The Crown

Snape took a damaged lamp from his bag and casually tossed it into a conspicuous spot.

That way, even if someone was curious about why he was here, he could come up with a plausible excuse.

Then, he walked between the shafts of light cast by the high windows, searching for a troll specimen.

That diadem should be not far from the specimen.

Looking up, all he saw were piles of all sorts of junk.

Snape couldn't help but suspect that Tom Riddle's mind had long been ruined by splitting his soul.

Otherwise, how could he think that only he could enter this place?

Finally, he found the troll specimen.

Passing the specimen and continuing down the aisle, he went by an old Vanishing Cabinet.

"Wait."

Snape stopped, turned his head, and took another look at the cabinet.

After a moment's thought, he drew his wand and aimed carefully.

"Sectumsempra!"

A sharp crack like a bullet cutting through the air, and the quietly standing wooden cabinet was torn apart in an instant, wood chips and fragments flying everywhere.

Snape bent down, stuffed a few broken pieces of wood into his bag, and clapped his hands in satisfaction.

"Guess the Vanishing Cabinet won't be of any use now, huh?"

Not far from the Vanishing Cabinet's wreckage, a large, blistered cabinet caught his eye.

It was around here.

Snape cut off a sleeve from his robe with his wand, and using the fabric as a barrier, grabbed a rusty longsword from the top of a pile of junk.

He used the longsword to sift through the heaps of debris, picking out anything that could be worn on the head.

Finally, among a mess of old headpieces, Snape spotted a tarnished, dark diadem.

On the bottom edge of the diadem were engraved small words: "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."

The moment he read that line, a powerful surge of impulse welled up from deep within Snape—

He wanted to put the Ravenclaw's Diadem on his head.

He clearly sensed that it would grant him supreme wisdom and endless glory.

Snape's legs began to tremble, as if pulled by an invisible force, and he involuntarily knelt before the diadem.

He slowly reached out his hand.

The moment his fingertips touched the diadem, a pleasure like an electric current shot through his entire body.

His mind raced; Snape's thoughts had never been so clear. On one side was a mad craving for wisdom and power, on the other, a calm rationality struggling to resist.

Just as the diadem was about to touch the top of his head, Snape abruptly shut his eyes and, with all his strength, threw it aside.

"Damn it, how did this happen!" he panted heavily, cursing under his breath. "When Harry and the others got this thing, they didn't run into any danger..."

"It must be because they only touched the diadem after Fiendfyre destroyed it."

Snape tried hard to recall the original plot.

"That must be it. Ever since I read that motto, things have been off... Since that's the case, I need to avoid this."

He took the sleeve wrapped around the longsword and waved his wand: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The sleeve rose from the ground, floated gently, and fell, covering the old, faded diadem.

Just as he was about to pick up the diadem through the fabric, he realized this still carried a huge risk.

"Hmm... before the diadem was burned by Fiendfyre, Harry didn't seem to have touched it either, so it's not just about reading the words."

He used his wand to move the sleeve aside again, aimed, and tried casting a few spells at the diadem, but it remained still.

Covering the diadem again, Snape couldn't help but worry, unsure of what to do.

Standing there thinking for a while, he realized that for now, he could only hide it.

Under Snape's direction, all sorts of junk spun into the air, then piled up one by one on top of the diadem.

Before long, the third pile of junk to the left of the Vanishing Cabinet's wreckage looked no different from the other stacks around it.

Snape pressed his ear to the door, listened for a moment to the sounds outside, then shouldered his bag, slipped out quietly, and turned to watch the door turn back into a stone wall behind him.

"Oh, blast!"

He barely had time to glance at the old watch on his wrist before he sprinted toward the stairs.

"No, I'm going to be late for the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class..."

Outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Snape skidded to a halt.

He knocked lightly on the door, interrupting Professor Gradelan's voice.

"Come in."

He carefully pulled the door open and walked in.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor. I—"

A chorus of hisses came from one corner of the classroom, where James Potter's grin shone especially bright.

Professor Gradelan shot a stern glare in that direction.

"Name, house." She turned her head and spoke stiffly to Snape.

"Severus Snape, Slytherin."

"This lesson started five minutes ago, Snape. I don't want you to be late again. Now, find an empty seat and sit down."

Snape took his bag off his shoulder, held it in his hand, and hunched over, trying not to make a sound as he walked over to Aber.

"What happened to you?" Aber asked, eyeing the missing section of Snape's sleeve.

"Shh—" Snape pointed at Professor Gradelan, who was using magic to unfurl some pictures. "I'll tell you later."

"As I was saying, you're about to step out of the school grounds. The world out there is far more dangerous than Hogwarts."

Professor Gradelan pointed her wand at the pictures. They showed people suffering—gruesome wounds, twisted and mutated limbs.

"Among Dark Magic, the three Unforgivable Curses are the most evil."

She tapped several pictures heavily with her wand.

"Using any one of these curses on a human being is enough to earn you a life sentence in Azkaban.

"This witch, convulsing violently and screaming in agony, was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. It causes extreme pain.

"This wizard, leaning calmly against the wall, was hit with the Killing Curse. Though there's not a single wound on his body, he is utterly and completely dead.

"As for the Imperius Curse," Professor Gradelan stepped down from the podium and walked around the classroom, "someone under its influence looks almost perfectly normal from the outside.

"But you will act according to the caster's will. The caster could make you point your wand at your own head, or kill your own family with your own hands..."

She circled to the other side of the classroom and headed back toward the podium.

"You must fully realize what you might face in the future. I hope you will take this course seriously—not just to pass the exam."

The classroom was dead silent, as if everyone was holding their breath.

"Alright, no need to be too tense."

Professor Gradelan stood on the podium, facing the students.

"In the lessons ahead, I will do my best to help you improve your ability to resist Dark Magic."