"His name?" Ms. Gray's expression turned fearful, her translucent eyes narrowing. "He gave himself a name no one dared speak aloud. Even now, the name carries power… and consequences."
Her voice dropped to an echo, as if even the mention skirted danger. Adrian knew at once who she meant—Tom Riddle, the boy who became Lord Voldemort. Everyone in the wizarding world avoided saying his name, and for good reason. He had once cursed it so that speaking it aloud would summon his Death Eaters instantly. Even long after his mysterious disappearance, the fear remained. And even a ghost like Helena Ravenclaw was not free from it.
But Adrian frowned. Something didn't add up.
"You think I resemble him?" he asked carefully. "But I haven't lied to you."
Ms. Gray looked distant, her silvery form flickering slightly. "I don't know… he was charming. He was clever, flattering. He seemed to understand sorrow. He said the right things. I was… fooled."
Her eyes closed for a moment, as though the memory still pained her.
"Did he take something important from you?" Adrian's voice softened.
"It was… important," she admitted bitterly. "But it never truly belonged to me."
"If you're willing… tell me what it was," Adrian said. Though he already suspected the answer, he wanted her to speak freely. His voice was sincere. "Maybe I can help recover it."
"You?" she repeated, eyeing him with skepticism. "Students from every generation have tried to wring that secret from me. They all craved it. None could resist its lure…"
Her eyes lifted, gazing toward the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. There, perched atop the marble likeness of her mother's head, was a sculpted representation of the famous Diadem of Ravenclaw. Even rendered in stone, the circlet shimmered with carved intricacy, its eagle wings spreading from a sapphire-set band.
"So… it was the Diadem of Ravenclaw," Adrian said slowly. "A legendary artifact said to enhance the wisdom of its wearer. But the truly wise know that strength comes from within, not from a crown."
He kept his tone even, not mocking—only factual. But even that subtle dismissal touched a nerve.
"You think it's just a bauble?" Ms. Gray's voice sharpened, her expression hardening. "You don't understand. The Diadem held more than wisdom. It held knowledge—centuries of it. Spells, theory, insights even the library can't offer. It wasn't just enchanted—it was… imbued."
She looked at him with a flicker of contempt, as if he were a first-year daring to lecture a professor.
"Then when you find the true Diadem of Ravenclaw," she said coldly, "then come and speak to me again."
Without another word, she turned and vanished, her translucent form phasing back into the statue of her mother.
Adrian stood for a moment, quiet. "So there is a deeper mystery to the crown…" he murmured, shaking his head with a faint smile. Then he turned and headed toward the boys' dormitory, his mind racing with possibilities.
The next morning, despite going to bed late, Adrian still rose before dawn for his training. The more he honed both body and magic, the more attuned and powerful he felt. He was starting to understand that knowledge meant little without the strength to act on it—and he intended to possess both.
Later, as he ate breakfast in the Great Hall, a sudden flurry of wings captured the attention of everyone at the tables. Dozens of owls swooped in through the open windows, but six long-eared owls in particular carried a long, slender package that drew gasps from the Gryffindor table.
The parcel whacked Neville Longbottom squarely in the head, dunking him nose-first into his cereal, before landing gracefully in front of Harry Potter, who looked utterly stunned.
From his seat at the Ravenclaw table, Adrian saw Harry's wide-eyed expression as he tore open the packaging. A glint of polished wood and silver fittings confirmed it: the boy had just received his very first broomstick—a Nimbus 2000.
Adrian smiled faintly. There was no jealousy. Harry had earned it, especially after being selected as Seeker for Gryffindor's Quidditch team in only his first year. Besides, Adrian already had his own prized broom—the Neptune, known for its balance and fine control in tight maneuvers.
Scooping the last of his cereal quickly, Adrian rose. He had just received a note via owl from Professor Flitwick, the Charms Master and Head of Ravenclaw House, summoning him to his office after breakfast.
Professor Flitwick's Office
"Adrian," Flitwick said warmly, standing atop his stack of books behind his polished desk, "I must say—it's a pleasure to teach a student of your caliber. You've shown exceptional talent in every subject. Even Professor Snape has grudgingly acknowledged your potential, and that's no small feat."
The small wizard gave a chuckle before continuing more seriously.
"There's a wide, wondrous magical world ahead of you, filled with hidden knowledge, dangers, and opportunities. But be cautious—don't neglect your health for the sake of study. Madam Pince tells me you spend nearly all your free time in the library. While admirable, even the sharpest mind needs rest."
Flitwick opened a drawer in his desk, revealing a small enchanted tin. With a flick of his wand, several golden Pocket Pies—the legendary warm, flaky snacks beloved by Ravenclaws—began dancing into the air and twirling around Adrian's head.
"They're charmed to always stay warm," Flitwick grinned. "A reward for your dedication. Don't let anyone say Ravenclaws don't know how to treat their own!"
Although he had just finished breakfast in the Great Hall, Adrian Blackwood accepted a piece of warm pocket cake and took a bite, nodding appreciatively. He had to admit—Professor Filius Flitwick wasn't just a brilliant Charms Master, but also a deeply attentive Head of House. While he didn't hover over his students the way Professor Pomona Sprout of Hufflepuff sometimes did—taking interest even in students from other Houses—Flitwick struck a rare and admirable balance: focused on both the academic performance and emotional well-being of his Ravenclaws.
"Thank you, Professor Flitwick! I'll make sure to balance my study hours better in the future. But honestly," Adrian said with a respectful smile, "spending time in the library isn't a chore for me—it's a pleasure."
Professor Flitwick beamed, clearly touched by the boy's sincerity.
"Oh, marvelous, marvelous! A student who finds study to be a pastime at your age… no wonder you're so far ahead of your yearmates," Flitwick said, his high-pitched voice filled with pride. "It's always a delight to teach someone who genuinely enjoys learning. At Ravenclaw, that sort of enthusiasm is our tradition."
To lighten the mood further, Flitwick took a delicate bite of his own floating cake. The warm buttered center melted slightly in his mouth, and he gave a satisfied nod before shifting the topic with bright curiosity.
"Tell me, Adrian, are you by any chance interested in Quidditch?"
Adrian blinked in surprise at the sudden question.
"Quidditch, sir? But first-years aren't allowed their own broomsticks, and we're not permitted to try out for the House teams."
Flitwick chuckled, his eyes twinkling. Adrian could tell there was more behind the question.
"You're quite right—that is the usual rule," Flitwick said, leaning forward slightly. "But I've just heard from Madam Hooch that Harry Potter, the new Gryffindor Seeker, was allowed onto their team despite being a first-year. Youngest in over a century, they say. And Rolanda also told me you showed exceptional natural skill in her flying class—equal to Harry, in fact."
Adrian raised an eyebrow slightly, his mind racing.
"Your family has quite the flying pedigree," Flitwick continued enthusiastically. "Your brother Albert Blackwood was one of the finest Keepers Ravenclaw's had in the past decade. And your sister Daisy—well, I still remember the match where she led our team to a crushing victory as a Chaser. Given your performance, I think it's high time Ravenclaw took a leaf out of Gryffindor's book and gave you the same opportunity."
Adrian didn't hesitate. The memory of his flight during Madam Hooch's lesson—the wind in his hair, the way the broom had responded to his slightest shift in weight—came flooding back. It was exhilarating. Accepting a position on the Quidditch team would not only give him more visibility among students and professors, but it would also show he wasn't the sort to shy away from House pride or team sports. Besides, Tom Riddle had famously disliked flying, and distancing himself from that kind of comparison was always a good idea.
"I'd be honoured, Professor. I'd like to try out."
Flitwick clapped his hands together with joy.
"Wonderful news! With your composure and reflexes, I daresay Ravenclaw has a real chance at the Cup this year!" He looked Adrian over with pride. "And to think—you're even younger than Mr. Potter, given your late birthday."
But their cheerful conversation was interrupted by a commotion just outside the office door. Loud voices echoed in the corridor.
"This isn't some old Cleansweep, Malfoy—this is a Nimbus Two Thousand!" came Ron Weasley's unmistakable voice. "You said your family had one? All you've got is a Comet Two Sixty!"
"Hmph," replied Draco Malfoy, sneering. "Comets are built for speed, not gimmicks. You wouldn't know—Weasleys can't even afford half a broom. I bet you and your brothers take turns riding the same one!"
Flitwick gave a long-suffering sigh and hopped off the stack of books he used as a desk chair. His tiny feet pattered across the stone floor as he reached the door.
"I do hope I'm not hearing bickering, children?" he said sternly, poking his head out into the corridor.
The squabble immediately quieted.
Inside the office, Adrian stood by the enchanted desk, watching with mild interest. Inwardly, though, he was already calculating: if he was going to join the Quidditch team, he'd need to practice and refine his flying technique beyond just what classes provided. The Room of Requirement might be just the place for that.
And maybe—just maybe—winning the Quidditch Cup for Ravenclaw would be another step in proving that Adrian Blackwood was not only a scholar, but a legend in the making.