"Come on, Professor, you're almost there, just a little more effort!"
After a series of complex spells cast by Dumbledore, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem looked even more tattered. The faint glimmer that had remained was gradually fading away. But now, at least, they could look directly at it.
Dumbledore was doing everything in his power to destroy it.
He glared down at the diadem lying on the floor, thin beads of sweat forming along his forehead. Waves of ever-changing magic burst continuously from the tip of his wand, pouring onto the object.
Snape stood by, offering encouragement that wasn't necessarily... helpful.
Under the immense force of Dumbledore's power, the diadem began to twist and deform, emitting a sickening creaking sound that made Snape's teeth ache. The object crumpled under the invisible pressure of magic.
But after only a short moment, it slowly returned to its original shape, lying there once again, serene, untouched.
"Er, Professor, if it's really not working," Snape said after locking eyes with Dumbledore, "why don't we go down to the kitchens for a bit of supper, get some rest, and come back later? You look exhausted."
At this, Dumbledore's wand gave a faint tremor, as though her words had thoroughly tested his patience.
He didn't answer. Instead, he raised his wand high once more.
Bolts of lightning cracked through the air, striking the diadem repeatedly. Then, a blazing fire erupted and engulfed it, burning fiercely. After that, Dumbledore ground the diadem into dust through sheer magical force.
None of it worked. A few moments after the spell ceased, the scattered dust gathered itself again, reforming the diadem, which lay before them as if nothing had happened.
"Professor, I think I just forgot you ever said, 'If even I can't do it, then no one can,'" Snape muttered through a yawn. He was simply too tired to care.
The veins at Dumbledore's temples pulsed, his hand trembling slightly as he continued to duel silently with the diadem. His wand flicked through one intricate movement after another.
"Say something, Professor. Are we going to get any sleep tonight?" Snape's irritatingly casual voice came again.
"That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore said, struggling to keep his tone calm. But from his shaking hands and furrowed brows, it was obvious he was this close to turning his wand on Snape instead. "Where on earth do you learn to talk like this?"
"Although I haven't managed to destroy it, I've still made progress," Dumbledore said after taking a deep breath. "I can confirm that only a few extremely destructive means can reliably destroy a Horcrux, so that it can never repair itself again."
"Yes, Professor, I'm aware of that. Any other great discoveries?" Snape crossed his arms, his expression one of lazy disinterest.
"What I mean," Dumbledore went on, "is that tearing, smashing, or grinding it into powder won't work. You must-"
", You must render it magically irreparable," Snape finished smoothly. "The fragment of soul within the Horcrux survives entirely because of its vessel, its magically reinforced container. Without that, it can't exist.
"Shall I continue reciting the rest of Advanced Defensive Magical Theory, Professor?"
"Ahem, ahem," Dumbledore coughed lightly, clearly embarrassed and eager to change the subject. "Severus, tell me, how did you find it?"
"Oh, Tom made it almost too easy to find." Snape pointed to a plaster bust sitting on a nearby crate. "The diadem was placed right next to that ugly old wizard's half-broken head. I saw it the moment I walked in.
"It was risky, though. When I read the inscription, I almost couldn't resist the urge to put it on.
"After I left, I began researching what it might be, until I finally came across the description of Horcruxes in the library."
"Then that's enough for tonight," Dumbledore said, nodding. "I'll take the diadem back with me. We'll find a way to destroy it later."
"All right, sir. You can keep it for now," Snape said seriously. "But I strongly suggest that even after we discover how to destroy Horcruxes, and after it's done, you mustn't ever wear it.
"The remains of a Horcrux are no more harmless than asphodel. Whether it's this diadem or any other we may find later, putting one on would do you no good at all."
"You're even more long-winded than I am, Severus," Dumbledore said irritably.
"Then let me be long-winded once more and return your own advice to you, Professor: please, don't disregard my warning." Snape's tone was firm.
"All right, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore replied helplessly.
Though Dumbledore had failed to destroy the diadem that night, for Snape, it was still good news.
Because this meant that even if Dumbledore later followed Burke's and Ogden's memories to find the Peverell ring, he wouldn't be foolish enough to wear it while the Horcrux was still intact.
When Snape awoke, the Black Lake outside his window was already a deep, inky green. The Halloween feast was about to begin.
A sweet, rich aroma of roasted pumpkin filled the corridors, instantly stirring Snape's appetite. Passing through the entrance hall into the Great Hall, he saw it transformed, decorated with the same brilliant Halloween colors as every year.
The enormous pumpkins Hagrid had grown were carved into lanterns, so large that three people could easily sit inside one.
Hundreds of live bats fluttered along the walls and bewitched ceiling, the sound of their wings mixing with the students' chatter.
More bats swooped and circled above the tables like low, drifting clouds, fanning the candles inside the pumpkin lanterns so that the flames flickered wildly.
Not long after Snape sat down, as at the Start-of-Term Feast, delicious dishes appeared suddenly on the golden plates.
"Where were you last night?" Abbott asked, picking up a roast potato. "You only came back early this morning. I didn't even have the heart to wake you for class."
"Ah-" Snape yawned again. "The Headmaster excused me from classes today."
"Stop lying and eat," Abbott said with a grin.
Snape lowered his head and began to eat. He still had plenty of work waiting for him.
Sometimes he thought, if this were a world of xianxia or high fantasy, he could pursue the ultimate power in peace, treating everything as a step toward ascension.
But this was the one magical world that had enchanted him since childhood. In a sense, even if he wasn't the Saint Potter, even if the owl post had come to him years too late, wasn't he, too, a Chosen One, a Star of Salvation?