The Chosen One

"Come on, Professor, you're almost there, just a little more effort!"

After a series of complex magical treatments from Dumbledore, Ravenclaw's Diadem looked even more battered, and the faint glimmer that had remained gradually faded away. But now, they could finally look at it directly.

Dumbledore was doing everything in his power to destroy it.

He glared at the diadem lying on the ground, fine beads of sweat forming on his forehead, as streams of shifting magic surged from the tip of his wand toward the diadem.

Snape stood nearby, ceaselessly cheering Dumbledore on. Though whether his encouragement was having a positive effect was debatable.

Under the force of Dumbledore's immense magic, the diadem slowly twisted and deformed, letting out a grating, teeth-clenching creak as it was crumpled into a ball by his power.

But after just a short while, it gradually returned to its original shape, lying there quietly as before.

"Uh—Professor, if you're really not up to it," Snape said, staring wide-eyed at Dumbledore, "maybe we could head down to the kitchen for a midnight snack, get some sleep, and come back? You look like you're running out of steam."

At these words, the wand in Dumbledore's hand gave a slight tremor, as if Snape's remark had irritated him greatly.

Dumbledore said nothing, merely raising his wand high once more.

Bolts of lightning crackled and crossed, striking the diadem; then, a burst of blazing fire erupted, enveloping and scorching it continuously; afterward, Dumbledore forcibly ground the diadem into powder.

But none of these methods worked. Not long after the magic ended, the scattered powder slowly gathered back together, and the diadem lay quietly before them once again.

"Professor, I didn't hear you say 'If even I can't do it, then no one can,' so I'll just forget that ever happened." Snape couldn't help yawning as he spoke again; he was far too sleepy.

The veins on Dumbledore's temples throbbed visibly, but he silently continued his struggle with the diadem, his wand constantly shifting through various spell-casting motions.

"Say something, Professor. Are we getting any sleep tonight or not?" Snape's annoying voice rang out once more.

"Enough, Severus," Dumbledore said, trying to keep his tone calm, but from his slightly trembling hand and the barely suppressed twitch of his eyebrows, it seemed he was tempted to turn his wand on Snape. "Where did you learn to talk like that!"

"Though I haven't managed to destroy it yet, I've made significant progress," Dumbledore said, taking a deep breath. "I can confirm that only a few methods with extremely destructive power can reliably destroy a Horcrux, preventing it from ever repairing itself."

"Yes, Professor, I know that too. Did you discover anything else?" Snape crossed his arms over his chest, his face still wearing that listless expression.

"What I mean is, tearing it apart, smashing it, or grinding it to powder won't work. You must—" Dumbledore started, but was cut off by Snape.

"—You must make it impossible to repair with magic." Snape continued, "The soul fragment inside a Horcrux survives entirely because of its container, its enchanted vessel; without it, it cannot exist.

"Shall I go on reciting from Quidditch Through the Ages, Professor?"

"Ahem, ahem," Dumbledore coughed awkwardly, trying to change the subject. "Severus, speaking of which, how did you discover it?"

"Oh, as if Tom was afraid someone might miss it." Snape pointed at a plaster bust on a crate. "The diadem was sitting right next to that ugly old wizard's broken bust; I spotted it at a glance.

"It was quite dangerous at the time. After reading the inscription, I barely resisted the temptation to put it on.

"After I got out, I kept researching what it was, until I found descriptions related to Horcruxes in the library."

"Well, let's call it a night here." Dumbledore nodded. "I'll take the diadem back for now, and we'll find a way to destroy it later."

"Alright, sir, you keep the diadem for now." Snape looked at Dumbledore seriously. "But I suggest, even if we find a way to destroy the Horcrux and do so, you'd better not put it on your head.

"The remnants of a Horcrux aren't harmless dittany either. Whether it's this diadem or any other Horcrux we might find in the future, if you wear them, I don't think it will do you any good."

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

"Then let me add one more nagging remark, returning the words you once said to me: Please don't forget my advice." Snape insisted.

"Fine, Mr. Snape." Dumbledore replied helplessly.

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

Because it meant that even if Dumbledore followed the memories of Bork and Ogden to find the Peverell ring, he wouldn't be foolish enough to put it on while the Horcrux was still intact.

When Snape woke up, the Black Lake outside the window was already a deep, dark green, and the Halloween feast was about to begin.

A sweet, enticing aroma of roasted pumpkin drifted through the corridors, instantly stirring Snape's appetite. He crossed the entrance hall and entered the Great Hall, which had already been transformed with colorful Halloween decorations, just as in years past.

Hagrid's enormous pumpkins had been carved into lanterns, so large they could fit three people sitting inside.

A swarm of live bats fluttered noisily around the walls and the enchanted ceiling, their wingbeats mingling with the chatter of the students.

Countless more bats hovered like low-hanging storm clouds above the tables, fanning the candle flames inside the pumpkins into flickering dances.

Not long after Snape sat down, just like at the start-of-term feast, delicious dishes appeared on the golden plates.

"Where did you go last night?" Aber said, picking up a baked potato and addressing Snape. "You only came back in the morning; I couldn't bear to wake you for class."

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

"Stop joking and eat up." Aber said with a smile.

Snape buried himself in his food; there was still plenty to do ahead.

Sometimes he wondered, if this were a world of xianxia or cultivation, he could peacefully pursue ultimate power and treat everything as a stepping stone.

But this was the magical world that had captivated him since childhood. In a sense, even if he wasn't "Saint Potter," even if the Owl Post had arrived many years late, wasn't he still the "Chosen One"?

Thanks to Qing Mu Qing for the monthly ticket.

Thanks to FeatherS for the reward; this book has its first apprentice. Thank you!

Also, I was suddenly sent on a business trip to Chongqing this morning, only got back to the hotel late tonight after drinking, and just finished typing this on my work laptop in the hotel room.