Chapter 281: Destroying Voldemort in the Diadem!
"He caught it! Harry caught the Golden Snitch!"
Lee Jordan's voice sounded like it had been magnified by a powerful Sonorous Charm, making the entire stadium buzz.
"The match is over! Gryffindor wins!"
Malfoy's hand froze in mid-air. His face transformed instantly from desperation to disbelief.
Then it flushed crimson. He violently tugged his broom handle, nearly falling off as he turned. He mumbled a curse, but the sound was swallowed by the roaring cheers of the Gryffindor students.
Harry gripped the Snitch tightly, his other hand finding the Firebolt's handle again to steady himself.
He raised his hand high, golden light glinting between his fingers.
The Gryffindor stands exploded. Screams, whistles, and stomping blended together, threatening to tear the wooden planks off the stands.
Ron, in the front row, was practically hanging over the railing, his throat raw from shouting, tears welling up in his eyes.
In the faculty section, Professor McGonagall straightened her back, a rare look of excitement on her face. She even lifted a hand to wipe the corner of her eye.
The Slytherin stands were dead silent.
A few resentful complaints eventually rose, but they were quickly drowned out by the overwhelming, tidal wave of cheers from the Gryffindors.
The entire stadium was echoing with celebration.
After watching the match, Dylan extricated himself from the boisterous crowd and returned to the dormitory ahead of everyone else.
Without delay, he walked straight to his bedside, bent down, opened the seemingly ordinary suitcase, and then climbed inside.
Once inside, Dylan flashed to the Ravenclaw Palace.
Here, a carefully arranged space held a wide experiment table in the center. The surface was gleaming, sparsely scattered with oddly shaped metal tools and a few vials of various colored potions.
The Ravenclaw Diadem lay quietly in the very center of the table.
A faint, lingering shadow seemed to cling to its ancient metal surface.
Dylan stood before the table, his eyes focused on the diadem.
He slowly raised his wand, its tip pointed at the old relic, and whispered, "Let's see how well this works."
During this time, Dylan hadn't been entirely preoccupied with catching up on the "plot."
Grindelwald and Dumbledore, two undisputed giants of the wizarding world, especially their youthful experiences related to magical research, held immense academic value.
The magic he was about to attempt was inspired by an insight derived from Grindelwald's early years.
However, a head suddenly emerged from the diadem in front of him.
"Wait! What are you doing? I've already told that woman everything I know, just as you instructed!"
Dylan smiled slightly. "Nothing, I just want to try a spell. You wouldn't mind, would you?"
His gaze could even be described as gentle, but to the soul fragment of Riddle inside the diadem, it was more terrifying than a demon!
Riddle gritted his teeth, but ultimately didn't dare to argue.
He silently retreated back inside.
Dylan steadied his wrist. A dark, crimson light condensed at the tip of his wand.
As he clearly spoke the incantation:
"Anima Scindere!" (Soul Split!)
The red light accurately struck the Ravenclaw Diadem.
Inside the diadem, the soul fragment, already weakened by countless sessions of the Cruciatus Curse, was instantly and forcibly ripped in two by an invisible force the moment the red light touched it.
Each half was more broken than the original, their edges faintly trembling as if they might dissipate entirely at any moment.
The magical link between the Horcrux and the soul fragment couldn't split into two as the soul did.
Like a living thing, it instinctively clung to one of the fragments, maintaining its connection.
However, during the moment the soul split and the invisible force pushed the two halves slightly apart, this magical link inevitably suffered some subtle wear and tear.
Once the magical link completely stabilized on one fragment, the other, already close to shattering, instantly lost all anchoring and became adrift.
It hovered slightly inside the diadem, emitting weak and chaotic fluctuations.
At this sight, Dylan's eyes suddenly lit up with excitement.
He quickly waved his wand, and another spell left his mouth: "Imperio!"
An invisible force enveloped the dislodged soul fragment, collecting it steadily.
He then guided this force, moving the fragment toward a glass container in the corner of the experiment table.
Inside crawled a slow-moving cockroach.
Guided by the Imperius Curse, the soul fragment slowly seeped into the cockroach, as if finding a new host.
The small creature paused for a moment, then resumed crawling, though an imperceptible strangeness flickered in its eyes.
Dylan lowered his wand, looking at the sight before him. He muttered to himself, "As expected, only the one who tied the knot can untie it. Why didn't I think of this before?"
He paused, then added, "But speaking of Dark Arts, Durmstrang is indeed more specialized. To even possess ancient manuscripts from wizards like Herpo the Foul is remarkable."
The soul-splitting spell he used was from a manuscript Grindelwald had brought out of Durmstrang years ago.
The original author of that manuscript was indeed Herpo the Foul.
According to the records, the spell was invented by Herpo during his research into splitting the soul and creating the Horcrux-making ritual—it was a byproduct of his numerous failed attempts.
Dylan had reasoned that since the spell was Herpo's invention, born from his study of Horcruxes, it might indeed have an effect on a Horcrux.
It was plausible that a Dark Wizard like Herpo, when creating a method for Horcrux creation, would preemptively build in some kind of counterbalance, just in case the method fell into the wrong hands.
The results now were clear.
Even if it wasn't definitively a Horcrux counter-spell, it could at least affect the soul fragment attached to the Horcrux, and that was enough.
Dylan raised his wand and gently tapped the edge of the experiment table.
The cockroach, now hosting a fragment of Voldemort's soul and still under the influence of the Imperius Curse, crawled out of the glass container. It moved all the way to the Ravenclaw Diadem.
It stopped at the edge of the diadem, staring at the silver-glowing relic alongside Dylan.
"Now, Tom, time to say goodbye to this diadem." Dylan's voice was calm.
"No, wait! You can't—"
In the small wooden hut, the soul fragment of Riddle in the Diary suddenly shuddered.
He slowly peered out, looking left and right, scanning the surroundings cautiously.
The hut was quiet.
Only the rustling of leaves from the evening wind outside the window could be heard.
He froze for a moment, seemingly detecting no abnormality.
"Strange, what was that feeling of panic?"
After a moment of silence, he looked at the Diary.
The adjacent diadem was gone.
Ravenclaw had taken it today.
Riddle didn't know where she had taken it, but it was none of his concern.
Riddle's form shrank, retreating back into the Diary.
Simultaneously, in the laboratory of the Ravenclaw Palace, Dylan raised his wand again, a dark red light condensing at the tip.
"Anima Scindere!"
"Anima Scindere!"
"Anima Scindere!"
Spell after spell fell in quick succession.
The red light struck the Ravenclaw Diadem like dense rain.
Inside the diadem, Voldemort's soul fragment was repeatedly torn and separated.
Those dislodged parts, which had lost their magical link, were all guided by Dylan's wand and injected into the body of the cockroach.
"Dammit, this vile creature, you can't just use me and then—No!!!"
The soul within the diadem was now extremely weak, barely managing a final, desperate shriek with its last vestiges of strength.
The only reply was another crimson light.
The tenacity of this Horcrux far exceeded Dylan's initial expectations.
The soul, fundamentally different from a physical entity, could seemingly persist, like it was infinitely divisible, even after repeated fragmentation.
Despite being too weak to withstand any external touch, despite having lost all sanity and consciousness, it stubbornly maintained its form like a candle in the wind, supported by the Horcrux magic, refusing to completely dissipate.
Unfortunately, the magic sustaining this existence wasn't as inexhaustible as the soul.
Each split, each stripping away of a stray fragment, caused wear and tear on the link between the soul and the diadem.
Dylan's actions were ceaseless, the spells falling one after another with the steady rhythm of a pendulum.
His eyes were focused, fixed on the faint shadow surrounding the diadem, watching it grow paler and thinner with each wash of red light.
Time passed in the silence of the spells until one afternoon.
The sun was particularly bright that day, casting dappled light across the dormitory floor.
Inside the suitcase, as the final Soul Split fell, the last trace of shadow on the diadem abruptly vanished.
The link between Voldemort's soul fragment and the silver diadem was finally, completely severed.
Dylan felt a soundless wail explode in his mind.
Of course, that was his own interpretation of the soul fragment's final struggle before extinction.
He used Legilimency to thoroughly scour the last remaining soul fragment for any possible memories.
Satisfied that it held no further use, he stopped.
As for the fragments of Voldemort's soul encased in the cockroaches, Dylan glanced at them.
These could be fed to the Diary-Riddle to be absorbed.
Whether for vitality or other aspects, they should at least serve one final purpose and not let so many souls go to waste.
Although these soul fragments were incredibly weak, the very first cockroach seemed to retain a relatively independent will, and it screamed like crazy every day.
—It was the first time Dylan had ever heard a cockroach scream.
The fragments split and fused later were hard to even call Voldemort's soul anymore.
Dylan picked up the Ravenclaw Diadem.
Stripped of the Horcrux's magical enhancement, it finally returned to its original state.
It no longer emitted the sinister lure that compelled people to wear it.
Time had left dull marks on the metal surface; the edges even showed extremely fine wear.
But the jewels embedded in it still shone brilliantly, reflecting a soft, warm light under the sunlight filtering through the window.
"Should I do some restoration? Maybe polish it to restore some of its luster?"
Dylan's fingertip gently brushed the diadem's faded metal.
He immediately suppressed the thought.
He remembered the Muggle world's principle for restoring artifacts: "restore as old."
The marks of time should be preserved.
This diadem wasn't meant to be worn; there was no need to deliberately change its current appearance.
Furthermore, items like diadems carry strong private significance, usually passed down only within a family, unlike the Sword of Gryffindor, which was left directly at Hogwarts as a House symbol.
To date, apart from its owner, Rowena Ravenclaw, the only person truly entitled to wear this diadem was the Ravenclaw ghost, the Gray Lady.
And she had left no descendants.
Therefore, the diadem was more a pure historical relic, and preserving its original condition was likely the most appropriate choice.
Besides, Dylan didn't mind if people noticed small scuff marks when he wore the diadem.
—Yes, Dylan had never intended to keep the Diadem-Riddle.
After all, he planned to wear this diadem himself.
If he left Voldemort's soul in it, who knew if the fragment might try to play a dirty trick on him while he wore it? Even if it wouldn't succeed, it would still cause him some trouble.
It was better to simply destroy it.
He already had the Diary, not to mention a few other Horcruxes. One less diadem wasn't a loss.
However, the word "artifact" made Dylan blink. A thought flashed into his mind without warning.
What if, in the future, the Death Eaters lost control and frantically stormed the British Museum, leading to the massive loss of valuable artifacts...
Considering their modus operandi, such chaos seemed rather plausible, didn't it?
Huh?
On second thought, limiting Voldemort to the vicinity of Hogwarts, merely letting him steal souls arranged by the Ministry of Magic, seemed a little too wasteful.
If his power could spread to other countries, he might be able to create more chaos and divert some attention...
Hiss—
Dylan drew a sharp breath, quickly cutting off the thought.
Greed is insatiable; excessive ambition can lead to loss of control. If the situation became too unwieldy, it could backfire on him.
It was safer to keep the scope limited to Great Britain and its surroundings.
Besides, he already planned to capture some Death Eaters during the summer holiday.
After his experiments, those people could be put to good use, giving them a chance to serve a "final purpose."
His thoughts shifted again.
If he could truly manage to acquire a large batch of artifacts and donate them, could he use that merit to snag an invitation to a State Dinner?
(End of Chapter)
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