The sheer scale of the Room of Hidden Things was staggering. It wasn't just a room; it was a sprawling, subterranean city built from the detritus of a thousand years of magical education.
Orion walked slowly down a narrow, precarious aisle formed by stacks of rotting furniture and towering piles of mildewed books. His Scrying Glasses were working overtime, flashing text boxes over practically every item he passed, detailing minor jinxes, faded sticking charms, and the occasional, highly lethal blood-curse.
"It is a tragedy," Orion muttered, shaking his head as he bypassed a beautifully carved mahogany cabinet radiating a nasty localized bludgeoning hex.
"What is?" Sparkle asked.
"The waste," Orion replied, stepping over a crushed birdcage. "I know Canon Potter and Granger had other priorities, but they really should have made better use of this place. The first time Potter intentionally comes to this specific iteration of the room is just to hide a book. Granger, I will give some slack, since the first time she enters this specific version is during the peak of the Battle of Hogwarts."
He sighed heavily, looking out over the mountains of lost artifacts.
"But still. The entire room gets torched by Fiendfyre in the end. Thousands of years of history, rare magic, and potentially priceless artifacts... all reduced to ash because a lackey didn't know how to control the flame. So much loss."
Further down the aisle, the Reflection Clone lunged forward.
With a sharp movement, the clone scooped Robin the Niffler up by the scruff of the neck, pulling the creature back just a fraction of a second before a towering pile of three-legged stools and heavy iron cauldrons collapsed, crashing onto the exact spot where Robin had been sniffing a shiny brass knob.
"Be careful," the clone chided the squirming Niffler, setting him down safely behind it. "Shiny things are not worth being squashed flat."
"A bit of a close call," Sparkle noted.
"Agreed," Orion murmured, continuing his search.
They swept through the labyrinthine aisles for nearly twenty minutes, following the erratic, pulsating signals of darker magic.
"Orion," the clone called out softly from a few aisles over.
Orion navigated through a narrow gap between a stuffed troll and a broken harp, emerging into a small clearing.
The clone was standing before a heavy, pockmarked stone bust of a very ugly, very old warlock wearing a dusty wig. Resting haphazardly on a broken shelf just behind the bust, looking entirely unceremonious, was an old, tarnished tiara.
It didn't glow. It didn't hum. It didn't exude the same aggressive, suffocating aura of dark magic that the Diary or the Locket possessed.
Orion could not feel anything from it using his natural perception. It looked like a piece of cheap costume jewelry forgotten by a theatrical student.
But through the Scrying Glasses, the truth was undeniable.
Hovering over the tarnished metal, glowing with a sickly, unmistakable crimson light, was the text box:
[Diadem of Ravenclaw: Horcrux (Soul Fragment - Tom Riddle)]
"There it is," Orion whispered, the thrill of the hunt settling into cold satisfaction.
He reached out slowly and picked up the Diadem. The metal felt cold, but otherwise completely unremarkable. He turned it over in his hands, examining the delicate craftsmanship beneath the tarnish.
"Nothing," Orion noted, his brow furrowing behind the glasses. "There is nothing related to any curse whatsoever actively radiating from it right now."
He looked at his clone. "Is the Diadem even related to the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse? I cannot ascertain it from this reading."
The clone stepped closer, peering intently at the Diadem, analyzing the visual clues.
"I think the major question we have to answer right now," the clone said, crossing its arms, "is what is our stance on the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse anyway?"
The clone looked around the dusty, dangerous room.
"There is absolutely no way we are keeping the Diadem here any longer. It's too risky. But if we place it in the Inventory stasis..."
"There are chances the curse might break," Orion finished the thought, his expression grim.
"Will that be fine?" the clone asked, analyzing the long-term strategy. "Do we need Remus Lupin to leave at the end of the year? Do we need Barty Crouch Junior to infiltrate the school as Moody next year to orchestrate the Triwizard Tournament? If the curse breaks now, Lupin might stay."
A heavy silence fell over the small clearing. Orion stared at the Diadem, weighing the timeline against the immediate acquisition of the Horcrux.
If Lupin stayed, the entire plot of the fourth year fractured. The Triwizard Tournament would happen, but without a Death Eater actively maneuvering Harry into the graveyard... how would Voldemort resurrect? Would he find another way? Would it be worse?
Orion let out a long, frustrated sigh.
"It won't matter," Orion decided finally, his voice hard with resolve. "The only reason why the curse is important right now is to avoid alerting Tom that the curse is broken before we manage to gather the remaining two Horcruxes. If he feels the curse lift, he might realize his anchors are being hunted."
He looked down at the Diadem in his hand.
"But keeping a piece of his soul lying around in a junk pile is unacceptable."
Orion suddenly raised his hand, the Diadem clutched tightly.
"Inventory," he commanded softly.
In a flash of digital blue light, the Diadem vanished from his hand.
He checked the grid. There it was, resting safely in stasis.
[Tom Riddle Fragment 5 (Ravenclaw's Diadem)]
"There we go," Orion said, lowering his hand, a sense of profound relief washing over him. "No more headache. Three down."
He looked at his clone, his expression determined.
"Whatever happens with the curse, we deal with it," Orion stated flatly. "I am not going to leave a Horcrux vulnerable just to maintain a convenient timeline constraint. If Tom notices, we adapt."
He removed the Scrying Glasses and handed them to the clone.
"For now, your goal is to handle this room," Orion instructed, his tone shifting back to the operational commander. "Catalog the stuff. Find the valuables. See if there are any intact, uncursed artifacts worth salvaging."
The clone took the glasses, slipping them on with a familiar smirk. "Consider it done."
"Meanwhile," Orion said, turning back toward the door that led out into the seventh-floor corridor, "I will go and spend some time planning for the remaining two Horcruxes. And, of course, I need to finalize the preparations for the upcoming prank that Potter is participating in."
He reached down, giving the inquisitive Niffler a quick pat on the head. Robin squeaked, instantly distracted by a shiny piece of broken glass nearby.
"I need to do some logistical preparations for that," Orion mused, a wicked light entering his blue eyes. "See you tonight for the sync."
"Don't get caught," the clone advised dryly, turning back to the mountain of junk.
Orion exited the Room of Hidden Things, the heavy door melting back into the stone wall behind him. The corridor was still deserted, the distant roar of the Quidditch match barely audible. Time to get going.