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"Do you seek wisdom from it?" Rowena Ravenclaw stepped toward the fallen box.
"Gaining wisdom isn't what matters most to me. What I truly value is what it represents. It belongs to Ravenclaw House— it is the legacy you left for us." Ian shook his head as he spoke, his voice firm with conviction.
However, Rowena Ravenclaw, having picked up the box, regarded Ian with knowing eyes, a small, amused smile playing on her lips, as if she could see straight through him.
"I would rather hear the truth," She said calmly.
Ian hesitated, his gaze skirting away from hers.
"Then… just consider that I want to gain wisdom from it," He admitted, his voice dropping slightly, sounding far less certain in the presence of the Ravenclaw founder herself.
He couldn't help it.
This was Rowena Ravenclaw.
The embodiment of intellect.
No one had ever questioned whether Ravenclaw's Diadem could bestow wisdom— that alone spoke to the towering reputation of its creator.
"That is still not the truth." Rowena shook her head slightly. "Many have sought my Diadem to gain its wisdom, but I suspect you are not one of them."
She let out a soft sigh before continuing, "The Diadem draws only two kinds of people to me: those of my own bloodline and those who seek the truth I once longed to understand."
With that, she opened the box.
Her fingers brushed against the worn surface of the Diadem as she lifted it out.
"There is a dark presence within—"
Ian started to warn her, but before he could finish, Rowena Ravenclaw extended her other hand and, with startling ease, plucked out a twisting, writhing entity of black mist.
It seethed and contorted, but she held it as effortlessly as one might grasp a tangle of cobwebs. The swirling darkness writhed, and within it, furious, malformed faces flickered, their expressions contorted with rage and despair.
"Let me go! You wretched insect! How dare you lay hands on my Horcrux! I am the great Dark Lord! I will destroy you all! No one can stop my return!" Voldemort's fragmented soul shrieked, its voice cutting through the air like a jagged blade. Ian instinctively raised his hands to cover his ears.
"Anyone who calls themselves a 'Dark Lord' is a fool. What self-respecting sorcerer announces their villainy like that?" Ian muttered, eyeing the wailing shade with disdain.
He had originally brought the Horcrux into the Twilight Realm, intending to let Professor Mara deal with it. Now, however, it seemed fate had placed it directly in the hands of Rowena Ravenclaw herself.
"Tsk, tsk, Herpo's foolishness has certainly left a long shadow." Rowena clicked her tongue, then, with an almost absentminded gesture, pinched the mist's amorphous mouth shut. The shrieks cut off abruptly, and silence returned.
"And who is this one?" She asked, holding the now-silent specter aloft, eyeing it with the same curiosity one might give a particularly annoying pest.
"Tom Riddle. Calls himself Voldemort. Current scourge of the wizarding world. He introduced himself, you just weren't interested enough to listen," Ian replied, watching the scene with fascination.
A sudden thought struck him— who was more powerful, the enigmatic Professor Mara or the legendary Rowena Ravenclaw?
It had to be Rowena.
After all, she was one of Hogwarts' four founders.
"This thing calls itself a Dark Lord? I assumed it was a mere trickster trying to frighten me." Rowena scoffed, scrutinizing the mass of darkness in her grasp. "In our time, no sorcerer would be fool enough to place faith in something as flawed as a Horcrux."
With an air of disdain, she tossed Voldemort's fragmented soul to the ground.
Her expression betrayed no sorrow.
Only mild disappointment.
"The world is regressing. It's quite sad, really," Ian mused, watching the now-pathetic wraith floundering at their feet.
Voldemort, in the Twilight Realm, had been reduced to a mere head enveloped in shifting black mist.
The grotesque face, its mouth still sealed, glared up at Ian with seething hatred. The tendrils of darkness behind it could no longer take form, leaving it rolling about like some discarded ball of smoke.
"He's glaring at me. He's definitely cursing you," Ian noted, stepping forward and planting his boot directly onto the misty face.
Where Voldemort's nose had once been—
It was flattened in an instant.
"Oh, Tom, you really are a nuisance. I drag you along on a grand adventure, and you don't even show a bit of gratitude. Didn't even charge you a fare, and I doubt your other Horcruxes would've chipped in for the ride."
Ian gave Voldemort's head a sharp kick, sending it rolling across the ground like a wayward Quaffle.
"Kick him into the Black Sea," Rowena suggested, inspecting her damaged Diadem with an air of quiet reflection. There was no sorrow in her face.
Just a trace of regret.
"Where would that take him?" Ian asked, pausing mid-kick to glance at the endless, ink-dark waters beyond the island.
"Wherever Herpo is. A place where no light reaches, no future awaits. That is the fate of a Horcrux." Rowena spoke as if she had long known the answer.
"Sounds tragic, but… I don't think it's tragic enough," Ian remarked, eyeing the floundering wraith at his feet.
If Voldemort still had hands, he would undoubtedly be cursing Ian with every fiber of his being. And, most likely, attempting to cast Avada Kedavra at him a dozen— no, twenty— times over.
The man did have a peculiar fondness for that curse.
"Not tragic enough?" Rowena raised a brow, looking Ian up and down.
Ian nodded solemnly.
"I've been playing with him for ages, and he's still glaring at me."
His voice carried a note of profound disappointment.
Rowena Ravenclaw remained silent for a long while, her expression unreadable.
"Are you certain you're not lying to me? This wretched thing is truly the Dark Lord who has brought ruin upon the world?" There was something almost amused in her tone, as if she found the notion difficult to believe.
"Your wisdom is unparalleled— surely you can see the evil in him?" Ian lifted Voldemort's severed head, tugging experimentally at the dark mist that swirled beneath it.
It was strangely viscous.
And yet, solid enough to grasp.
Rowena Ravenclaw studied his actions, offering no immediate response.
"Oh, that reminds me— there's something else I ought to inform you of," Ian continued, his voice gaining momentum. "This so-called Dark Lord deceived your daughter, preyed upon her grief, and used your Diadem to forge a Horcrux."
"The loss of the Diadem is of little consequence; I can bear that. But his manipulation of my daughter…"
Rowena Ravenclaw's voice remained eerily calm, but an icy edge crept into her words.
"He deceived the Grey Lady, made a mockery of her trust, and because of it, she has wandered the halls of Hogwarts in sorrow for centuries." Ian spoke with the righteous fervor of an informant delivering a damning report. "I suspect her refusal to enter the Twilight Zone stems from this very betrayal. She believes she has no right to face you."
After all, what harm could a young wizard cause?
He simply enjoyed setting the record straight.
Rowena Ravenclaw's expression remained unchanged.
She lifted a hand.
(To Be Continued…)