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"Come on, Professor, you're almost there! Just a bit more effort!"
After a barrage of complex spells from Dumbledore, Ravenclaw's diadem looked even more dilapidated, its faint glimmer fading entirely. But now, they could at least look at it directly.
Dumbledore was exhausting every method to destroy it.
He stared at the diadem lying on the floor, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as a cascade of shifting magic poured from the tip of his wand toward the relic.
Snape stood nearby, relentlessly cheering Dumbledore on—though his encouragement might not have been entirely helpful.
Under the force of Dumbledore's powerful magic, the diadem began to twist and warp, emitting a teeth-grinding screech as it was manipulated into a crumpled mass.
But moments later, it slowly reverted to its original shape, lying still once more.
"Er, Professor," Snape said, locking eyes with Dumbledore, "if you really can't manage it, how about we head down to the kitchens for a midnight snack and a nap? You look like you're running out of steam."
At this, Dumbledore's wand trembled slightly, as if Snape's words had thoroughly exasperated him.
Dumbledore didn't respond, merely raising his wand high once again.
Bolts of lightning crackled and struck the diadem in a crisscross pattern; then, a blaze of fire erupted, engulfing and scorching it relentlessly; finally, Dumbledore ground the diadem into dust.
Yet none of these efforts worked. Shortly after the spells ceased, the scattered dust began to reassemble, and the diadem lay before them, unchanged.
"Professor, I didn't quite hear you say, 'If even I can't do it, no one can,' so I'll just pretend you never said it," Snape quipped, yawning uncontrollably. He was beyond exhausted.
The veins at Dumbledore's temples pulsed visibly as he silently battled the diadem, his wand flicking through an array of spell-casting motions.
"Come on, Professor, say something! Are we getting any sleep tonight?" Snape's irritating voice piped up again.
"Enough, Severus," Dumbledore said, striving to keep his tone calm, though his trembling hand and twitching eyebrow suggested he was tempted to turn his wand on Snape instead. "Where did you even learn to talk like that?"
"While I haven't managed to destroy it, I've made significant progress," Dumbledore said, taking a deep breath. "I'm certain now that only a few highly destructive methods can reliably destroy a Horcrux, preventing it from repairing itself."
"Yeah, Professor, I know that much," Snape replied, arms crossed, his face still etched with boredom. "Any other breakthroughs?"
"What I mean is, shredding, smashing, or grinding a Horcrux into dust is useless. You must—" Dumbledore began, only to be cut off by Snape.
"You must render it beyond magical repair," Snape finished, continuing smoothly. "The soul fragment in a Horcrux survives solely because of its enchanted vessel. Without that, it can't persist. Shall I go on reciting from Secrets of the Darkest Art, Professor?"
"Ahem," Dumbledore coughed, looking slightly embarrassed as he tried to change the subject. "Severus, how did you even find it?"
"Oh, Tom practically left it out for all to see," Snape said, gesturing toward a plaster bust on a crate. "The diadem was right next to this hideous old wizard's bust. I spotted it immediately. It was risky, though—after reading the inscription, I nearly couldn't resist putting it on. I kept researching what it was until I found references to Horcruxes in the library."
"Well, let's call it a night," Dumbledore said with a nod. "I'll take the diadem for now and figure out how to destroy it later."
"Alright, sir, you hold onto it," Snape said, his expression serious as he looked at Dumbledore. "But I'd suggest, even if we find a way to destroy it, you avoid wearing it. Horcrux remnants aren't exactly harmless like dittany. Whether it's this diadem or any other Horcrux we might find, putting them on won't do you any good."
"You're more long-winded than this old man, Severus," Dumbledore said, exasperated.
"Then let me be long-winded one more time and throw your own words back at you: please don't disregard my advice," Snape insisted.
"Fine, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore replied with a resigned sigh.
Though Dumbledore hadn't succeeded in destroying the diadem, for Snape, this was still good news.
It meant that even if Dumbledore followed Borgin and Ogden's memories to find Peverell's ring, he wouldn't be foolish enough to wear an intact Horcrux.
When Snape woke, the Black Lake outside his window was a deep, inky green, and the Halloween feast was fast approaching.
The corridors were filled with the sweet, enticing aroma of roasted pumpkin, instantly stirring Snape's appetite. He crossed the entrance hall into the Great Hall, which, as always, was transformed with vibrant Halloween decorations.
Hagrid's enormous pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough to seat three people inside.
A flock of live bats flapped around the walls and the enchanted ceiling, their wingbeats mingling with the students' chatter.
Countless more bats swirled like low, dark clouds above the tables, fanning the candle flames in the pumpkins' bellies into flickering dances.
No sooner had Snape sat down than, just like at the start-of-term feast, golden plates filled with delectable dishes appeared.
"Where were you last night?" Patrick Abbott asked, grabbing a roasted potato. "You didn't get back until morning. I didn't have the heart to wake you for class."
"Ah—" Snape yawned again. "The headmaster gave me the day off."
"Yeah, right. Eat up," Patrick said with a laugh.
Snape dug into his food. There was still so much to do.
Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like if this were a fantasy or wuxia world, where he could single-mindedly pursue ultimate power, treating everything as a stepping stone to ascension.
But this was the one magical world that had captivated him since childhood. In a way, even if he wasn't "Saint Potter," even if his "owl post" had arrived years late, wasn't he still the "Chosen One"?
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