The decision was made. The destruction of the diary was paramount. Dumbledore, moving with a quiet urgency, declared that the task would be undertaken immediately, under the cover of night.
This was not a matter for Aurors or ministries; it was a secret, surgical strike against the core of Voldemort's power, a piece of dark magic so profound that its existence must not become public knowledge.
The team was small, chosen for specific skills. Dumbledore, for his immense power and knowledge. Ariana, as the strategist and a key witness. And Hermione, at Ariana's quiet insistence, for her quick thinking and encyclopedic knowledge of counter-curses, a valuable support asset. At first Harry was decided to be involved as his use of Parseltongue was required, but Ariana specifically requested Dumbledore to not involve Harry right now. Ron was not to be involved, simply because this was not a mission for impulsive bravery.
Midnight, sensing the shift in her companion's demeanor, emerged from her usual place of quiet repose. She did not take the form of a small cat. She remained in her full, powerful panther form, a silent, four-legged shadow of rippling muscle and deadly grace. She would be Ariana's guardian.
Under the concealing magic of Dumbledore's Disillusionment Charms, the small group made their way through the sleeping castle. The corridors were silent, the portraits snoring gently in their frames. They moved like ghosts towards the second-floor girls' lavatory, the air growing colder as they descended.
They had just reached the entrance to the damp, disused bathroom when a low, sibilant hiss echoed from the darkness at the end of the corridor.
"The little Dumbledore… I knew you would come for my prize."
From the shadows, a massive form uncoiled. It was Nagini. Her iridescent scales shimmered in the faint moonlight filtering through a high window. Her great, reptilian head was raised, her forked tongue flicking out, tasting the air. Her eyes, ancient and intelligent, were fixed on Ariana with a cold, possessive hunger.
"Nagini," Dumbledore said, his voice a low warning. He raised his wand, but the serpent was preternaturally fast.
She lunged, not at Dumbledore, but directly at Ariana, her intended target.
She never reached her. With a speed that defied physics, Midnight moved. She was not a panther of flesh and bone, but a creature of living shadow and void. She flowed from her position beside Ariana, meeting Nagini's lunge with a silent, blurring attack of her own.
There was no ferocious roar, only the whisper of displaced air.
The two ancient, magical creatures collided. Nagini, a being of cursed blood and earthly power, was met by Midnight, a being of pure shadow and abstract potential. It was not a normal fight. Claws of solidified darkness raked against enchanted scales. Nagini snapped with fangs that dripped with ancient venom, but Midnight would dissolve into a formless shadow, letting the attack pass through her before re-coalescing to strike again.
They were a whirlwind of green scales and black shadow, a primal battle between two fundamentally different kinds of magic.
Nagini was powerful and cunning, but Midnight was something else entirely. She was an entity from a place beyond the physical realm. The Maledictus, for all her power, could not gain purchase on a living shadow. With a final, frustrated hiss of rage and pain as
Midnight's claws left a deep, smoking gash along her flank, Nagini disengaged.
"This is not over, little witch," the voice echoed in Ariana's mind. "The Master's property will be returned!"
And with that, Nagini slithered away with incredible speed, melting back into the shadows from whence she came. She was gone.
Hermione was staring, pale and breathless, at the spot where the fight had occurred.
Dumbledore's expression was grim. "It seems the house-elf was correct, Ariana. She will not give up easily." He looked at Midnight, who was now calmly sitting beside Ariana, licking a non-existent wound on her shadowy paw. "A remarkable guardian you have."
"She is… unique," Ariana said, stroking Midnight's sleek head.
Shaken but resolute, they proceeded. They entered the lavatory, and Dumbledore sealed the door behind them with a powerful locking charm. "We must be quick."
They stood before the serpent-etched tap. "Harry is not here to open it, Professor," Hermione pointed out, looking at Ariana for an explanation of her decision.
"That will not be a problem," Ariana said calmly. She stepped up to the sink, her gaze fixed on the tiny, carved serpent. She focused her mind, dredging up the ancient, instinctual language that was her birthright.
"Open," she hissed, the sound soft but perfectly formed, a perfect echo of the Parseltongue Harry had used.
Hermione gasped. Dumbledore's eyes widened in profound, stunned realization. Of course. The Maledictus bloodline. The connection to Nagini. It was not just an understanding; it was an ability.
The sink descended, revealing the dark, gaping pipe. With another hissed command, the stairs formed.
They descended into the Chamber of Secrets, Dumbledore's wand now glowing with a brilliant, steady light. They navigated the tunnels and arrived in the vast, snake-carved hall. The colossal corpse of the Basilisk lay where it had fallen, a monument to the battle that had taken place there weeks ago.
"Stay back," Dumbledore warned, approaching the dead monster. From its great, open maw, a single, magnificent fang, as long as his arm, had been broken in the fight. It lay on the floor, still dripping with a viscous, black venom so potent it sizzled on the stone.
Dumbledore did not touch it directly. He pulled a small, silver dagger from within his robes, its blade intricately etched with runes of preservation and containment. With extreme care, he dipped the tip of the dagger into the pool of venom. The silver blade hissed and smoked, turning a malevolent shade of black as it absorbed the poison.
He then turned to Ariana. "The diary, if you please."
Ariana stepped forward and placed the small, black book on a flat, clear section of the stone floor.
It lay there, looking innocent and harmless.
Dumbledore stood over it, the venom-coated dagger held firmly in his hand. "To destroy a Horcrux, the container must be damaged beyond magical repair," he said, his voice grim, a professor giving one last, terrible lesson. "There are very few substances capable of such a feat. Basilisk venom is one of them."
He raised the dagger high.
"Tom," he said, his voice filled with a profound sorrow and resolve. "May Merlin have mercy on what is left of your soul."
He plunged the dagger down.
The moment the venom-laced tip pierced the leather cover, the diary screamed. It was not a sound, but a psychic shriek of pure, unadulterated agony that echoed in their minds. A thick, black, ink-like substance poured from the wound, sizzling and dissolving on the floor. A ghostly, translucent image of a handsome, dark-haired boy—Tom Riddle—rose from the book, his face contorted in a silent, horrifying scream of dissolution.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The screaming stopped. The ghostly image vanished. The black ink evaporated. All that was left was a smoking, ruined book with a gaping hole through its center.
A piece of Lord Voldemort's soul had been extinguished from the world.
Dumbledore stood breathing heavily, the dark dagger still in his hand. He looked at the two girls who had stood by him, their faces pale but resolute. He had faced down one of his darkest fears, and he had not done it alone.
"It is done," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of the act.