The Fiendfyre continued to burn with hungry intensity, its restless flames rampaging wildly through the room like living serpents seeking prey.
Adrian had no choice but to divert a portion of his concentration to actively control it with his specialized wand, wrestling with the fire's innate desire to consume everything in sight. The temperature in the small shack had become nearly unbearable with sweat beading on his forehead.
In hindsight, he realized that he should have simply used the liquid Fiendfyre from his potion stores instead of casting the raw curse.
After two and a half long minutes of intense burning, Adrian finally waved his wand in a complex pattern, and the flames began reluctantly converging back toward the wand tip. They resisted, fighting his control, but ultimately obeyed the Flamewood's authority.
"Crack—"
Once all the destructive fire had been withdrawn completely back into the wand, several fine cracks appeared visibly along the Flamewood wand's shaft. Small sparks burst forth from the damaged wood, hot enough to scorch Adrian's fingers where he gripped it, forcing him to shift his hold.
Adrian wasn't particularly surprised by this development.
Although Flamewood wands possessed the unique property of being able to safely control and channel Fiendfyre, they had one significant drawback that severely limited their utility. They were far too fragile for repeated use. After exposure to that cursed fire's corrosive magical properties, they would inevitably crack and eventually break down completely into useless fragments.
In other words, they were essentially expensive consumable items, not permanent tools. He'd need another one soon.
After carefully putting away his damaged wand in an inner pocket, Adrian looked down at the scorched floor where the ring had been.
The ring itself had completely vanished, replaced only by a small pile of fine gray ash that still glowed faintly with residual heat.
Without a doubt, the ring had been utterly destroyed. However, at that moment, something deeply strange and unnatural occurred.
The ash on the blackened floor suddenly began moving on its own, swirling in eerie patterns.
Adrian immediately stepped back half a cautious pace, his undamaged real wand already raised and pointing directly at the unnatural cloud of moving dust.
"Professor, be careful!" He warned in a low, tense voice. "Something's happening—don't let it touch you."
Dumbledore also retreated a step backward.
In front of both of their wary eyes, the ash slowly rose into the air, swirling and spinning as it gradually merged into the distorted outline of a human face.
Undoubtedly, it was Voldemort's face taking shape before them.
However, it differed greatly from the grotesque "noseless" form that Adrian remembered from his memories and the encounter years ago. Instead, this face bore some resemblance to the young, handsome Tom Riddle.
"Ah..." The face spoke with Voldemort's cold voice.
"I've been waiting for you both to arrive. How punctual."
Adrian had absolutely no interest in hearing pointless villainous monologuing, so he immediately fired a powerful Blasting Curse without hesitation.
The spell shot toward the hovering face with a crack like thunder.
But the curse passed completely through the face made of ash, disrupting the particles briefly but producing no lasting effect, as though it had struck nothing more than smoke or thin air.
The scattered ash regrouped within seconds, and a mocking smile appeared on Voldemort's face.
"Save your strength, Mr. Westeros," Voldemort said with arrogance. "There's no need to waste magic or to be so nervous either. This is merely a harmless little piece of dark magic, nothing more threatening. I can't do anything to you from here."
"What do you want, Tom?" Dumbledore asked, his face completely expressionless.
"Nothing much, Dumbledore," Voldemort replied casually. "I just wanted to have a chat with old friends. It's been so long since we've spoken properly."
Dumbledore's tone remained perfectly level and cool. "We have nothing to discuss, Tom."
"Oh, but I wasn't talking about conversing with you, old man. We'll catch up properly later, when I return in the flesh," Voldemort said dismissively.
As he spoke these words, the ash-formed face slowly turned, rotating with unnatural smoothness until it faced Adrian directly. Those hollow eyes seemed to pierce right through him with malicious focus, observing him with intense interest.
"No, I was hoping to speak with your interesting companion." The face drifted closer to Adrian. "I just heard your entire conversation while you were examining my little gift..."
Voldemort's expression appeared somewhat displeased, almost sulky. "This gentleman here mentioned that he's already destroyed three of my Horcruxes? How... deeply unacceptable. How dare you."
Adrian's expression didn't change at all. "So, what if I have? What will you do about it?"
"Do you remember?" Voldemort suddenly moved much closer, the ash face pressing forward until it was almost touching Adrian's own.
"At that time, I could only exist on the back of a worthless fool's head—Quirrell, that pathetic weakling. And you ruined my carefully laid plans, cost me years of preparation. The Philosopher's Stone was within my grasp."
"So what?" Adrian replied with coldness, refusing to be intimidated by closeness or implied threats. "Ancient history."
"So what?" Voldemort suddenly burst into harsh, brittle laughter.
"I told you then, I've remembered you. Your face, your magic, your presumption. I never forget those who wrong me."
"Adrian Westeros." He pronounced Adrian's full name slowly, carefully, in an ice-cold tone that made it sound like a death sentence being read aloud.
"Are you just trying to intimidate me with dramatic announcements?" Adrian asked, ignoring Voldemort's threats. "If you actually have something to say, please hurry up and say it. I think both our time is far too precious to waste on posturing and empty words."
Voldemort's ash-face froze completely for a moment, clearly not expecting such casual dismissal.
Then his face twisted as if infuriated by Adrian's dismissive attitude and lack of proper fear. The ash swirled more rapidly, creating distortions in the face.
"How impatient you are, Mr. Westeros," He hissed, his face twisting with rage. "How disrespectful. But very well—what I have to say is actually quite simple, so I'll be direct:
Stop searching for my Horcruxes. You won't find them anyway... They've all been moved to places you'll never imagine. Your pursuit is futile."
Dumbledore interjected calmly, "You seem quite nervous, Tom."
"Don't interrupt me, old fool!" Voldemort snarled with sudden fury, the face distorting further. "Your time is past! Wait for my return, Dumbledore. Wait and tremble. You can't stop anything that's coming."
As soon as he finished speaking these words, Voldemort's face began dissolving rapidly back into ordinary ash, losing solidity. The particles scattered into the air, dispersed by a sudden gust of wind that came from nowhere.
Within seconds, nothing remained but a faint gray stain on the scorched floor.
Adrian and Dumbledore stood completely still in the shack for several seconds, processing what had just occurred.
Voldemort's presence had disappeared so abruptly that they hadn't even had proper time to react or ask follow-up questions.
"Perhaps we revealed some critical information we shouldn't have," Adrian sighed heavily.
Who could have reasonably known that the fake ring possessed a eavesdropping function?
"This is bad," Dumbledore said, seeming somewhat distant and preoccupied. "Really quite bad. If he's moved them all already, finding them becomes exponentially more difficult..."
His face was more troubled than Adrian had seen it in months.
At that moment, Ray's cry came from above. It descended and landed near the doorway indicating that he'd completed a thorough aerial patrol. The surrounding environment was clear of threats or observers.
At least they hadn't encountered any Death Eater ambushes today.
By nightfall, as the winter sun set early behind the Scottish mountains, Adrian and Dumbledore had returned safely to Hogwarts through phoenix transport.
Adrian briefly explained to Dumbledore the full story about Ravenclaw's diadem.
When Adrian finished, Dumbledore didn't say much in response. He only told Adrian to continue keeping it safe and secure.
For Adrian, today hadn't been a successful day by any measure.
Not only had they completely failed to find Voldemort's actual Horcrux, falling for a trap instead, but Voldemort had also learned directly that Adrian had already destroyed three of his precious Horcruxes.
Worse still, Voldemort had apparently already taken protective action, moving his remaining Horcruxes to new hiding places.
This meant his sister's illness still couldn't be completely cured.
Obtaining the remaining Horcruxes would now become extremely difficult, perhaps nearly impossible without significant new intelligence.
The only potentially useful information they'd gained was that Voldemort held absolute confidence in his ability to return to full physical life. He had even mentioned his imminent resurrection directly in front of Dumbledore, essentially taunting them with it.
He wasn't afraid at all that Dumbledore would try to stop him or interfere with his plans!
Adrian didn't know where Voldemort's supreme confidence came from, what made him so certain of success, but perhaps time was running much shorter.
Time passed quickly, and soon it was mid-February.
The castle slowly began showing signs of early spring with longer days, slightly warmer temperatures, the first brave crocuses pushing through melting snow.
During this period of relative normalcy, news of Barty Crouch Sr.'s mysterious disappearance spread far and wide throughout the wizarding community.
The Daily Prophet ran increasingly sensational headlines, speculation ran rampant, and the Ministry scrambled to manage the scandal.
Apart from Dumbledore and Adrian, no one else in the magical world knew the terrible truth that Barty Crouch had died at the hands of his own son.
Reportedly, when Ministry of Magic officials finally arrived at Barty Crouch's London house for an official inspection after Percy's increasingly frantic reports, they found only a collapsed building, structural damage that looked like a war zone, and many traces of Dark Magic usage.
Barty Crouch Sr. had very likely been killed, according to the official investigation report.
His body had never been found, which only added to the mystery and speculation.
Adrian wasn't particularly clear about what political changes were occurring within the Ministry's upper levels in response to this development, but Percy Weasley's visits to Hogwarts had noticeably increased in frequency. Each time the young man appeared, he looked more harried and stressed.
Then there was Ludo Bagman. With less than ten days remaining until the crucial second task of the Triwizard Tournament, and one of the primary organizers, Barty Crouch Sr. suddenly gone, all the administrative work and decision-making had fallen on his overwhelmed shoulders.
It was quite strange when you stepped back and looked at the pattern, really.
Before this year's Triwizard Tournament was even halfway through its schedule, one participating headmaster had been incapacitated with brain damage, and one judge had died violently.
This was completely unprecedented in the history of the Tournament across centuries.
Thus, the competition could still continue operating at all under these circumstances was nothing short of a minor miracle.
Besides all this Tournament chaos, Dumbledore had also become extraordinarily busy, frequently leaving the school grounds for long periods of time without much explanation.
Every time Adrian tried to visit the headmaster's office to discuss the Horcrux situation or ask about Slughorn's contact, he found the door tightly shut and sealed. The hideously ugly stone gargoyle guardian at the entrance no longer responded to his password, remaining stubbornly immobile regardless of what he said.
Adrian tried asking Professor McGonagall about Dumbledore's whereabouts and availability, hoping she might have better information.
"Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall sighed heavily. "I can only occasionally catch glimpses of him at breakfast, if he bothers attending at all. He seems impossibly busy lately and has almost no time to stay at the school for more than a few hours at a stretch—fortunately, I've always been the one actually managing Hogwarts' day-to-day operations anyway, so his absence won't affect the students' education."
Adrian speculated that Dumbledore was probably dealing with Order of the Phoenix matters. Or perhaps he was personally searching for Voldemort's current whereabouts, trying to locate him before the resurrection could occur.
In any case, the headmaster hadn't appeared in public for quite some time.
Adrian wanted to inquire about Horace Slughorn but hadn't had the opportunity.
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