Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 919: The Note in the Pendant Box, Voldemort’s Rage

Not long after Professor McGonagall left, all of Hogwarts sprang into action.

Even though it was already late, the professors rushed in from every corner as quickly as they could.

“Oh... Minerva...” Slughorn came huffing down the stairs, panting heavily, his footsteps echoing as he reached Professor McGonagall.

“Minerva... Could you please explain why the students are being woken up at this hour?”

“For their safety,” Professor McGonagall replied.

“Safety... right.” Slughorn adjusted his luxurious silk pajamas and looked around. “Does Severus know? I haven’t seen him.”

“There’s no need to trouble our headmaster with something so minor,” McGonagall said.

Whether by accident or design, the silver tabby cat Patronus had entered every professor’s office—except the most important one: the headmaster’s.

“I’m sorry to have called you all here,” said McGonagall, wand in hand. “But I believe the one whose name must not be spoken may be coming soon. Before that happens, we need to ensure every student is safely evacuated from the castle.”

Professor Sprout gasped and instinctively stepped back—only to stumble, nearly falling.

“Sorry, Filius,” she said quickly.

Professor Flitwick rubbed his shoulder. He was just as shocked by McGonagall’s news and hadn’t noticed the people around him moving. Otherwise, he would’ve dodged her.

But Flitwick didn’t seem to mind.

“What should we do?” he asked, his voice sharp. “You know as well as I do—whatever we do, we can’t actually keep the Dark Lord out, can we?”

“That used to be true,” said McGonagall, her eyes flashing. “But Kyle just brought us some good news: he’s been hurt.”

“Injured?” Flitwick exclaimed. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely, Professor.” At that moment, Kyle walked over from nearby.

“I didn’t mean to doubt you,” Flitwick said, steadying himself. “It’s just... this is such a shocking revelation. Can you explain in more detail?”

“As far as I know, it’s happened about three times.”

Kyle paused to think. “The first time was a few months ago, when the Death Eaters ambushed the Ministry of Magic. At that time, the Dark Lord and Professor Dumbledore fought a fierce battle overseas. He managed to steal Dumbledore’s wand, but paid dearly for it.”

“Then, in Godric’s Hollow, I saw half of his body scorched black by Dumbledore’s magic.”

“And not long after that, the same side of his body was hit again—this time by Fiendfyre.”

With each word from Kyle, the surrounding professors drew sharp breaths, their hissing gasps filling the room.

Most of them had been holed up in Hogwarts, relying solely on the Daily Prophet or idle chatter for news. They hadn’t known these details—especially the last two incidents.

“Was Dumbledore at Godric’s Hollow too?” Professor Sprout muttered in confusion. “He never mentioned a thing. And what’s this about Fiendfyre?”

McGonagall knew more than the rest, though she wasn’t clear on all the finer points.

After thinking through Kyle’s description, she said, “It must’ve been a weather spell.”

“What?”

“That battle in Godric’s Hollow,” she explained. “Albus probably used a weather spell, enhanced with runes, to summon lightning. That was one of his specialties.”

“Remember? Thirty years ago, when those thieves broke into Hogwarts—they were taken down in the same way. The sudden lightning bolts disabled over twenty wizards in an instant.”

“Oh, I remember now,” said Flitwick. “I had just started at Hogwarts. I was so envious of his technique.”

“It was incredibly powerful,” Kyle added. “The Dark Lord could barely walk afterward.”

“Then he got hit with Fiendfyre... I’d say he’s in terrible shape right now. He didn’t even show up when the Death Eaters attacked the Ministry—despite Dumbledore being dead.”

Hearing this, the professors all fell silent in thought... Given the circumstances, now really did seem like the best chance to destroy the Dark Lord.

“But Kyle...” Slughorn, now breathing more steadily, finally spoke. “If that’s true, why would someone like him come to Hogwarts? He must know this place is even more dangerous than the Ministry.”

“If I were him, I’d go into hiding. Dumbledore’s dead, after all... Hey, don’t look at me like that—I’m just stating facts.”

Seeing the expressions of the other professors, Slughorn quickly added, “What I mean is, his greatest enemy is gone. There’s no reason to rush into a confrontation with Hogwarts.”

“In theory, you’re right,” Kyle said with a smile. “But I’ve given him a reason he can’t ignore.”

“What is it?”

“This.” Kyle held up Ravenclaw’s Diadem. “Professor Slughorn, I’m sure you’re familiar with Horcruxes.”

Slughorn went pale and instinctively stepped back, stammering, “I-I’ve heard of them.”

Of course he had. In fact, it was his teachings that had led Tom Riddle to learn how to create Horcruxes.

To hide this truth—and to avoid being silenced by Voldemort—Slughorn had even altered his own memories and gone into hiding.

Could it be...

Slughorn couldn’t help but glance up at the Diadem... and in the next moment, he let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Thankfully, there was no trace of Horcrux magic on it.

“I never would’ve guessed that mysterious wizard in the papers was you,” Slughorn said, regaining his usual confidence. “So—you think You-Know-Who wants the Diadem so he can turn it into a Horcrux?”

Seeing Slughorn putting on airs, Kyle didn’t call him out. He simply shook his head and said, “He didn’t just want to—he already did. More than ten years ago, he turned the Diadem into a Horcrux.”

“That’s impossible!” Slughorn blurted out. “Horcruxes don’t look like that.”

“That’s because the soul fragment inside has already been removed,” Kyle replied, smiling. “Mr. Nicolas Flamel did a fine job, don’t you think? Looks good as new.”

The Diadem gleamed brilliantly, just like the gleam in the professors’ eyes.

Though they knew that a portion of Rowena Ravenclaw’s memory had been preserved, actually seeing the Diadem still stirred their emotions.

Professors like McGonagall and Sprout, being heads of house, were better prepared—they’d been briefed by Dumbledore in advance.

But for the others, those who taught general subjects, it was a different story. From the moment Kyle produced the Diadem, their eyes hadn’t left it.

“Nicolas Flamel...” Slughorn clutched his chest, sensing that Kyle might know more than he was letting on.

“A Horcrux that’s been cleansed shouldn’t be enough to trick You-Know-Who,” he said, quickly changing the subject. “Even if he gets it back, it’s useless.”

“But You-Know-Who doesn’t know it’s been cleansed,” Kyle shrugged. “You do know, don’t you? Soul fragments are independent—they can only sense each other when they’re close enough.”

“And when we removed the fragment from the Diadem, You-Know-Who hadn’t even been resurrected yet. There’s no way he could’ve known one of his Horcruxes was destroyed.”

“Ah, r-right, of course,” Slughorn stammered. “I’ll go summon the Slytherin students right away.”

He hurried off, as if terrified that Kyle might expose one of his old blunders at any moment.

“When did Horace get so enthusiastic?” said Professor McGonagall. “Well, in any case, I suggest everyone gather the students and meet in the Great Hall.”

“Most of them will need to be evacuated. But if any of the older students are willing to stay and fight, I believe we should give them that choice.”

“Agreed,” said Professor Sprout, already heading for the door while muttering, “Venomous Tentacula, Devil’s Snare, Chomping Cabbage...”

Professor Flitwick followed behind her, his steps heavy—but a spark of anticipation gleamed in his eyes.

“You-Know-Who’s wounded... maybe this time, we really can win,” he murmured to himself, unable to resist glancing back at the Diadem in Kyle’s hand.

As the head of Ravenclaw House, he knew more than the others. He’d assumed Dumbledore had locked the Diadem away in his office—but instead, he’d given it to Kyle.

Or perhaps it had been Lady Ravenclaw’s decision... after all, she was still somewhere within the castle.

Whether she would intervene this time, though, remained to be seen.

This was Rowena Ravenclaw they were talking about—the most brilliant witch in history, a founder of Hogwarts, bearer of countless honors... and with that thought, Voldemort and the Death Eaters suddenly didn’t seem quite so frightening.

“Oh no... we can’t pin our hopes on a thousand-year-old witch,” Flitwick muttered, shaking his head and quickening his pace.

Soon, only Kyle and Professor McGonagall remained.

“I still need to be sure,” McGonagall said. “Do you really think You-Know-Who would drag his injured body to Hogwarts for a single Horcrux?”

“Maybe not for one,” Kyle replied. “But what if there are several? The Diadem isn’t the only one we have. He’ll come. He has to.”

“When?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “It depends on when he realizes his Horcruxes are gone. I left him a trail—he should figure it out.”

...

“Oh!”

At the same time, in a room at 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry jolted awake, drenched in sweat. His pajamas were soaked, and his hair clung damply to his head.

But he didn’t care. The moment he sat up, he clutched his forehead, pressing against the scar.

Bang!

The door burst open from the outside.

Sirius rushed in, looking alarmed. “I heard you shouting—what happened?”

He held his wand ready, eyes scanning the room warily, even though he knew they were in a secure place.

“No, nothing—just… I dreamed about Voldemort.”

“What did you say?”

“I dreamed about Voldemort.” Harry rubbed at the burning scar on his forehead, the pain sharp, as if a knife had been driven into it.

He hadn’t felt anything like this in a long time—not since learning Occlumency.

“What did you see in the dream?” Sirius asked, frowning.

“He was angry.” Harry pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to recall the images that had flashed through his mind.

He’d seen Voldemort leave Knockturn Alley, go to Gringotts, and slaughter a number of goblins there.

Then the scene shifted—Voldemort was in a cave, sitting in a small, eerie boat, gliding swiftly across a pitch-black lake...

And that’s when Harry had jolted awake.

“Listen to me, Harry.” Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever he’s planning—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Harry blinked. “Why do you say that?”

“Because we’ve just received word—he’s likely planning to attack Hogwarts,” Sirius said quickly.

“That’s bad—Hermione and Ron are still there!”

“Exactly why we have to move, now,” said Sirius. “Hurry up. Remus is already waiting—we’re heading out immediately.”

“Right!” Harry said without hesitation.

He swung his legs over the bed and tried to stand, but before he could steady himself, a wave of searing pain slammed into his head. It felt like his skull was about to split open.

In that instant, he looked down and saw a pale, shriveled hand—Voldemort’s hand—clutching an open locket. Inside was a scrap of paper.

Harry strained to read what was written, but the pain was too much—the burning scar kept pulling his focus away. He could barely make out three letters on the note:

R.A.B.

“Harry, Harry... are you all right?” a voice said. Harry snapped back to reality and found himself sitting on the floor, Sirius gripping his arm.

“You scared me there. Did you see him again?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, then asked instinctively, “Sirius, do you know what R.A.B. means?”

“R.A.B.?” Sirius shook his head. “Sounds like someone’s initials. Actually... those are the initials of my brother, Regulus. But you wouldn’t know him, would you?”

“No, I don’t.” Harry thought for a moment. The name Regulus meant nothing to him.

“What exactly did you see?”

“A cave. Voldemort was in it. He was holding a locket—and that’s what was written inside.”

Harry didn’t notice the way Sirius began to tremble the moment he mentioned the cave and the locket, or how a mist formed in his eyes.

“Could you... describe it in more detail?” Sirius asked cautiously. “What was the cave like?”

“It was really dark.” Harry didn’t understand why Sirius was so interested in the cave, but he answered honestly. “There was a pitch-black lake in the middle, with a stone basin in the center. Voldemort took the locket from there.”

“Haha... hahahaha!”

Sirius suddenly burst into laughter, making Harry jump.

The laughter grew louder, so loud it drew Lupin in from outside.

“Sirius, what’s going on?”

But Sirius didn’t answer. He looked straight at Harry. “What did Voldemort do? I mean, when he saw the locket.”

“He was furious,” Harry said. “I saw him destroy the entire cave. The falling rocks filled the lake.”

“Wait—you’re saying you saw...” Lupin fixed his eyes on Harry. “You were in You-Know-Who’s mind again, weren’t you? Dumbledore must’ve warned you how dangerous that is. What you see might be just what he wants you to see.”

“I know. But I think it was real this time,” Harry said, pointing to his scar. “It only hurts like that when he’s really angry. Just now, it felt like my head was going to split in two.”

“Hahahaha, this is brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” Sirius’s laughter cut them off again.

Brilliant?

Harry twitched at the corner of his mouth.

What was that supposed to mean? His skull nearly bursting was brilliant?

And Sirius wasn’t just laughing—he was muttering under his breath as he did:

“Regulus... you did it. He saw what you left behind, and now he’s furious. That was the whole point, wasn’t it?”

Of course Sirius knew about the cave. A few years ago, with the help of Dumbledore and Kyle, he had retrieved Regulus from that very place.

He also knew the Horcrux in that cave had been a fake. The real one had been swapped out long ago by Regulus—and now, it should be in Kyle’s possession.

And from what Harry described, Regulus had even left a note inside the fake—just to mock Voldemort.

That was so very like him. Sirius could just imagine the look on Voldemort’s face when he read that note.

“Lupin, what’s going on with Sirius?” Harry asked in a low voice.

He couldn’t help but feel that his godfather had suddenly become a bit unhinged. Was there something special about that cave?

“I’m not sure,” Lupin replied, shaking his head.

Regulus’s story was something of a well-kept secret. In order to avoid alerting Voldemort by revealing that one of his Horcruxes had already been destroyed, Sirius had deliberately kept the truth hidden.

He hadn’t even told Lupin—or Harry.

But now, that secrecy seemed no longer necessary.

With a sharp flick of his wand, Sirius cast a spell, looking visibly relieved, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for a long time.

From outside came a loud clack, as if something had fallen into place.

Harry and Lupin rushed out and found a new portrait hanging in the entrance hall, right beside Phineas’s—but even larger than the portrait of the former headmaster.

It depicted a young man who bore a strong resemblance to Sirius, though his expression was more solemn—or perhaps sullen.

Harry could tell right away: he was a Slytherin. That particular look was almost a signature of the house.

“Sirius... who is he?”

“Regulus Black,” Sirius said. “The R.A.B. you saw—that was short for Regulus Arcturus Black. He’s the one who left the note.”

“Him?” Harry asked, stunned.

Sirius nodded, wiping the corner of his eye, a rare sense of ease settling over him. “Let’s get to Hogwarts first. I’ll explain everything once we’re there.”