Chương 249: Ch239- Collection

As Cassian walked past the wall on the Seventh Floor, three paces in, the door slid into view. Before he could push it open, a ghost was already floating beside him.

"Good evening, Cassian," Grey Lady said with a smile. He gave her a half-wave.

"And to you, Lady Helena." They stepped inside together. The Room had shaped itself into a narrow study, stone shelves, flickering candles, and at the centre, a single desk. A silver Diadem and a dull Locket laid side by side. Helena didn't go near them. She hovered at a polite distance, eyes on the table.

"Have you found anything on R. A. B.?" Cassian dropped into the chair.

"Nope. Still a fat nothing." He stared at the objects. Back in his fourth year, the year the Basilisk stalked the halls, he and Bathsheda had done something very clever and very stupid, they brought a cursed Diary into Hogwarts. Then they lost it. They thought it was safe and locked under their clever wards. Then Lockhart happened. He'd nicked the Diadem with help from the ghost now floating across the room. Wore it like a crown for weeks. The thing made him sharper.

The Horcrux inside it had been whispering right in his ear. Lockhart admitted later it was the Grey Lady who helped him. Led him right to the Diadem. Told him where it was hidden. Cassian and Bathsheda questioned her, obviously. Right after Lockhart's stunt blew up in their faces and he had to wrestle the Diadem off him. She told them her name was Helena Ravenclaw. Told them about the voice. Her mother's.

Telling her to take the Diadem and give it to Lockhart, the pride of Ravenclaw, the brilliant scholar, the shining star. So she did. Because she thought it meant something. Atonement, maybe. Redemption. She'd held onto guilt for a thousand years, sounded about right. Turned out it was Riddle again. Same old trick, just more subtle this time. He wasn't even there, and he still got what he wanted. Cassian didn't hold it against her. Neither did Bathsheda.

He couldn't, not when she'd spent so long trying to undo something that had gone wrong before Hogwarts even had plumbing. Lockhart was the one who'd drawn it out. Riddle probably thought the same thing. That Lockhart might actually be clever enough to carry one. The irony practically wrote itself. The Grey Lady laughed lightly.

"Maybe it was really my mother's voice. In the end, you did manage to clean the Diadem from Riddle's magic, didn't you?" Cassian rolled his eyes.

"Then your mother's not as smart as I assumed. I nearly died doing it. If she'd just told you to bring it to me directly, I would've cleaned the thing for free, and Lockhart wouldn't have unleashed hell on the school." Helena hung her head.

"That's true. Still can't believe Uncle Salazar's pet was misused like that. He loved that Basilisk." Cassian stopped.

"Wait, you knew about it?" She looked puzzled.

"Of course. Everyone did. He created it just to one-up Aunt Helga's badger. It's quite a funny story." Cassian stared.

"You're telling me... that was true? That's why he made a Basilisk?" He and Bathsheda had found a half-rotted scroll hinting at some feud involving Salazar and a magically resistant Badger, but they assumed it was a joke. Helena continued, entirely straight-faced.

"He said if Aunt Helga got a magical creature for a mascot, so would he. And it would be better. And terrifying. And long." Cassian slumped in the chair.

"So, Hogwarts' biggest disaster serpent was born because someone got jealous of a magical badger?" Helena looked far too pleased.

"Yes." Cassian snorted, shaking his head. Truly eccentric people. He took the ring off his finger and dropped it on the desk next to the Diadem. He watched the Horcruxes sit there. Sometimes they could feel each other, he'd noticed. Didn't know if they could talk, but they reacted. Like dogs catching each other's scent. The Diadem had definitely responded when the Diary got nervous. Back when he and Bathsheda were giving it a proper thrashing. Deserved, too.

The bloody thing had tried to whisper its way into her subconscious. It got bullied instead.

"Three down," he muttered, tapping the wood with a finger. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Even Uncle Salazar's locket." Helena drifted nearer, arms folded tight.

"I remember when he wore it," she said, eyes on the locket.

"Back before the Great Hall was finished. He never took it off. Said it kept him grounded. Or quiet. I can't recall." Cassian gave her a sidelong glance.

"Lovely bit of family heritage. Cursed accessory, generational trauma, poor taste in jewellery." Helena didn't rise to it.

"It was never meant for Riddle."

"No, but Riddle's got a knack for nicking legacies. Makes him feel bigger." She stared at the table.

"He probably found Aunt Helga's cup. And Uncle Godric's sword." Cassian leaned back.

"I've held the sword before. Definitely not cursed." Helena let out a slow breath, shoulders easing in relief. He tapped a finger near the ring with a snicker.

"Uncle Salazar, you said? I found something in a footnote a few years back, bit dodgy translation, but it strongly implied he and Rowena were... more than colleagues." Helena turned sharply.

"I don't know." Cassian grinned.

"You didn't say no." She huffed and turned back, then she flopped backwards into a beanbag that hadn't been there two seconds ago, legs tucked up like she was sixteen and sulking in a library corner.

"Uncle Godric used to say the same thing," she muttered.

"He'd tease Uncle Salazar about it. All the time. But Mother never said anything. Didn't rise to it. I don't think so." Cassian raised an eyebrow.

"But you're not sure."

"I said I don't think so." He stretched out his legs.

"I'll take that as a maybe." Helena gave a sharp huff.

"Uncle Salazar was insufferable," she muttered.

"Always quoting old spells like poetry. Mother said he was charming." Cassian's brows went up.

"That tracks. Charm's just weaponised pretension." Helena rolled her eyes.

"He once transfigured an entire ceiling to look like the night sky just to impress her." Cassian snorted.

"Bit unoriginal now."

"Back then it was... novel." She kicked off the floor again.

"I think she liked him. Briefly. But she loved learning more. Even more than..." She trailed off.

"My father was a brilliant wizard."

"Didn't say he wasn't," Cassian said mildly, eyes drifting back to the table.

"Though brilliant wizards are not, historically speaking, known for their excellent taste in romance." His eyes fell back on the ring. Dumbledore had told him where it might be last year. The locket, too. They'd planned to go together that summer, three of them, before it all went sideways. Cassian lost his magic. Bathsheda and Dumbledore went to China instead. He wasn't planning on going alone. Not without power.

But a few weeks into his forest wanderings, with Ash coiled tight around his shoulder and nothing but moss for company, he ended up not far from Little Hangleton. Gaunt House was buried in enchantments. Layers of them. Old, tangled stuff, more spite than sense. They felt territorial and vicious. Darker than anything he had seen so far. The wards twisted around the property like briar vines. Meant to choke you before you ever got near the door. But the house was completely made of wood... So, Ash didn't care.

Cassian didn't even need to lift a hand. The little dragon gave a low snort. Two runes cracked underfoot. The air tasted like burnt sugar and metal by the time she finished. Cassian stepped over the threshold.

"Wood," he told Ash.

"Bold move." She chuffed in laughter. He walked over ash and soggy floorboards and took the ring. Buried under the floorboards, stitched into the grain of a plank that wasn't like the others. Gaunt paranoia, no doubt. Probably thought putting it under their feet made it holy. Cassian didn't touch it at first. Ash growled when he got close. He poked it with the end of his staff. The metal hissed. Sparks jumped. He flicked a runic slip into the space around it, let the bindings wrap. The paper crinkled, then held.

He wasn't about to manhandle something made with a soul inside it. Not again. By the time he left the house, the roof had caved in and the foundation was smoking. Ash looked pleased. The locket came later. He'd waited for Dumbledore and Bathsheda that time. The cave was cursed top to bottom. Magic dense, air dark. Dumbledore muttered the counter-charms. They got to the island in the middle of the underground lake. Water flat as glass. The bowl in the centre shimmered. That's when the old man reached for the goblet.

Cassian side-eyed him. Hard.

"You're really about to drink the mystery water," he said. Dumbledore paused.

"The enchantment may require consumption." Cassian didn't blink.

"Voldemort said it must be drunk."

"Yes."

"So you're doing it. Because Voldemort said so." Dumbledore opened his mouth. Cassian gave him a long, slow sigh.

"You're very clever, Albus. But sometimes you're also very stupid." Dumbledore set the goblet down again. Cassian crouched beside the basin, eyeing the edge. The spell layered over it shimmered like oil, classic compulsion. Wouldn't let you remove the liquid. Wouldn't let you vanish it. Meant to make you drink. So they didn't. Bathsheda crouched by the basin and started dismantling it like she was marking an essay that had annoyed her.

The water slumped in on itself, lost whatever spine it had, then drained away just like that. The bowl went dry. Something clinked softly against the stone. None of them moved right away. Even Dumbledore hesitated. Cassian gave him a look.

"This the part where it turns into a snake?"

"It is... unlikely."

"Reassuring." Dumbledore leaned closer, hand resting lightly on his wand. The locket just sat there.

"It's either dead," Cassian muttered, "or pretending really well." Bathsheda tapped it with the tip of her wand.

"Might've had the Horcrux stripped out clean. No residue."

"Or someone got lazy."

"Or clever." Dumbledore frowned.

"Feel nothing?"

"Not a twitch." Bathsheda lifted it with two fingers. Turned it. Then popped it open. There was paper, folded, yellowed at the edges. Cassian took it. Unfolded it carefully, as it looked it would crumble out of spite. He read it. Then again.

"To the Dark Lord I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more. R. A. B." Bathsheda snorted through her nose.

"So the locket's a fake."

"What a waste of time." He folded the note back up and slipped it into his coat. The locket lay open and harmless in Bathsheda's palm.

"Well," Cassian said, straightening.

"That explains why this one didn't try to murder us." They had no idea who R. A. B. was. Had the Horcrux actually been destroyed? That was the question. They'd have to find whoever this R. A. B. was and make sure the job was done. If not, finish it themselves. Cassian stood. Left the ring on the table, next to the Diadem and the fake locket. Three cursed artefacts, sitting like a collector's nightmare display. He turned toward the door.

"Good night, Lady Helena." Above, Helena drifted upward, robes trailing like smoke.

"And to you, Cassian." He shut the door behind him. The Room sealed again.