The next two days passed in unusual tranquillity at Hogwarts. No terrifying monsters prowled the corridors seeking victims, and no mysterious odours of unknown origin wafted through the castle halls.
At the very least, students and professors didn't have to endure being inexplicably enveloped by horrible stenches that left them unable to eat for an entire day, as they had suffered through just days before.
For Evans, this peaceful interlude brought one piece of good news and one decidedly bad piece.
The good news was that their beloved headmaster had finally returned to his loyal Hogwarts after nearly half a month of absence, his twinkling eyes and knowing smile once again gracing the Great Hall.
The bad news was that the cunning old man had arrived bearing a veritable mountain of tasks, dumping them on Evans's desk before he'd even properly settled back into his office.
First, since Evans needed Dumbledore's assistance in contacting a curse specialist for the ailing Chimaera, the headmaster had naturally assigned him the task of tracking down the individual suspected of carrying a Horcrux. Though this particular mission came without a deadline and could theoretically wait until the holidays, Evans still felt a familiar surge of irritation at being voluntold for yet another dangerous endeavour.
Beyond that, he'd also accepted the responsibility of helping Harry become familiar with his newly discovered Parseltongue abilities.
Unlike his own talent and Newt's gift for communicating with magical creatures, beast-speakers required extensive training to master their abilities. They couldn't simply speak the animals' languages; they could use these linguistic skills to command corresponding creatures, compelling them to follow instructions. When trained to peak proficiency, such speakers could even influence entire species of magical creatures.
Take Harry's Parseltongue, for instance. If this ability were honed to perfection, he could theoretically establish an army composed of various serpents, including basilisks and winged serpents.
Besides these two assignments, Evans also needed to research the mysterious diadem alongside Dumbledore himself.
Watching the elderly wizard examine the blank white wall with evident fascination, Evans couldn't suppress a weary sigh.
Honestly, being a Hogwarts professor is exhausting. Nothing like the cushy positions at Beauxbatons.
"I remember visiting this place once before," Dumbledore mused, his fingers tracing patterns in the air before the empty space. "Back then, it manifested as a small chamber filled with the most exquisite teapots I'd ever seen."
Evans crossed his arms, eyeing the headmaster sceptically. "There are still places in Hogwarts you don't know about?"
"Of course, my dear." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with characteristic mischief. "After all, I'm merely an unremarkable headmaster in a school that has weathered over a thousand years of secrets. This ancient castle harbours mysteries that even I cannot fully comprehend."
His gaze shifted to the wall with anticipation dancing in his azure eyes.
"So I should concentrate on needing a place to hide things?" Without waiting for confirmation, Dumbledore closed his eyes and began walking slowly past the wall.
After completing three measured passes, a smooth door materialised before them with barely a whisper of displaced air.
Pushing the door open to reveal towering piles of accumulated junk reaching toward the vaulted ceiling, Dumbledore's expression brightened with genuine amusement.
Who would have imagined Tom would choose to conceal a Horcrux in such a place?
"This way." Once Dumbledore had accessed the room, Evans took the lead, navigating them through the maze of discarded objects toward their destination.
They wound around several improvised corridors, ducked through a narrow passage formed by abandoned broomsticks, until finally the pockmarked wizard statue came into view. The diadem rested exactly where Evans had left it, its uncorroded sections catching and reflecting scattered beams of sunlight that filtered through the room's high windows.
Studying the ancient diadem, Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, a shadow of genuine regret crossing his weathered features.
All objects transformed into Horcruxes suffered the same fate: they became dim and lifeless, stripped of their original beauty and robbed of their intended magical functions. The relics left by Hogwarts' four founders should have possessed incredible enchantments. To see three of them reduced to this corrupted state truly grieved him.
Oblivious to the headmaster's internal turmoil, Evans gestured toward the diadem. "As I mentioned before, this artefact radiates an incredibly dense cursed aura. My pixie instincts scream warnings that touching it could prove fatal. When I even considered methods of destroying it, the danger sense exploded to its maximum intensity."
He paused, remembering. "In my entire life, I've only experienced that level of alarm when facing the water demon in Orleans Forest."
"Allow me to examine it properly." After absorbing Evans's description, Dumbledore drew his wand with practised precision. Starlike symbols began materialising in the air before him, rotating in complex patterns that seemed to pulse with ancient power.
Recognising the signs of advanced magical analysis, Evans quietly stepped aside, content to wait for the results.
While Dumbledore's expertise in curse-breaking might not rival specialised professionals, he remained the most formidable wizard of the modern era. Though dismantling this particular curse might challenge even his considerable abilities, analysing its effects when already aware of its nature lies well within his capabilities.
After approximately two minutes of intense concentration, Dumbledore returned his wand to its place at his waist, his expression grave.
"A death curse," he announced quietly. "An extraordinarily potent death curse, at that."
"It will afflict anyone who makes physical contact with the diadem. Should someone attempt to destroy it, all the accumulated curses will concentrate upon that individual with devastating effect."
Evans felt his heart sink. "Then how do we proceed?"
If destroying this Horcrux would result in being completely consumed by an undispellable death curse, how could they possibly eliminate it safely?
"We leave it here for now." Dumbledore's voice carried a note of reluctant pragmatism. "Perhaps it will serve an unexpected purpose when the proper moment arrives."
The curse's potency truly was overwhelming. Even with all his experience and power, triggering it might inflict a fatal affliction upon him.
"Or we could seek volunteers?" Evans muttered under his breath. "We could spread word that this object is one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Given his infamous reputation, surely many people would eagerly volunteer to help destroy it."
Noticing Dumbledore's expression shift to something approaching alarm, he shrugged dismissively.
"Just a thought. Besides, he created multiple Horcruxes. We can't exactly sacrifice one volunteer's life for each one, can we?"
"That won't be necessary," Dumbledore assured him with a shake of his head. "Each Horcrux manifests different effects and cannot be entirely identical in nature. Other Horcruxes shouldn't possess such concentrated death curses."
He began pacing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back in a familiar gesture of deep contemplation.
"The fundamental requirement for creating Horcruxes involves tearing away a soul fragment through the act of murder. This fragment inherently carries part of the creator's personality and emotional essence."
"Tear away caution, and one becomes reckless. Remove calmness, and irritability takes its place. This psychological fragmentation explains why all who create Horcruxes inevitably become increasingly unstable and temperamental."
"The types of curses these soul fragments can manifest depend entirely on the emotional foundation they contain. Without sufficient emotional resonance, many curses simply cannot form, much less achieve this level of concentration."
Evans absorbed this explanation, then asked the question that had been forming in his mind. "Then what does this particular soul fragment represent?"
Dumbledore didn't immediately respond. Instead, he gazed deeply at the corrupted diadem, his eyes taking on a complexity born from decades of painful memories. He seemed to be reliving scenes from long ago, when he first encountered a brilliant but troubled child with extraordinary potential.
After a prolonged silence that stretched uncomfortably between them, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I believe it embodies despair."
His words hung heavy in the stale air of the hidden room.
"This diadem contains the most agonising and hopeless fragment of his entire existence."