The summer after her fifth year was, for Ariana, a period of intense and deeply satisfying productivity. While the rest of the wizarding world grappled with the public return of Lord Voldemort, she retreated into a fortress of her own making. Her London flat was no longer just a residence; it became the secret fulcrum of the war effort. At her request, Dumbledore himself had cast the Fidelius Charm upon it, making him the sole Secret-Keeper. The flat vanished from the world, accessible only to those Dumbledore chose to inform, creating the ultimate secure location for her work.
Her days were a meticulously scheduled symphony of action and information. She spent her mornings in deep study, preparing for her N.E.W.T.s. The Wizarding Examinations Authority, under pressure from a Ministry desperate to curry favour with its new hero, had granted her the special dispensation. She would sit for all twelve N.E.W.T.s at the end of the summer, a feat no one had ever attempted, let alone accomplished. For her, it was merely a final piece of paperwork, the official certification of knowledge she had long since surpassed.
Her afternoons were for her projects. The blueprints for Project Chimera covered an entire wall, a constant, ambitious reminder of a future beyond the current conflict.
But it was her evenings that were dedicated to the war.
She kept herself updated with a precision that would have shamed the Head of the Auror Office. Owls arrived at her shielded window at all hours.
A daily report from Hermione, who was spending the summer in France but had dedicated herself to being Ariana's chief intelligence analyst, brought news from the continent. Her letters were full of complex arithmantic charts and celestial mechanics—updates on the mapping of space-time coordinates for the spaceship's navigational system. But they also contained whispers from the French Ministry, rumors of dark creatures stirring, of old allegiances being tested.
Daphne's letters were different. They were written on heavy, cream-coloured parchment, sealed with the Greengrass family crest. They were her window into the dark, paranoid world of the pureblood elite. She wrote of the fallout from the Malfoy seizure.
"Father says Lucius is a broken man," one letter read. "They live in a small, provincial manor now, a minor property of the Nott family. His influence is gone. Voldemort's fury at the loss of the manor as his headquarters was apparently… legendary. He sees it not just as a tactical loss, but as a personal humiliation. He is operating from a series of temporary, undisclosed locations, which makes his followers nervous. They crave the stability and status the manor provided."
The news from Sirius was always the most triumphant. He had executed the Malfoy Protocol with a marauder's glee. One morning, an official-looking owl from Gringotts arrived for Ariana. Inside was a heavy, formal deed, written in intricate Goblin script. It confirmed that the entire contents of the Lestrange vault, number 711, had been legally transferred to a new, anonymous, high-security vault under the name 'A.D.'. The letter from Sirius tucked alongside it was much more informal.
"It's done, Ari," he wrote. "Cleaned them out. Lucius is howling. Bellatrix would probably try to tear down Gringotts with her bare hands, not that she would be able to. The cup should be safe in your new vault. Kreacher has also polished all the silver in the house and seems to think you are the second coming of Walburga, only with better manners. It's terrifying."
Ariana smiled, filing the deed away. Another Horcrux secured. The collection was growing.
It was Harry's letters that brought the most perplexing new variable. He was spending the first part of the summer at the Grimmauld Place before being collected by Dumbledore. His letters were full of the usual frustrations, but one, in particular, caught her attention.
"Dumbledore is coming to get me next week," Harry wrote. "But he said we're making a stop on the way to the Burrow. He wants me to help him convince some old professor named Slughorn to come back to teach at Hogwarts. He says he's very important."
Ariana frowned, her mind immediately analyzing this new data point. Slughorn. Horace Slughorn, the former Head of Slytherin, a man known for his love of collecting famous and influential students. But why was he so important now? Dumbledore had his own memories of Tom Riddle. They already knew about the Horcruxes. Why was Slughorn, a man who had retired years ago, suddenly a critical piece on the board?
She sent a quick owl to Dumbledore, phrasing her question with polite, clinical precision. "Professor, regarding the recruitment of Professor Slughorn: Given that our primary hypothesis regarding multiple Horcruxes has already been confirmed, what is the strategic value of Slughorn's testimony at this stage? Please clarify his role in the current operation."
Dumbledore's reply was prompt, but slightly evasive. "My dear Ariana, I simply wished to change the possible defense of hogwarts, allowing Severus to take over the Defense class. Your presence would be… counter-productive to this particular recruitment. Horace is a man who is easily intimidated by overt power."
Ariana understood. Dumbledore did not need Slughorn's memory to confirm the final count of
Horcruxes, but instead simply wished a change in the teaching staff and he believed his own gentle manipulation and Harry's celebrity status were the best tools for the job. It was a rare instance where Ariana's direct, logical approach might actually hinder the mission. Very well. She would trust the Headmaster's judgment on this one tactical maneuver.
She sat in her quiet London flat, the nerve center of a secret war. The pieces were moving across the board—in France, in pure-blood manors, in Gringotts vaults, and in a small village called Budleigh Babberton. The world was holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. But here, in the silence, the architect of their strategy was calm. She had done the research. She had her allies. And she was ready for the next phase. The Horcruxes were no longer just a theory; they were a checklist. And she intended to see every last item ticked off.