~ 20 Advanced Chapters Available on my Patreon!
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Severus Snape pulled a damaged lantern from his schoolbag and casually tossed it into a conspicuous spot.
This way, if anyone questioned why he was here, he'd have a plausible excuse.
He then moved through the shafts of light streaming from the high windows, searching for a troll specimen.
The diadem should be somewhere nearby.
Looking up, he saw nothing but heaps of colorful junk.
Snape couldn't help but wonder if Tom Riddle's mind had been warped by his fractured soul.
How else could he believe he was the only one who could access this place?
Finally, he spotted the troll specimen.
Past the specimen, down the aisle, he came across an old, battered Vanishing Cabinet.
"Wait."
Snape paused, glancing back at the cabinet.
After a moment's thought, he drew his wand and took careful aim.
"Diffindo!"
A loud crack rang out like a bullet slicing through the air. The once-quiet wooden cabinet was torn apart in an instant, splinters and fragments flying everywhere.
Snape bent down, stuffed a few pieces of broken wood into his bag, and clapped his hands with satisfaction.
"That should ensure the Vanishing Cabinet is out of commission, right?"
Not far from the cabinet's wreckage, a large, bubbling cupboard caught his eye.
It was around here.
Using his wand, Snape cut a strip from his robe's sleeve and, through the fabric, picked up a rusty longsword from atop a pile of clutter.
He used the sword to sift through the heaps, pulling out anything that could be worn on the head.
Finally, among a pile of tattered headpieces, Snape spotted a tarnished diadem.
Etched along its base were tiny words: Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.
The moment he read the inscription, a powerful urge surged deep within him—
He wanted to place Ravenclaw's Diadem on his head.
He could feel it clearly: it would grant him supreme wisdom and boundless glory.
Snape's legs began to tremble, as if drawn by an invisible force, and he sank to his knees before the diadem.
He slowly reached out.
The instant his fingertips touched the diadem, a jolt like electricity coursed through his body.
His mind raced, his thoughts sharper than ever. On one side, a ravenous desire for wisdom and power; on the other, his cool rationality fought desperately to resist.
Just as the diadem was about to touch his head, Snape snapped his eyes shut and, with every ounce of strength, hurled it aside.
"Damn it, what the hell!" he gasped, panting heavily. "When Harry and the others got their hands on this thing, they didn't face any danger…"
"It must be because Fiendfyre destroyed it before they touched it."
Snape racked his brain, trying to recall the original plot.
"That's got to be it. Things went wrong the moment I read that motto… I need to avoid that."
He removed the strip of sleeve wrapped around the sword and waved his wand: "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The sleeve lifted off the ground, floating gently before settling over the ancient, faded diadem.
Just as he was about to pick it up through the cloth, he realized this still carried significant risk.
"Hmm… Harry didn't seem to touch it before it was burned by Fiendfyre either—not just a matter of reading the words."
He used his wand to lift the sleeve again, aimed carefully, and tried casting a few spells on the diadem, but it remained inert.
Covering it once more, Snape frowned, unsure of what to do next.
After standing there in thought for a while, he realized his only option for now was to hide it.
Under Snape's direction, various pieces of junk rose into the air, spinning.
One by one, they piled atop the diadem.
Soon, the third pile of clutter to the left of the Vanishing Cabinet's wreckage blended seamlessly with the surrounding heaps.
Snape pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sounds outside, then slung his bag over his shoulder and slipped out quietly, watching the door morph back into a stone wall behind him.
"Oh, bloody hell!"
He glanced at his battered wristwatch and bolted toward the stairs.
"No, I'm going to be late for the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class…"
Outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Snape skidded to a halt.
He knocked lightly on the door, interrupting Professor Grubbly-Plank's voice.
"Come in."
He opened the door cautiously and stepped inside.
"Sorry, I'm late, Professor. I—"
A chorus of jeers erupted from one corner of the room, with James Potter's grin shining particularly brightly.
Professor Grubbly-Plank shot a stern glare in that direction.
"Name and house," she said stiffly, turning to Snape.
"Severus Snape, Slytherin."
"This class started five minutes ago, Snape. I don't expect you to be late again. Now, find a seat."
Snape slid his bag off his shoulder, holding it in one hand as he shuffled quietly to sit beside Patrick Abbott.
"What happened to you?" Abbott asked, eyeing Snape's shortened sleeve.
"Shh—" Snape nodded toward Professor Grubbly-Plank, who was using magic to unfurl some diagrams. "Later."
"As I was saying," Professor Grubbly-Plank continued, pointing her wand at the diagrams—images of tortured figures, gruesome wounds, and grotesquely twisted limbs. "You're about to leave school, and the world out there is far more dangerous than Hogwarts."
She tapped her wand sharply on a few of the images.
"Of the Dark Arts, the three Unforgivable Curses are the most wicked."
She pointed to one image. "This witch, writhing in agony, was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. It causes excruciating pain."
She gestured to another. "This wizard, calmly leaning against a wall, was struck by the Killing Curse. No marks on him, but he's stone dead."
"As for the Imperius Curse," Professor Grubbly-Plank stepped down from the dais, pacing the classroom, "those under its influence show almost no outward signs.
"But you'll act according to the caster's will. They could make you turn your wand on yourself or kill your own family…"
She circled to the other side of the room and headed back to the dais.
"You must fully understand what you might face out there. I expect you to take this course seriously, not just to pass an exam."
The classroom was silent, as if everyone held their breath.
"Now, don't get too tense," Professor Grubbly-Plank said, standing at the dais and facing the students.
"In the lessons to come, I'll do my best to help you build your defenses against the Dark Arts."
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