Cold air poured from Harley's fingertips, rapidly thickening the ice around the Diary.
At the same time, the Magic Mirror circled above Harley's head.
She poured a large amount of Spirituality into it, activating the runes along its rim.
Gray light, tinged with an evil aura, poured from the mirror's surface and sank into the ice, laying down various simple sealing rituals.
Harley had prepared plenty of unusual curses for her senior, Riddle. If he wanted to get out of the Diary again, he'd be in for a very "pleasant" time.
Of course, if someone tried to break the ice without Harley's permission, they could enjoy a taste of the Demoness's curses in Riddle's place.
Once she had finished, Harley spoke softly without looking up. "Dear Professor, could you please stop appearing out of nowhere?
It's frightening, and not at all nice for a young girl. Besides, you nearly interfered with my battle just now."
"I'm sorry," an elderly voice replied. "Though, judging by the outcome, I don't seem to have interfered with you completely."
After sealing the Diary, Harley put away the Magic Mirror. She held the ball of ice in one hand and her wand in the other, then turned around.
The Great Hall was still a wreck. Every door was tightly shut, its surface shimmering with a strange magical sheen.
The Basilisk's corpse and Professor Lockhart's severed limbs lay on the floor in the distance. The tables and chairs were shattered, and thick frost covered them.
Yet one thing in the Great Hall was out of place.
At the High Table, the long table and chairs, which had been broken, had somehow been repaired.
An old man sat in the very middle of the table, with a golden-red bird perched on his shoulder.
It was Dumbledore.
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