The Chosen One

"Come on, Professor, you're almost there! Put some more effort into it!"

After Dumbledore subjected Ravenclaw's Diadem to a series of complicated spells, it looked even more decrepit, and the last faint glimmer on it gradually faded away. But now, they could look directly at it.

Dumbledore was trying every possible method to destroy it.

He glared at the diadem lying on the floor, fine beads of sweat forming on his forehead as all manner of shifting spells poured from the tip of his Wand toward it.

Snape stood beside him, continuously cheering Dumbledore on. Though whether his encouragement had a positive effect was another matter entirely.

Under the force of Dumbledore's powerful magic, the diadem gradually twisted and deformed, letting out a teeth-grating creak as Dumbledore's magic kneaded it into a ball.

Yet after only a short while, it slowly returned to its original form and lay there quietly once more.

"Er—Professor, if you really can't manage it," Snape said, staring wide-eyed at Dumbledore, "why don't we go down to the kitchens for a midnight snack, get some sleep, and come back later? You look like you're out of strength."

At those words, Dumbledore's Wand trembled lightly, as though Snape had thoroughly infuriated him.

Dumbledore said nothing and merely raised his Wand high once again.

Bolts of lightning crackled as they crossed and struck the diadem; then a mass of fierce flames erupted, engulfing it and burning it continuously; after that, Dumbledore forcibly ground the diadem into powder.

But none of those methods worked. Not long after the magic ceased, the scattered powder slowly gathered together again, and the diadem remained quietly before them.

"Professor, I didn't hear you say, 'If even I can't do it, then no one can.' I'll just forget you ever said that," Snape said through a yawn. He was truly too sleepy.

The veins at Dumbledore's temples throbbed as he silently continued wrestling with the diadem, his Wand constantly shifting through different casting movements.

"Say something, Professor. Are we getting any sleep tonight?" Snape's irritating voice rang out again.

"Enough, Severus," Dumbledore said, trying to keep his tone calm. But judging by his slightly trembling hand and his eyebrows that were nearly impossible to keep under control, he seemed to want to turn his Wand on Snape instead. "Where did you learn to talk like that?"

"Although I haven't destroyed it yet, I've made considerable progress," Dumbledore said after taking a deep breath. "I can now be certain that only a few exceptionally destructive methods can reliably destroy a Horcrux and prevent it from ever repairing itself."

"Yes, Professor, I knew that too. Did you discover anything else?" Snape asked, folding his arms, his face still wearing that listless expression.

"What I mean is that tearing a Horcrux apart, smashing it, or grinding it into powder is useless. You must—" Dumbledore had only just reached this point when Snape interrupted him.

"—You must render it beyond magical repair," Snape continued. "The fragment of soul inside a Horcrux survives entirely by relying on its container, on its enchanted vessel. Otherwise, it cannot survive.

"Would you like me to continue reciting Quidditch Through the Ages for you, Professor?"

"Cough, cough." Dumbledore looked somewhat embarrassed and gave two light coughs in an attempt to change the subject. "Severus, speaking of which, how did you find it?"

"Oh, Tom practically put it on display for everyone to see." Snape pointed at a plaster statue atop a crate. "The diadem was placed beside the broken bust of this ugly old wizard. I spotted it at once.

"It was quite dangerous at the time. After reading that inscription, I nearly failed to resist the temptation to put the diadem on.

"After I got out, I kept looking into what the thing actually was, until I found descriptions related to Horcruxes in the Library."

"Then let's stop here for tonight," Dumbledore said with a nod. "I'll take the diadem back first, and we can find a way to destroy it later."

"All right, sir. You should keep the diadem for now." Snape looked at Dumbledore with utter seriousness. "But I suggest that even if we find a way to destroy Horcruxes and destroy it, you'd best not put it on your head.

"The remains of a Horcrux will not be harmless dittany either. Whether it's this diadem or any other Horcrux we may discover in the future, I don't believe putting them on would do you the slightest bit of good."

"How are you even more long-winded than an old man like me, Severus?" Dumbledore said irritably.

"Then let me be long-winded one more time and return the words you told me before: please do not cast my warning to the back of your mind," Snape insisted.

"All right, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore replied helplessly.

Although Dumbledore had failed to destroy the diadem on this trip, it was still good news for Snape.

Because it meant that even if Dumbledore followed Bork and Ogden's memories to find the Peverell ring, he would not be foolish enough to put it on while the Horcrux remained intact.

When Snape woke up, the Black Lake outside the window had already turned a deep ink-green, and the Halloween eve feast was about to begin.

The corridors were filled with the sweet, enticing scent of roasted pumpkin, which immediately stirred Snape's appetite. He passed through the Entrance Hall into the Great Hall, which had already been transformed, as in previous years, by colorful Halloween decorations.

The enormous pumpkins Hagrid had grown were carved into lanterns, each one large enough to seat three people inside.

A great swarm of live bats fluttered around the walls and enchanted ceiling, the sound of their beating wings mingling with the students' clamor.

Countless more bats circled above the dining tables like clusters of low dark clouds, causing the candle flames inside the pumpkins to flicker in bursts.

Not long after Snape settled into his seat, delicious food suddenly appeared on the golden plates, just as it had at the start-of-term feast.

"Where did you go last night?" Aber said to Snape, picking up a roast potato. "You didn't come back until early this morning. I didn't even have the heart to wake you for class."

"Ah—" Snape yawned again. "The Headmaster gave me special permission to skip class today."

"Stop talking nonsense and eat," Aber said with a smile.

Snape lowered his head and began eating as well. There were still many things waiting for him to do.

Sometimes, he thought that if this were a fantasy world of mystical cultivation, he could have peacefully pursued supreme power and regarded everything as a stepping stone toward advancement.

But this was the only magical world that had haunted his dreams since childhood. In a sense, even if he was not "Saint Potter," even if "Owl Post" had arrived many years late, was he not also the chosen "The Chosen One"?

Thanks to Qingmuqing for the monthly vote.

Thanks to FeatherS for the donation. This book has its first apprentice now—thank you!

Also, I was suddenly sent on a business trip to Chongqing this morning. I didn't get back to the hotel until late at night after drinking with clients, and I just finished writing on my work laptop at the hotel.