The petrification of Mrs. Norris plunged Hogwarts into a state of simmering fear and paranoia. The corridors, once filled with cheerful chatter, were now home to hushed whispers and suspicious glances. The Heir of Slytherin was a phantom haunting every conversation, and the Chamber of Secrets was a dark legend reborn.
While most of the school was caught up in the panicked gossip and finger-pointing, Ariana's mind was a whirlwind of cold, hard logic. The immediate aftermath of the attack had played out differently than in the original timeline. Because she, Harry, and Hermione had arrived after the crowd had already gathered, and because her reasoning for their absence was so emotionally potent and publicly stated, Harry was not immediately ostracized as the prime suspect. The school's fear had no clear target yet, leaving it a diffuse, ambient poison.
This, however, was of little comfort to Ariana. Her primary concern was the fundamental disruption of the narrative. That first night back in the dormitory, she had taken out Tom Riddle's diary. Under the silencing and privacy wards she'd woven around her four-poster bed, she had examined it with the full weight of the knowledge she'd gained from the Flamels. She could feel the sliver of Voldemort's soul trapped within, a cold, hungry void. But it was dormant. Powerless. The intricate charms she had placed on her trunk were not merely physical locks; they were conceptual wards that suppressed and contained magical signatures. The Horcrux was, for all intents and purposes, in a state of magical hibernation. It could not influence anyone.
She had also, with subtle, unobtrusive observation, accounted for Ginny Weasley's whereabouts. The girl was nervous and awestruck, as any first year would be, but she showed none of the signs of possession—no memory loss, no pale, drawn exhaustion. She was not the conduit.
This was a new game. The same board, the same pieces, but an unknown player was making unscheduled moves. The Chamber had been opened by another means, or by another person wielding a different key. Her summer of advanced study had prepared her for complex magic, but not for an utter deviation from the known historical record.
The architect had discovered her blueprints were for a different building entirely. Her response was not panic, but an immediate and intense escalation of research. She and Hermione practically lived in the library. While Hermione frantically searched for any mention of the Chamber of Secrets in the public record, Ariana, armed with Bathilda Bagshot's annotated copy of Hogwarts: A History, delved deeper. She cross-referenced architectural plans of the castle mentioned in Bathilda's private notes, studied the lineage of Salazar Slytherin, and researched ancient lore on magical constructs and hidden passageways. She was not just looking for the Chamber; she was trying to understand the castle as a system, looking for backdoors and forgotten protocols.
It was during this period of intense study that the dueling club was announced. A notice appeared on the common room board, promising a practical demonstration of defensive techniques by Professor Lockhart, "ably assisted," the note added, "by Professor Snape."
"I'm not going," Ron declared immediately. "I've had enough of Lockhart to last a lifetime."
Hermione, however, was torn. "But it could be useful! And Professor Snape will be there. He actually knows what he's doing."
Ariana, who had been about to dismiss the event as another of Lockhart's publicity stunts, paused. Snape. That was a significant variable. A chance to observe Snape's dueling style, his particular brand of magic, was a valuable intelligence-gathering opportunity. And a public forum was a useful place to establish a certain... reputation.
"I will attend," Ariana stated, her decision made. "Professor Snape's involvement makes it a potentially valuable use of time."
That evening, the Great Hall was packed. The tables had been vanished, and a long, golden dueling platform had been erected in their place. Lockhart, dressed in absurdly flamboyant plum-coloured robes, strutted onto the stage, soaking in the applause.
Snape followed, his expression one of profound loathing, his black robes a stark contrast to Lockhart's finery. After a brief, disastrous demonstration in which Snape effortlessly and humiliatingly disarmed Lockhart with a single, contemptuous "Expelliarmus!", Lockhart, flustered, decided it was time for the students to have a go.
"Let's have a pair of volunteers!" he announced brightly. "How about Malfoy and Potter?"
The stage was set for the original narrative's confrontation. But before Harry could even react, Ariana moved. She took a single, deliberate step forward.
"Professor," she said, her voice quiet but carrying an undeniable authority that silenced the murmuring crowd. "Perhaps it would be more educational to begin with varied pairings."
Lockhart, still smarting from his own humiliation and remembering Hagrid's intervention in Diagon Alley, was about to refuse. But Snape, a cruel, calculating glint in his eyes, saw an opportunity.
"An excellent suggestion, Miss Dumbledore," Snape drawled, his voice slick with malice. "Let us see the skills of our top students. Malfoy, you may duel Miss Dumbledore. Potter, you will duel Weasley." He had effectively sidelined Harry from the main event while pitting Ariana against her most vocal antagonist.
Draco Malfoy strutted onto the stage, a smug, arrogant smirk on his face. This was his chance to publicly humiliate the girl who so often ignored him. "Scared, Dumbledore?" he sneered. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."
Ariana ascended the stage with a fluid, silent grace. She faced him, her expression as calm and placid as a frozen lake. They bowed—Draco with a mocking flourish, Ariana with a simple, respectful nod. They turned, walked their paces, and then spun to face each other.
"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart shouted.
Malfoy raised his wand, his mouth already forming the first syllable of a curse. He never got to say it.
The moment they turned, before Lockhart had even finished his sentence, Ariana's Elder wand was in her hand. There was no grand gesture, no shouted incantation. There was only a flick of her wrist, so fast it was almost a blur, and a silent, focused pulse of her will.
A jet of pure, silver-white energy, devoid of colour or flash, shot from her wand. It was not the simple red of a standard Disarming Charm. It was raw, controlled force. The spell struck Draco's wand, ripping it from his grasp and sending it clattering to the far end of
the hall. But the spell's momentum did not stop there. The kinetic force, perfectly calibrated, slammed into Draco's chest like a physical blow. He was lifted clean off his feet, flung backwards through the air as if he'd been hit by a speeding carriage, and landed in a heap on the floor ten feet behind the platform, completely winded and utterly humiliated.
The entire duel had lasted less than two seconds.
A stunned, absolute silence descended upon the Great Hall. The students stared, dumbfounded. Snape's jaw was tight, his plan to see her humiliated having backfired spectacularly. Lockhart looked utterly terrified.
Ariana calmly lowered her wand. The display had been concise, overwhelming, and absolute. It was a statement. I am not to be trifled with.
"An excellent demonstration of the Disarming Charm, Miss Dumbledore," Snape said, his voice a low hiss, unable to hide the grudging respect in his tone. He then turned his attention to Harry and Ron, but the energy had gone out of the room. Their duel was a clumsy, awkward affair that ended with Ron's wand producing a jet of green goo.
Lockhart, trying to regain control, clapped his hands. "Wonderful! Wonderful! A new pairing! How about… Miss Dumbledore and Mr. Potter!"
Ariana was back on stage, Harry reluctantly climbed onto the stage again. He felt a deep sense of dread. He had seen what she did to Malfoy. He raised his wand, his heart pounding.
This time, Ariana waited. She allowed him to take his stance. They bowed. They turned.
"Go!" Lockhart yelled.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, putting all his energy into the spell.
He was fast. But Ariana was faster. Her counter-spell, another silent pulse of silver light, met his jet of red mid-air, deflecting it harmlessly into the enchanted ceiling. In the same instant, a second, identical pulse shot from her wand, struck his, and sent it spinning out of his hand. It landed neatly at her feet. She had disarmed him without breaking a sweat, without even moving from her spot.
She gave him a small, almost apologetic nod, as if to say, Nothing personal. It's just physics.
With a quiet grace, she stepped down from the platform. Her part in this farce was over. She had gathered the data she needed on Snape's dueling style (economical, precise, favouring non-verbal attacks) and had established a clear baseline of her own dominance. There was nothing more to be learned here.
As she walked away, Snape, seeing his chance to pit her against Hermione thwarted, snarled, "And where do you think you're going, Miss Dumbledore?"
"To the library, Professor," she replied without turning around. "My independent study awaits."
She swept out of the Great Hall, leaving behind a crowd of awestruck students, a humiliated rival, an awestruck friend, a terrified Lockhart, and a seething but strangely impressed Snape. The language of power was universal, and she had just delivered a masterclass in fluency.