It was evening, and Dylan had the whole afternoon free from classes. He'd spent it holed up in the Room of Requirement.
The Christmas holidays were over, and with the new term starting, he had a lot on his plate. Top of the list was figuring out how to extract Voldemort's soul fragment from Ravenclaw's diadem without destroying the artifact itself.
It was no small feat. Even though Dylan already had one Horcrux in his possession and had studied its structure inside and out, the more he learned, the clearer it became: separating a soul from its vessel without damaging the object was incredibly tricky.
Normally, a soul resides in a body, and a Killing Curse could sever that tie easily enough. But a Horcrux? That was different. The soul was still a soul, but the "body" was now an object powered by dark magic. Extracting the soul without breaking the vessel required not just precision but a deeper understanding of the soul itself.
Dylan had been wrestling with this problem for a while. He paused his work, rubbed his chin, and with a quick flash, slipped into his personal world-space.
He appeared next to a wooden cabin, and at the same moment, Ravenclaw's figure materialized in the air. Ever since she'd left her portrait and entered Dylan's world, she wasn't just a painted figure anymore—she had a near-physical presence and wielded impressive magical abilities. Her ability to appear and vanish at will was just one of her tricks, making her seem caught somewhere between reality and illusion. Sometimes Dylan thought she was as real as any person; other times, she felt like a ghost.
"Dylan, still puzzling over how to pull that soul fragment out of my diadem?" Ravenclaw asked.
He nodded, not bothering to deny it.
She smiled faintly. "You know, there's always the simplest solution."
"You mean destroy it?" Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ravenclaw nodded. "It's the easiest way, isn't it?"
"But that could destroy the soul fragment along with it," Dylan said. "And besides, it's your diadem."
"I don't care about that," she replied. "I'm long dead. A diadem won't bring me back. Honestly, I never imagined my legacy would be twisted into something so vile by dark magic. If it's tainted like that, I'd rather see it destroyed."
Her tone was serious, and it was clear she held a grudge against Voldemort for turning her diadem into a Horcrux. Fair enough—who wouldn't be upset? It was her carefully crafted heirloom, and some noseless creep had turned it into a soul jar. Ravenclaw, with her slight obsession for perfection, hadn't even worn the diadem since Dylan returned it to her, knowing what had been done to it.
"Even so," Dylan said with a smile, "I'm not ready to just smash it."
Ravenclaw didn't press the issue, just nodded. If Dylan wanted to find a way to save her diadem and extract the soul, she wasn't going to make the choice for him.
"By the way," she said, glancing at the cabin, "can I go inside now?"
Dylan nodded. "Of course."
Her eyes lit up, and she followed him as he pushed open the door. Inside, they found Gilderoy Lockhart, looking dazed as ever.
"Out you go," Dylan said, waving him off. "Take a walk."
Lockhart shuffled out without a word. Ravenclaw gave him a quick glance. She'd seen him a few times and knew how Dylan had dragged him into this world. A wizard who could barely cast a spell but had nearly taken the magical world by storm with a single Memory Charm. And the kicker? He was a Ravenclaw graduate.
When Ravenclaw first learned this, she'd been a bit shaken. But in the end, she'd only said one thing to Dylan: "Even a terrible teacher can teach students something—like what not to do or learn."
Dylan had been stunned. It was almost word-for-word what Dumbledore had once said. Were all wise minds just wired the same? If he didn't know for sure that this Ravenclaw—from the portrait—had never met Dumbledore, he'd have been suspicious.
Watching Lockhart's vacant figure wander off, Ravenclaw shook her head. "Poor soul."
"Poor?" Dylan snorted, turning back to her. "He's not pitiable in the slightest."
"Oh?" Ravenclaw raised a delicate eyebrow. "Do tell."
Dylan grinned. Ravenclaw spent most of her time in his world tending to it, reading, or playing with his magical creatures. With no one to talk to, even a sage like her got bored. Since he had some time before starting his next experiment, he didn't mind indulging in a bit of gossip.
"Lockhart was his mother's golden boy," Dylan began. "Grew up in a mixed-blood wizard family with two Squib sisters who might as well have been invisible next to him. From day one, he thought he was destined for greatness. When he got to Hogwarts at eleven, he was sure he'd have a fan club in no time. But you know, he was just an average wizard."
"His magic was decent—slightly above average—but next to anyone with real talent, he was completely unremarkable. Realizing he'd never be worshipped for his skills, he took a different path: the road to fame."
"Destined for greatness… and fame?" Ravenclaw blinked.
"Yep," Dylan said, chuckling. "His mum spoiled him into thinking he was the next Merlin. Fame, in Muggle terms, is like being a celebrity. A 'star.'"
Ravenclaw nodded. "I see. Sounds like he was a bit… unhinged."
"That's putting it lightly," Dylan laughed. "A total nutcase. And now he's got no memories left to show for it."
"Go on," Ravenclaw prompted, clearly intrigued.
"So," Dylan continued, "he started showing off and exaggerating to get attention. Claimed he could make a Philosopher's Stone, lead England's Quidditch team to victory, even become the youngest Minister for Magic. In the end, all he had to show for it was eight hundred Valentine's cards he sent to himself."
"After graduating, he traveled the world, writing books about his so-called 'heroic adventures.' Every time he came back to England, he'd have a new book about his exploits."
"Books? About adventures?" Ravenclaw's interest piqued. "That sounds… intriguing."
Dylan smirked. "All nonsense, but the public ate it up. His books were hits. You've probably seen some on the portable bookshelf I gave you."
Ravenclaw paused, then realization dawned. "Oh… you mean Break with a Banshee and Travels with Trolls? I glanced at those. They weren't bad, actually." She frowned. "I didn't realize they were his. I thought the name on the cover was just part of the design."
She gave a small smile. She'd met plenty of self-absorbed types—like Salazar Slytherin, who was obsessed with his lineage and talent—but someone with so little skill and still that level of ego? That was new.
"Yep," Dylan said, stifling a laugh. "Did you ever read Magical Me? That's his too."
"No," Ravenclaw said, shaking her head. "Didn't like the title."
"Fair enough," Dylan said. "In it, he paints himself as this all-powerful hero—catching dark wizards, taming dragons, defeating trolls. Like he could take on every dark force in the world single-handedly."
"For someone like you, that's probably no big deal," Dylan teased. "But the best part? I told you before how he pulled off his greatest trick—stealing other people's stories—and never got caught. The whole wizarding world was obsessed with him."
He glanced out the window at Lockhart, who was feeding chunks of meat to a Basilisk. "His fans even formed three groups: the Mum Club, the Teen Girl Squad, and the True Love League."
"The Mum Club?" Ravenclaw asked.
"Exactly what it sounds like," Dylan said. "Witches who are mothers adored him. Thought he was talented, charming, the whole package. My friend Ron's mum was a huge fan. When Lockhart disappeared after that mess at Hogwarts, and his true colors came out, she was heartbroken."
"Mrs. Weasley even wrote to Ron, asking me if Lockhart was really as bad as people said. I didn't have the heart to crush her, so I just dodged the question."
"And the Teen Girl Squad?" Ravenclaw asked.
"Loads of girls at Hogwarts worshipped him," Dylan said. "You know, that starry-eyed, schoolgirl crush kind of thing."
"And the True Love League?"
"Unmarried women—not teenagers—who were dead-set on marrying him," Dylan said with a grin. "The guy had a knack for fooling people, I'll give him that."
Ravenclaw smiled. "He must've had something going for him to pull the wool over so many eyes."
"Oh, sure," Dylan agreed. "But in the end, he got cocky. Got mixed up in Hogwarts business and landed the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. No matter how slick he was, that cursed position was always going to be his downfall."
"Cursed?" Ravenclaw's eyes narrowed, scanning the room. They'd reached a table in the center of the cabin, which felt like a whole new world inside—spacious, filled with odd trinkets.
"Yeah," Dylan said. "The Defense job's been jinxed. By none other than Voldemort himself."
Ravenclaw raised an eyebrow but said nothing about Dylan's near-slip of calling him "Snape." Instead, her gaze fell on a diary on the table.
"Same dark energy," she said, sensing its aura. "Evil."
Dylan brushed his hand over the diary's cover, and it trembled slightly.
"This one's not your heirloom," he said with a grin. "I don't need to worry about preserving it. The soul fragment in here was already strong enough to manifest on its own. All it takes is a little push to force it out."
Ravenclaw eyed the quivering diary with interest, a spark in her gaze. "I can see traces of dark magic on it. You've studied this deeply, haven't you?"
Dylan just smiled, not confirming or denying. Ravenclaw had long suspected he dabbled in dark magic, and she wasn't surprised. To her, dark magic wasn't inherently evil—it was about intent and restraint. Rejecting it outright meant missing out on understanding magic's true nature.