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Chapter 113: You Are So Slow
🕑 Added 2025-04-10 09:44:37 +0000 UTC
"Albus, do you know what this is?"
Inside the Headmaster’s office on the eighth floor of Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall looked at Dumbledore with concern and confusion.
The room hadn’t changed much over the years. Fawkes still perched gracefully on the tall, gilded stand near the door, and the Sorting Hat rested lazily on a shelf behind the desk. But unlike usual, the silver instruments with spindly legs on Dumbledore’s desk emitted no smoke or cheerful noises.
The atmosphere was heavy, oppressive even. Silence gripped not only Dumbledore but also the portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses behind him. The entire room seemed to mourn in solemn quiet.
“Severus, do you know what this is?” Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice hoarse and weary as he turned to Snape.
Aside from McGonagall, Professors Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were present—the Heads of all four Hogwarts Houses. Clearly, something grave had brought them all together.
Snape stepped forward, examined the object on the table, and nodded slowly. “If I’m not mistaken… this is a Horcrux.”
“My word—Merlin's beard… a Horcrux?” Professor McGonagall gasped, covering her mouth in disbelief.
Horcruxes were the darkest of dark magic—taboo even among most Death Eaters. Their existence signified that someone had not only split their soul but committed murder to achieve immortality.
“I can’t believe Tom started creating Horcruxes at such a young age… This is horrifying,” Dumbledore sighed, his eyes lingering on the black diary lying innocently on the desk.
“What should we do now? Destroy it?” Professor Sprout asked, clearly shaken.
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Dumbledore replied. “We all know Tom. He never did anything without purpose. Minerva, how long ago did you find it?”
“It’s been close to an hour,” McGonagall said. “Mr. Finniel defeated the Basilisk and retrieved the diary not long after that.”
“And the Weasley girl? Ginny?”
“She’s in a fragile state. When questioned, her mind seemed scattered. We brought her to the Hospital Wing—she’s cold, and Madam Pomfrey is tending to her. Albus… you don’t mean…”
McGonagall's expression darkened as she realized what Dumbledore had implied.
Tom Riddle. Brilliant. Manipulative. Merciless.
Even though she wasn't a practitioner of the Dark Arts, McGonagall had learned enough to recognize the signs of the spell.
“He used soul transference, didn’t he?” she whispered.
Dumbledore closed his eyes. “Yes… and we may be too late. That ritual only takes about an hour to complete. And without knowing his location…”
Magic alone wouldn’t destroy a Horcrux. Even the Sword of Gryffindor, known to absorb that which makes it stronger, might not work here. Dumbledore’s uncertainty weighed heavy in the air.
A quiet sorrow filled the room.
Another student had died at Hogwarts. But this time, the victim was the child of a close friend.
McGonagall’s eyes welled up. Professor Sprout stifled her sobs with a trembling hand. Professor Flitwick, usually cheerful, sighed with visible grief.
Only Snape remained impassive, his face a mask of cold indifference.
“What should we do now?” McGonagall asked, voice quivering.
“First, we must inform Arthur. And then…” Dumbledore began, but stopped mid-sentence.
All five professors suddenly felt it—an overwhelming wave of magical energy, scorching and intense, surging through the school.
“…That power…” Dumbledore muttered. “Noah?”
“I believe so,” Snape replied, his voice softer than usual. “I sensed a similar surge earlier.”
“Is he fighting? This is elemental magic, isn’t it?” McGonagall’s eyes widened. Her grief momentarily replaced by urgency. “Let’s move! It’s coming from the basement!”
Dumbledore didn’t hesitate. With a flick of his hand, a wand flew into his grasp—a wand unlike any other, ancient and powerful. The Elder Wand.
The other professors reacted with surprise, but said nothing. Dumbledore waved it once, and in an instant, the five vanished, reappearing in the depths of the castle.
Apparition was banned within Hogwarts—but not for the Headmaster. And certainly not for wizards of their caliber.
“Severus, what’s over there?” Dumbledore pointed to a shadowed corridor.
“That’s the abandoned girl’s bathroom—the one haunted by Moaning Myrtle. Wait… no, it couldn’t be…”
Without another word, Dumbledore led the charge.
When they arrived, they found Myrtle hiding in the corner, trembling.
“Child, it’s alright. Do you remember me?” Dumbledore asked gently.
“You’re Professor Dumbledore… from Transfiguration,” Myrtle replied timidly, still hugging herself.
“Tell me, did anyone enter here earlier?”
“Yes. Three boys. One of them spoke Parseltongue… and the entrance opened.”
“And then?”
“I… I don’t know what happened next! But the magic down there—it was horrifying! The power—it almost blew me away!”
Dumbledore nodded, but before he could speak, the ground shook again.
The second wave of magic was even stronger—fiery and violent, like an eruption. Myrtle screamed, curling up in fear.
“It’s alright, dear. Stay here.”
Then, without hesitation, Dumbledore leapt into the opening, followed by Snape, McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick.
Despite his age, the headmaster moved with grace and urgency. No obstruction stopped them. A collapsed tunnel? Dumbledore blasted through it. Heat? Easily handled with a Cooling Charm.
Within minutes, they reached the heart of the Chamber.
What they saw stunned them.
The chamber was in ruins. The carvings melted to slag. The great statue of Salazar Slytherin had been scorched beyond recognition. Even the water had evaporated into thick steam that floated eerily in the air.
Noah sat at the center of the destruction, panting. Harry and Draco stood a distance away, looking disheveled—and terrified.
“Children, what happened here? Are you alright?” Dumbledore rushed forward.
“We’re fine,” Noah replied, smiling wearily. “But professor… you’re really slow.”
Dumbledore’s face softened, guilt etched into every wrinkle. “I’m sorry. We failed to arrive in time. Tell us what happened.”
Noah stood up slowly. “Tom Riddle—Voldemort’s younger self—used Ginny to return. He tried to resurrect himself using the Horcrux… but I stopped him.”
“You defeated him?” McGonagall asked in disbelief.
“What else could I do?” Noah chuckled. “We were just looking for Slytherin’s treasure. Instead, we found him in the middle of his ritual. So I fought him. And… I won.”
“And Ginny?” Dumbledore asked quickly.
“She’ll be fine,” Noah assured him. “I made sure of that.”
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