Dumbledore closed the notebook, and the male voice stopped abruptly.
"Sir Cadogan's story tells us that sometimes courage turns into luck." Dumbledore smiled warmly.
"I should have thought that Sir Cadogan was a Gryffindor," Moriarty replied with a bemused shake of his head.
"Learning about Sir Cadogan's tale, it makes sense that the Headless Horseman would appear in his mural. Come along, he may be waiting for us."
Dumbledore returned the notebook to the bookcase and led Moriarty and Diana toward the headmaster's office.
Five minutes later, the trio stood in front of the Sir Cadogan mural on the seventh floor of Hogwarts.
Sir Cadogan, often clad in full armor and shouting for duels, was notably absent from the painting.
In his place stood the Headless Horseman.
He was mounted atop a fat grey horse—Sir Cadogan's beloved steed.
The weight of the heavy armor strained the horse's back; the poor animal knelt on all fours, its belly trembling and a pitiful neigh escaping its lips.
"My God, let her go!" shouted Diana, the elf priestess with deep empathy for all living creatures. She glared at the Headless Horseman. "You monster! That's not even a stallion—it's a mare, a poor, gentle mare..."
The Headless Horseman turned his faceless gaze toward Diana. His hands gripped the fat horse's neck as a glowing rune on his wrist flared and transferred dark energy into the mare, who let out a painful whimper and dropped her head in surrender.
Moriarty and Dumbledore exchanged glances—they recognized the symptoms. The fat horse was under a spell.
Moments later, the trembling mare dissolved into a stream of red light and sank into the ground beneath the mural.
Instantly, both Moriarty and Dumbledore—two of the most attuned individuals to Hogwarts—noticed a shift in the magical resonance of the fresco. A familiar sensation bloomed in the air.
Yes, it was akin to the day they first stepped into Hogwarts Castle.
Moriarty's memory sparked. Peeves had mentioned the Headless Horseman casting a spell on a tree. It was the same technique he had used just now on the mare.
Could it be… alchemy?
Recently, information about the Headless Horseman had piled up. The house-elves spoke of a black dragon appearing in the Forbidden Forest millennia ago. The Headless Horseman had hinted that Merlin remained at Hogwarts to master the art of using dragons in alchemical constructs—large, powerful tools meant for protection.
Connecting these threads…
A theory emerged—Merlin transmuted the black dragon into a formidable alchemical device and buried it beneath Hogwarts to guard something of immense value.
This was the secret behind the phrase "Sleeping Dragon, Do Not Disturb."
Moriarty's hypothesis could potentially explain the ancient mystery surrounding Merlin.
Merlin, though predating the Founders, might have entrusted this duty to the school—leaving behind "Do Not Disturb" as a magical warning.
"Have you figured it out?" asked the Headless Horseman, his voice cold and distant. "It's the same enchantment as the Sleeping Dragon. A type of ancient guardian magic. From this moment on, Sir Cadogan's fresco will be protected by that mare. However, it has a time limit—I never learned the full extent of Merlin's alchemy."
Dumbledore stepped forward. "Mr. Headless Horseman, I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts."
The Headless Horseman paused, taken aback by the introduction. For three seconds, he remained silent—like a statue devoid of life.
When he stirred again, he moved closer to Dumbledore.
"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," he repeated. "I have heard of you from many students—you're hailed as the most powerful wizard alive and the current headmaster of Gwarz."
He turned to Moriarty next.
"And Moriarty Slytherin—seems the troublesome magical noise following you didn't succeed in snatching your head today. So you've resolved the alchemy riddle troubling you."
His tone sharpened.
"So, here we are—two of the most powerful figures at Hogwarts, stirring up such a ruckus. Gathering portraits, suits of armor, ghosts—just to investigate me? What are you trying to uncover?"
"You don't know?" Moriarty stepped forward, brandishing the Slytherin staff and gently scraping its tip across the fresco's surface. His voice carried a subtle threat. "You can read minds with ease. Not even Occlumency fully shields against you. And yet you claim ignorance.
You hear everything that happens within these walls—daily. And still, you say you don't know.
Mr. Armor, with everything going on, we cannot permit you to hide anymore. You understand?"
The Headless Horseman straightened up slightly. "I haven't concealed anything. I truly don't know your purpose.
The Sleeping Dragon spell is a powerful ancient guardian enchantment—I've told you this, and I've demonstrated its function.
As for what Merlin meant to protect, I truly do not know. Perhaps only the Founders were privy to that."
The Headless Horseman sat down on the floor, unwilling to say more.
"Coward," Diana muttered with disdain. Her anger over the enchanted mare remained.
"Enough," Dumbledore said with calm precision. "Since you claim ignorance, let us ask plainly—what is the purpose of your existence?"
The mural remained quiet.
Dumbledore placed his right hand on the fresco.
"I entered Hogwarts in 1892, sorted into Gryffindor. Seven years a student. Then a professor. Then Headmaster. Nearly seventy years in total. Round it off—that's a century of service.
And yet, in all my time, I've never seen you—never heard a whisper of your existence.
If not for Bill Weasley's report, or Mr. Moriarty's investigation, I would never have found this mural with no name."
He withdrew his hand, and a commanding aura erupted from him, slamming into the mural like a gale.
Moriarty smirked. The White Devil—Old Deng Tou—had finally bared his fangs.
His message was unmistakable: nothing happens at Hogwarts without his say-so. If something does occur outside his knowledge, it must be eliminated.
Diana glanced at Moriarty, perplexed. As an elven priestess, she'd never had to navigate such raw political pressure.
The Headless Horseman understood. He stood again.
"Fine, Headmaster. Fine, descendant of Slytherin. If not for you two, I wouldn't bother speaking. That 100-year-old elf? I wouldn't spare her a glance. You must know—Merlin was imprisoned by elves."
"Crazy headless freak! I'll—" Diana erupted.
Moriarty held her back, gently nudging her down the hallway.
"Go," he said quietly.
"Before we continue," the Headless Horseman said solemnly, "I must clarify two things."
"First: I do not actively peer into minds. But the magic flowing through me naturally seeps into thoughts. Of course, I cannot read minds of those with enough brain-dimension—such as Headmaster Dumbledore.
And you, Moriarty—you also possess a rare cognitive structure. But on that day, you were overwhelmed by magical interference, and my magic read all of it."
Moriarty deduced that the "brain-dimension" he spoke of referred to Occlumency.
"Second: I sympathize with the castle's recent troubles—yes. But I do not involve myself.
The Headmaster has been here for a century. I've been here a thousand years.
Should I be driven mad by every disturbance in this castle?
I exist not to protect Hogwarts. This is not Camelot. I am not a knight guarding the Round Table."
Moriarty and Dumbledore slowly nodded. His point was reasonable.
"Now let's discuss the truth," the Headless Horseman continued, voice like chilled steel. "The purpose of the Sleeping Dragon is to protect. But my purpose—my meaning—is to seal."
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed. "Seal?"
"Yes," the Headless Horseman confirmed. "To seal the most powerful, most wicked, and most magical vampire to ever live—a headless vampire ancestor."
Moriarty, Dumbledore, and Diana all gasped in unison: "Headless Vampire Ancestor!?"
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