𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

the one with the parselmouth

“The brave men did not
kill the dragons. The
brave men rode them.”

•

WE WERE IN A PLACE the size of a cathedral with the appearance of a city, its towering walls built of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students.

"And he never realized anyone could get in?" said Draco, his voice echoing in the silence.

"He thought he was the only one," I said. "Too arrogant," I added. "Hubris is a fatal flaw. This way, I think it's down here."

I passed the stuffed troll and the Vanishing Cabinet, then hesitated, looking up and down aisles of junk; I could not remember where to go next. Screw Potions. My brain was clogged with recipes of Draught of Peace and I had nearly forgotten how the books go.

"Accio Diadem!" cried Draco, a deep voice resonating in the void, but nothing flew through the air towards us. It seemed that, like the vault at Gringotts, the room would  not yield its hidden objects that easily.

"Let's split up," I told him. "Look for a stone bust of an old man wearing a wig and a tiara! It's standing on a cupboard and it's definitely somewhere near here. . . "

We sped off up adjacent aisles; I could hear the Draco's footsteps echoing through the towering piles of junk, of bottles, hats, crates, chairs, books, weapons, broomsticks, bats. . .

For several minutes, we looked for it. It was a confusing maze and I was afraid of being lost. There was a big possibility that I would be lost. So many years of people hiding their things. So many secrets. So much to hide.

"I found it," Draco said suddenly. "Can you come here?"

I traced his voice and walked to where he was passing several books with titles that interested me. I'd like to come back later and get them. Draco stood like a white halo against a dark backdrop, his muscles clenched and a furrow between his brows.

"Is this it?" he held up a gorgeous jewelry—an intricate work of gold with three sapphires stuck to it, in the centre like a flower—with his wand, refusing to touch it. It looked like a tiara. Something from Swan Lake. Something from any Barbie or Disney movie. But was this it? How'd I know? I had no connection to Voldemort and there was no way for me to sense if it was a Horcrux or not.

"I think so," I said walking towards him through l the junk. "Let me hold it."

He moved his wand towards me, the Diadem floating with it, and, I don't know if he had felt anything when he lifted it or not, but I could sense the dark magic in it when I touched it. Draco flinched when I grabbed it with my hands, like it was something poisonous but I didn't pay heed to that. It practically vibrated against my hand, a soft mechanical hum of magic, and the blue seemed to be melting inside. But it was so beautiful. It couldn't hurt. . .

"What are you doing?" he asked, alarmed, as I subconsciously put the diadem on my head. It fit perfectly, as if made for me. There was something about this diadem that called to me and it was definitely more than the fact that it was a Horcrux. It felt like something more. Something ancient. Something beyond Voldemort. But something I would understand. The feeling of the diadem on my head was strangely private. It was serene, almost comforting—

Suddenly, everything went dark around me, as if the power of the Dark Magic, the impurities of the Horcrux, of Tom Riddle's soul had overpowered whatever magic the diadem was singing to me before. Draco leaped aside as things started falling from the pile of junk, variety of books, goblets, jewels, pots and pants. . . But I couldn't move. Something was happening. I saw things, memories of the part of the soul that Voldemort trapped here flooded through me. But, it wasn't all bad. It wasn't bad. It didn't feel like Voldemort's. It was calm. It was peaceful but there was a horrible tinge to it. Like it was two different people who I was looking it. Someone quiet and Tom Riddle. Both battling against the current, light and dark, or dark and dark, I'd never know—