked over and closed the window. With his sharp eyesight, he unexpectedly spotted an oil lamp swaying out of the Forbidden Forest and bobbing its way toward Hagrid's Hut.

"—Hermione Granger must have told Hagrid that I returned to Hogwarts as an Investigator, but she probably got the message wrong and made him think it was the Ministry of Magic. Something isn't right."

Amosta's brow suddenly furrowed as he carefully recalled their encounter that morning.

Hagrid had seemed very nervous about the news, which was strange. What did he have to be nervous about? Could he have thought the Ministry of Magic had sent Amosta back to Hogwarts to cause trouble for Dumbledore?

Or did he actually know something about the Chamber of Secrets—perhaps even have a direct connection to it?

Amosta pressed his lips together and stared at Hagrid's Hut, his gaze deep and unreadable.

After thinking for a while, Amosta looked toward the distant tower room where candlelight still shone and shook his head. Just as Professor Snape had said, Dumbledore might not be as noble as people believed, but he truly would not allow anyone to harm the students at the school. The trust he showed Hagrid was enough to prove that Hagrid was not a suspect.

"The headmaster should be gathering the Dark Lord's Horcruxes by now."

Amosta drew the curtains and muttered as he walked back, "If he's willing to take damaged Horcruxes off my hands, then for Professor Snape's sake, I can give him a fair price!"