The days at Hogwarts flowed with the castle's characteristic routine until the long-awaited Halloween feast. Under the meticulous care of Hagrid and the other professors, the Great Hall was transformed into a spectacular autumn celebration that seemed to have sprung straight from a fairy tale. Giant pumpkins suspended in the air swayed gently, their carved faces casting dancing patterns of orange light onto the ancient stone walls. Hundreds of live bats flew in formation under the enchanted ceiling, which faithfully reproduced a stormy night sky, with purple and silver clouds moving slowly among twinkling constellations. Sweets in the shape of ghosts floated between the tables, emitting soft whistles as they passed by students dressed in their magical costumes.
Filius Umbra observed the scene from his place at the Head Table, his impassive face masking the unease growing in his chest like a dark tide. Something important was eluding him, a crucial detail that stubbornly lingered at the periphery of his consciousness like a persistent ghost. It was only when his silvery eyes, reflecting the floating candle flames, landed on the Gryffindor table, where Ginny Weasley was talking animatedly with her classmates while nervously fiddling with her necklace, that the insight hit him like an electric shock: the diary. The cursed diary of Tom Riddle.
The banquet proceeded with the usual joy—succulent turkey legs, creamy mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables with herbs, and a variety of pies and sweets fit for a royal feast—but Filius could barely taste the delicacies. His fingers drummed lightly on the table as his mind worked frantically, analyzing every possibility, every loose thread that could lead him to the cursed artifact. When the students began to rise to return to their common rooms, he moved with discreet purpose, following the flow of pupils through the torch-lit corridors that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls.
What he found in the second-floor corridor was exactly what he had feared, though a part of him had hoped to be wrong. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were paralyzed before a macabre scene that seemed ripped from a nightmare: on the damp stone wall, words written in what appeared to be fresh, viscous blood gleamed under the torchlight, emitting a faint steam: "THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE". At the foot of the sinister message, the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, was motionless, her rigid body hanging from a torch bracket like a macabre trophy, her yellow eyes wide in an expression of eternal terror.
"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened!" Hermione whispered, her face pale with horror, reflecting the sinister light of the bloody inscriptions. "Enemies of the Heir, beware... This is in the History of Magic books! The legend of Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets!"
The commotion was instant and grew like a snowball rolling down a mountain. Percy Weasley arrived first, his prefect badge shining on his chest, followed by a crowd of curious students who crowded into the narrow corridor, jostling to see the horrifying scene. The confusion reached its peak when caretaker Argus Filch burst through the crowd like an enraged bull, his eyes wide with fury and anguish, his face pale and contorted.
"My cat! My poor Mrs. Norris!" he shouted, his hoarse voice echoing off the stone walls, his bony finger pointing at Harry like a weapon. "You! You did this to my cat! I'll make you pay for this! Expulsion! This means expulsion!"
Filius moved with silent authority, placing himself between the enraged caretaker and the three terrified students who seemed frozen in place. "That is enough, Filch," his voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, making even the caretaker momentarily recoil. "It is obvious to anyone with minimal knowledge of magic that these students do not possess the skill necessary for such a feat. And if you observed carefully instead of accusing rashly, you would notice that your cat is not dead, but petrified—a crucial distinction any competent wizard would be able to make."
Dumbledore arrived at that moment, his silver beard flowing over his dark blue robes, followed by McGonagall, whose face was tense under her pointed green hat, and Snape, whose gloomy expression seemed deeper than usual. The Headmaster's piercing eyes quickly moved from the scene on the wall to the motionless body of Mrs. Norris, then to Filius, who maintained a calmly defensive posture in front of the students like a imposing guardian.
"My office is the closest," said Filius, anticipating the unasked question as his silvery eyes met Dumbledore's. "I suggest we continue this discussion there, away from curious eyes and ears."
In Filius's private office, softly lit by floating orbs that cast patterns of dancing shadows on the book-lined walls, the atmosphere was considerably more controlled. The air smelled of ancient parchment and a faint fragrance of sandalwood, creating an environment that invited calm and reason. While Dumbledore examined Mrs. Norris with his wand raised, murmuring complex diagnostic spells, Lily Potter, who had been alerted by the commotion, entered hurriedly, her face marked with maternal concern.
"Harry! Are you alright?" she ran towards her son, pulling him into a protective hug before anxiously examining his face, her trembling hands brushing his unruly hair from his forehead.
"We're fine, mum," Harry assured, though his voice still trembled slightly as he returned the hug with force.
Filch couldn't contain himself, pacing the room like a caged beast. "They know something, I'm sure of it! That Potter boy has always been trouble, just like his father! I bet it was some prank that went wrong!"
Filius shot the caretaker a look that instantly silenced the next stream of accusations. "I have already said your accusations are unfounded, Filch. Such petrification curse on a living being, especially one with the unique magical characteristics of an animal like Mrs. Norris, is a complex magic requiring precision and power, far beyond the capabilities of second-year students. I suggest you focus on how we can reverse this condition in your cat, rather than wasting energy on empty accusations."
While Dumbledore continued his meticulous examination, his brows furrowed in concentration, Filius exchanged a significant look with Lily, a silent agreement that they would investigate the matter on their own, away from the school's usual protocols.
The next morning, after Transfiguration classes with Professor McGonagall—which had been particularly tense, with the professor seeming more severe than usual—Ginny Weasley was slowly packing her things at her desk, her hands still trembling slightly as she put her books away. It was then that an elegant and imposing figure appeared in the classroom doorway. Ada Wong, with her impeccably tailored robes and flawless military posture, stared at the young redhead with a penetrating gaze that seemed to see through her very soul.
"Miss Weasley," said Ada, her voice soft but carrying an unquestionable authority that made Ginny shiver. "Professor Umbra requests your presence in his office. Now. It is a matter of extreme urgency."
The walk to Filius's office seemed endless to Ginny, as if the Hogwarts corridors had become an endless maze. Her heart hammered in her chest like a war drum, and her hands sweated profusely, leaving damp marks on her robe. Each step echoed in her ears like a funeral drum, and the suits of armor seemed to follow her with their empty eyes, judging her for secrets she didn't fully understand herself.
Upon entering the cozy office, where the soft light from the floating orbs created an atmosphere of tranquility, she found Filius sitting behind his polished ebony desk, a fine porcelain teapot steaming and a plate of pumpkin biscuits artistically arranged between them.
"Ginny," he greeted with a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his silvery eyes, which remained observant and penetrating. "Thank you for coming. Tea? Pumpkin biscuits, fresh from the kitchens - the head cook insisted I try them today."
With trembling hands that made the cup rattle lightly in its saucer, the girl accepted the offer. Filius guided the conversation with masterful skill, asking about her adaptation to Hogwarts, what it was like to have so many brothers, the challenges of being the only daughter in such a large and noisy family. Gradually, like ice melting under the spring sun, the tension began to leave Ginny's shoulders, though a persistent cold remained in her stomach.
"Sometimes it must be difficult, isn't it?" he asked softly as they refilled their cups for the second time, the calming aroma of chamomile filling the air between them. "Having so many older brothers, so many expectations... And being the only girl, you must feel alone sometimes, as if no one really understands your particular struggles."
Ginny nodded, her eyes a little teary as she looked at her intertwined hands in her lap. "Sometimes... but I manage. I've always managed."
Filius leaned forward over the desk, his voice dropping to little more than a conspiratorial whisper that made Ginny unconsciously lean in to hear better. "Ginny, lately... have you found any particularly fascinating object? Something that might have caught your attention for being... different? Something that perhaps appeared among your belongings without you knowing exactly how?"
The girl froze, the cup shaking so violently in her hands that the hot tea splashed onto her fingers, but she didn't even seem to notice. A strange compulsion overcame her, an irresistible need to confess everything to this professor who treated her with such kindness and understanding, as if he were the confidant she had always wished for.
"There's... there's a diary," she whispered, her words almost inaudible, as if she feared the diary itself could hear her. "A magical diary. It... it answers when I write. The man who owned it before was a student here, he understands me... in a way no one else does." Her tears began to fall freely now, staining the fine porcelain of the cup. "His name is Tom... Tom Riddle."
Filius kept his expression neutral, though his knuckles whitened around his wand where it rested on his lap. "And when you write in this diary, Ginny... do you notice anything unusual afterwards? Gaps in your memory, perhaps? Waking up in places without remembering how you got there? Objects among your belongings that you don't remember putting there?"
Tears streamed down Ginny's pale face like an overflowing river. "I... I woke up one day with chicken feathers in my bed. And on Halloween night... there was blood on my robes. I don't know how it got there, I swear!" Panic raised her voice to a high, desperate pitch. "What's wrong with me, professor? Am I going mad? Please, tell me I'm not going mad!"
Filius stood up and moved around the desk with fluid motions, kneeling beside the trembling girl like a knight kneeling before his queen. "There is nothing wrong with you, Ginny. You have been the victim of something much darker and more dangerous than you could imagine. But from now on, everything will be fine. I promise." He extended his hand, not to touch, but as a gesture of support. "Shall we go fetch that diary? It's important that it be placed in a safe location."
At the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, where the Fat Lady watched them with evident curiosity in her painted eyes, Ginny murmured the password in a trembling voice that almost failed to be recognized by the portrait. The other portraits along the corridor leaned forward, whispering among themselves as they watched them pass. Inside the common room, decorated with scarlet tapestries and cozy furniture, the older Weasley brothers were talking animatedly near the crackling fireplace.
"Ada will accompany you to your dormitory," Filius said softly, his voice low enough not to attract unnecessary attention. "Do you know where the diary is kept?"
Ginny nodded, her red, swollen eyes avoiding eye contact, and followed Ada up the stairs towards the girls' dormitories. They had barely disappeared at the top of the spiral staircase when Fred, George, and Percy approached the professor, their usually playful or formal expressions replaced by genuine seriousness.
"Professor Umbra," Percy began in his most formal voice, though it couldn't completely hide the worry beneath. "Ginny was visibly upset when she passed by us. What happened? Is she alright?"
"Is it related to what happened in the second-floor corridor?" Fred added, without his usual good humor, his eyes scanning the professor for answers.
George finished, crossing his arms: "She's been acting strange lately, professor. Quieter than usual... almost frightened."
Filius observed the three brothers, weighing his words with the precision of a goldsmith working with precious metals. "The situation is being resolved. However, I need you to send an urgent message to your parents. It is imperative that they come to Hogwarts as soon as possible. Tell them it's a matter of family security."
At that moment, Ada and Ginny descended the spiral staircase, their steps echoing softly in the cozy environment. The girl was as pale as a ghost, but walked with more firmness, as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. In Ada's hands, a simple, worn diary with a faded leather cover seemed almost innocuous, a common object that didn't deserve a second glance. Filius, however, couldn't completely hide his revulsion upon seeing the object. His silvery eyes narrowed slightly like those of a predator spotting its prey, and his expression hardened for a brief instant before returning to professional composure.
With precise, economical movements, he pulled a small ebony box carved with protective runes from his expanded pocket. A light touch of his wand made it grow to a suitable size, the runes glowing softly for a moment. He took the diary from Ada's hands using a white silk cloth that magically appeared in his hand, placing it inside the box as if handling something repulsive and dangerous that could contaminate him with its mere touch.
"The object has been confiscated," he informed the Weasley brothers, his voice taking on a final tone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have urgent matters to discuss with the Headmaster. Ada, please accompany Miss Weasley to the hospital wing—Madam Pomfrey should give her something to help her rest."
In Dumbledore's office, where the delicate silver instruments on the table blinked softly like shooting stars and the walls were lined with portraits of former headmasters pretending to sleep, Filius placed the ebony box before the Headmaster with the ceremony of someone presenting evidence at a trial.
"Tom Riddle," Filius said simply in response to Dumbledore's questioning look, the two words laden with meaning and warning.
Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, his piercing blue eyes as serious as those of a judge about to pronounce a sentence. "Do you know what kind of magic Voldemort employed to create this? The exact nature of this... creation?"
Filius made a sound of disdain that echoed in the silent room. "There is only one type of magic so repugnant, so contrary to the very nature of the soul, that it is universally condemned even by the darkest studies of the dark arts. This is a Horcrux, Albus. The definitive and unquestionable proof that Voldemort could never have become a truly great wizard." His eyes sparkled with profound disdain, like a scholar faced with shoddy work. "He cut his own soul at sixteen years old, mutilating his own magical essence and eliminating any possibility of genuine growth as a wizard. The man is an arrogant fool who traded his eternal potential for a cheap imitation of immortality."
The two most powerful wizards at Hogwarts exchanged significant looks across the table, an entire conversation taking place in the silence between them—years of experience, battles fought, and sacrifices made reflected in a single glance.
"So now we know the secret of his immortality," murmured Dumbledore, his hands interlaced under his chin as in prayer, his long, gnarled fingers trembling slightly. "The secret that allowed him to survive the curse that should have killed him."
"The plans don't change," declared Filius, rising with the grace of a great feline, his dark robes flowing around him. "They have only become considerably easier. Knowledge is power, and now we have both." He stroked Fawkes gently, who chirped softly in response, a sad melody that seemed to lament the madness that led a wizard to such an act.
As he headed for the door, Filius stopped abruptly and turned on his heels like a dancer executing a choreographed move. Without a word of warning, his wand appeared in his hand and he brandished it in a graceful, deadly arc. A blade of cursed fire—not the red and orange flames of common fire, but a white-silver fire that seemed to consume the very air around it, sucking sound and light from the room—emerged from the tip of his wand with a sinister hiss.
With a fluid motion that spoke of years of practice and deadly precision, he launched the blade of fire towards the ebony box that was still on Dumbledore's desk. A sharp, inhuman shriek—the sound of a soul being torn apart—echoed through the room as the silver flames enveloped the diary, causing the window panes to shudder and the portraits on the wall to wake suddenly, their eyes wide with horror. The aged pages contorted and burned with a supernatural glow before dissolving into ashes that glowed for a moment with a profane light before disappearing completely, leaving behind only the smell of ozone and something indefinably ancient and corrupt.
Filius dissipated the blade with a casual gesture, though his expression remained dark and stormy. "An affront to magic itself," he murmured, his silvery eyes burning with contained fury as he watched the spot where the diary had been. "And Lucius Malfoy dared to give this to a child." He turned to Dumbledore, his posture now erect and threatening. "I think it's time I paid a little visit to Malfoy. It's important to teach certain people that actions have consequences, especially when they involve giving cursed objects to innocent children."
Upon returning to his office, where the soft light of the floating orbs created puddles of golden light on the stone floor, he found Lily waiting for him near the fireplace, her worried expression illuminated by the dancing flames, her hands clasped tightly.
"Is it done?" she asked softly, her voice laden with the tension of one who knew well the dangers they represented.
Filius nodded, his earlier fury giving way to a resolute calm that was, in a way, more frightening than his open anger. "It was a Horcrux. A piece of Tom's soul. But now it is destroyed, reduced to nothing more than memory and ashes." He took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers in a gesture that was both gentle and possessive. "And that makes our task much easier. Without his anchors, Tom is mortal—a man, not a monster. And now we know how to kill him once and for all."
Lily smiled, a genuine smile that reached her green eyes and illuminated her face like the sun through storm clouds. "So it's time to celebrate? Or at least, to breathe a sigh of relief for a moment?"
Filius returned the smile, a rare and genuine expression that transformed his severe face into something younger and more hopeful. "I think it's time we retired to my quarters. I think we could both use a little... destressing." His voice dropped to a seductive whisper as he gently pulled her towards the discreet door that led to his private quarters, his hand finding the small of her back with intimate familiarity.
As the door closed softly behind them, blocking out the outside world and its dangers, the shadows in the room seemed to deepen and move on their own, as if the castle itself were whispering its most ancient secrets only to those who knew how to listen. The battle against Voldemort had taken a new turn, and for the first time since the war had begun, victory seemed not only possible, but inevitable—a beacon of hope shining through the approaching darkness.