In the Ravenclaw Tower, Adrian Blackwood slipped quietly into his dormitory. Edward was already fast asleep again, snoring softly. Adrian lay in bed and shut his eyes for a moment, just to rest them—only for the door to swing open and the stern voice of the fifth-year prefect, Penelope Clearwater, to pierce the silence.
"Adrian Blackwood! How dare you go after a troll on your own at your age?!" Penelope's arms were folded tightly, her voice seething with disbelief. "I couldn't find you when I did the headcount—Edward let it slip, and then I hear from Professor Flitwick of all people that you dealt with the creature alone!"
Penelope was clearly beside herself. Normally composed and rarely reprimanded by professors, the pretty Ravenclaw prefect was clearly in a state, striding toward Adrian like a thundercloud ready to burst.
"I—I only had a stomachache and left for the lavatory. I just happened to run into it," Adrian said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. "And I did get Ravenclaw twenty points, didn't I? Surely that's worth a pardon? Besides, Miss Clearwater, you look even lovelier tonight than usual."
Penelope huffed, unimpressed but visibly trying to suppress a smirk. "You're a Ravenclaw, not some reckless Gryffindor charging into danger. We value intellect, not bravado. That said… a first-year defeating a mountain troll solo? That's… impressive, I admit."
Then her tone shifted, and she cleared her throat primly. "Also, Professor Flitwick asked me to pass on a message: since the situation with the troll has been resolved, the Halloween celebrations are back on. Ravenclaw will host our masquerade by the Black Lake tonight."
Adrian blinked. "By the lake?"
"Yes," she said proudly, her eyes glinting. "The other three Houses are holding their events inside their common rooms, but we wanted something more creative—different. It was my idea, and Professor Flitwick loved it. He even cast protective enchantments and temperature charms to ensure everyone's safety and comfort."
She glanced toward the lounge window. "See those floating lanterns? That's all Flitwick's doing. The girls contributed dozens of handmade scarves enchanted with starlight, though Headmaster Dumbledore politely declined our invitation. Something important must have come up."
Adrian noticed how animated she had become. Penelope Clearwater, usually so proper and distant, looked positively thrilled—almost giddy. For a moment, it made her seem much more relatable.
Soon after, the Ravenclaw students filed eagerly toward the Black Lake. The surface of the lake shimmered like glass, reflecting the majestic towers of Hogwarts. Colorful lanterns floated lazily in the sky, casting soft hues of violet and gold over the trees, which were strung with magical lights.
Long U-shaped tables draped in light blue silk were arranged on the grass, laden with every kind of wizarding delicacy: pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, treacle tarts, and even butterbeer in silver goblets. White Romanesque chairs with swirling ribbon charms rustled in the breeze.
Clusters of students gathered around small magical campfires, some strolling in groups along the shore, others laughing as they ignited enchanted fireworks that burst into glittering ravens and eagles high above them. The air was comfortably warm despite the season—Professor Flitwick had clearly cast a localized Caldus Aero to maintain the temperature.
Even the Grey Lady—Helena Ravenclaw herself—floated among the festivities, her translucent form drifting silently between floating scarves and bobbing lights. Though her face remained impassive, there was a grace to her motion that made it seem as though she too was caught up in the enchantment of the evening.
Adrian glanced toward the common room's tall window in the west tower and remembered what he'd seen: the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw now stood entirely unguarded.
Seizing the opportunity, Adrian whispered a Disillusionment Charm over himself and slipped away from the masquerade. Back in the common room, he made sure the coast was clear before approaching the life-sized marble figure of the Foundress.
He had long suspected the statue was more than it seemed—perhaps even hollow. He ran his fingers along the hem of her robes, the runes inscribed into the base, searching for any sign of a hidden mechanism or magical latch.
No clear gaps. No seams.
Frowning, Adrian even lay down on the polished floor and angled his head beneath the statue's robes, peering upward in the hope of discovering a concealed compartment or rune trigger. Nothing. Not even a faint glow.
Still, he could feel it—magic. Ancient, powerful, elusive. Rowena Ravenclaw had never left anything to chance. Whatever secret the statue held, it was hidden behind layers of enchantment far more complex than any simple unlocking spell.
But Adrian Blackwood was not one to give up easily.
Adrian couldn't make sense of the clue at first and scanned his surroundings carefully. Finally, as his gaze shifted upward toward the top of Rowena Ravenclaw's marble statue, he noticed the elegant curve of her long, stone-carved hair forming a graceful arc above her head. The shape struck him with sudden familiarity. Recalling the cryptic conversation he'd had with the Grey Lady—Helena Ravenclaw—Adrian's mind suddenly latched onto the idea of the lost diadem. A sharp intake of breath escaped him as he clapped his hands together softly. Wasn't this arc the exact contour of the Diadem of Ravenclaw?
Suppose a replica or projection of the diadem had once rested here, completing the figure's regal image. If so, then the crown-shaped indentation atop the statue might serve as a lock or magical conduit, activated only by the true diadem. That meant the next step was obvious: he had to find the real crown.
Of course, Adrian had a strong inkling of where it was. According to what he remembered from the books he read and the hints in the Grey Lady's words, Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem had long ago been hidden in the Room of Requirement. Worse still, it had been turned into a Horcrux by Tom Riddle—now known as Lord Voldemort. Adrian vaguely remembered its placement: atop a statue of an ugly, ancient-looking wizard with pockmarked skin and stringy hair, buried deep in the room's endless piles of discarded objects. But he couldn't be sure if the crown itself had been tainted with defensive enchantments or if it could be retrieved without triggering dark magic.
Recasting the Disillusionment Charm, Adrian moved quickly through the castle's dim corridors. He reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls ballet on the seventh floor, opposite the stretch of blank wall. Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind, he walked past three times, focusing intently on the phrase: "I need a place to hide something." On the third pass, a door melted into existence, revealing the familiar arched entrance of the Room of Requirement.
Stepping inside, Adrian was immediately met with towering mountains of forgotten relics: shattered furniture, banned books, broken wands, rusted cauldrons, vials of suspicious potions, and heaps of enchanted junk left by generations of Hogwarts students. He nodded slightly—this place was a treasure trove. Perhaps after the term ended, he could return and recover some of these artifacts to study… or sell. The thought of converting unwanted magical items into galleons for pocket money danced briefly in his mind.
But his musings were cut short by a foul, pungent odor drifting from deeper in the cluttered maze. Wrinkling his nose, Adrian tracked the stench to an enormous, half-hidden cabinet tucked between stacks of old trunks. He raised his wand cautiously and approached, left hand held out to balance. As he edged closer, the cabinet door creaked open with a groan, revealing its grotesque contents.
Adrian's stomach turned. Suspended in a thick, glowing preservative fluid was the very mountain troll he had defeated earlier. It had been turned into a gruesome specimen, its body grotesquely posed, the club it once wielded gripped tight even in death. His expression darkened. Someone had gotten here before me… and they had the skill and time to preserve a magical creature this large.
That meant whoever had done this might still be nearby.
Suppressing the rising sense of unease, Adrian quickened his pace. Time was not on his side. He weaved through narrow paths between towering piles of rubbish, searching. Then—there! Just as he'd envisioned: a grotesque statue of a wizened, hunched wizard, face covered in pockmarks, stringy curls drooping from beneath a tarnished crown. The diadem, dulled and ancient-looking, rested atop its head—its once elegant engraving, "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," barely visible.
This was it.
Adrian steadied his breath and approached with precision. Knowing the diadem was now a Horcrux, containing a fragment of Voldemort's soul, he immediately engaged Occlumency, shielding his mind with focused clarity to prevent intrusion. Lifting his wand carefully, he cast Wingardium Leviosa—guiding the crown away from the statue without touching it directly. The artifact hovered in the air before him, pulsing faintly with dark energy.
Then he invoked his system interface and opened his storage space. The diadem floated toward it.
"Soul fragment detected. Host, be advised: living entities or objects containing souls cannot be stored without conversion. Are you sure you want to proceed?" came the cold, ethereal voice of the system—its first response since the last quest.
Adrian narrowed his eyes. "What happens if I insist on storing it?"
There was a moment of stillness before the system responded, its voice devoid of emotion.
"If the host insists, the Horcrux will be forcibly separated from the soul fragment. The fragment will be converted into neutralized magical energy and absorbed by the system. However, energy gained through forced soul conversion will not generate system rewards. Note: only irreversibly fragmented soul remnants qualify for storage."
Adrian's thoughts whirled. So it was possible—he could safely remove the crown and neutralize its threat. But at the cost of forfeiting any potential rewards from the system? He weighed the risk. Leaving the Horcrux in the open was unacceptable. Someone else might find it… or worse, be corrupted by it.
He made his decision.
"Proceed."