Ron's Confusion

Hermione pressed her lips together. She did not know why Dumbledore insisted on having her do it herself, but she did not find it difficult.

She weighed the sword in her hand. Perhaps goblin craftsmanship was simply too superb; when she had held the sword before, it had not felt heavy. Now, holding it again five years later, it did not feel light either. Instead, it felt perfectly suited to her hand.

The sharp tip of the sword rested against the depression in the center of the Diadem, where its largest Sapphire should have been set. Now, it was empty.

The frequency and intensity of the Diadem's trembling revealed its fear. Hermione barely needed to exert any force before she pierced it. Thick black mist burst forth, and an ominous, hateful magical power instantly blanketed the entire office.

"Ugh... ah..."

A hoarse wail began to echo as a shrill voice hissed from the Diadem. "I hear the voice in your mind. I know your desire."

Loren quietly gripped his wand.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk without a word, his bright blue eyes as still as a frozen lake.

"I hear your dreams, Hermione Granger. You want to save those pitiful, lowly House-elves. You want—"

Before the tempting yet threatening words could finish, Hermione drove her sword down. A crisp metallic crack rang out. After a piercing scream, the thick black mist dissipated. The center of the Diadem had been pierced through, a long, narrow gash running straight through it.

Hermione calmly returned the sword to the Sorting Hat, like a valiant swordsman sheathing her blade. Loren had to admit that the little Witch looked rather cool like that—almost enough to rival him.

At that very moment, thunderous cheers erupted from the distant Quidditch Pitch, making the glass windows tremble faintly.