A/N: Written for season 2, round 7 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, as Chaser 3 for the Caerphilly Catapults. I enjoyed writing this.
Main prompt: Ravenclaw's Diadem
Optional prompt 1: (song) Take a Bow - Rihanna
Optional prompt 2: (quote) "All that is gold does not glitter" J.R.R Tolkein, The Fellowship of the Ring
Optional prompt 3: (POV) first person present
Ravenclaw's Diadem
I enter the wards of Hogwarts for the first time in years, for the first time since my transformation, and they allow me to pass unhindered. The old man always was suspicious of me in my larval form, and I must assume that he knows now who I am and who I was, but obviously he has not yet learned to fear me properly. He will. I may not glitter like your toadies, old man, but I'm truer gold than any nonetheless. You will fear me.
The interview is a farce, of course. We both knew already that he would not hire me, but Dumbledore is actually clumsy enough to state it outright - perhaps he has begun to fear me already. I feign innocence, not caring that he does not believe me - in any case he has no power over me. We maintain a pretence of civility as we part, but it is understood that I am no longer that frightened child he thought to manipulate. Take a bow, old man, take a bow - you will keep proclaiming the same old empty platitudes, I know, but I see your tawdry show for what it is. I was made for better things than any you could offer. Soon enough you will learn to hate and fear what I have made of myself, and someday you will understand the unwitting part you played in showing me my destiny. Take a bow, old man, take a bow.
Outside the Headmaster's office, I slip into a side passage and Disillusion myself before doubling back. I reach the seventh floor unseen - of course - and begin to pace outside the room which the castle has revealed to me and only me. The door opens into a small room, lined with empty shelves. I place the Diadem on a shelf, and I grow safer yet. Unobserved and unchallenged, I leave behind the place I once called home.
As the self-styled Lord Voldemort strode away from the Room of Requirement, the Grey Lady faded into existence outside the door. Alone and unseen, Helena Ravenclaw wept bitterly as she watched the treacherous but oh-so-charming Riddle boy disappear around a corner.
For a thousand years she'd had no peace, tormented always by the way she had betrayed her mother. Mother's Diadem, hidden in a forest in Albania all these years, had been the enduring symbol of her treachery - while it endured, she could not leave. Tom Riddle, that beautiful and charismatic Head Boy, had made her believe that there was another way - he would destroy it for her, if only she would tell him how to find it. She had trusted him, desperate for any release, and now she knew how utterly wrong she had been to trust. Not only was her mother's diadem not destroyed, but it was here in Hogwarts! And that boy, that lying deceitful boy, had befouled it with some awful Black Magic!
At length she sighed, and ceased to cry. She would simply have to accept that she was trapped in this world forever, as she had always believed before anyway. Whatever the Riddle boy had done to the diadem, the safest place for it was probably exactly where he had left it - it couldn't hurt anyone there. She would go on as she had before, but truly understanding now that she could never trust anyone.
I approach the wards of Hogwarts once more, and it does feel like home. A home currently barred to me by fools who think themselves better than me, to be sure, but home nonetheless. Much has happened since last I stood here - the Potter infant tore me from my body, I endured my years in the wilderness, I came back stronger than ever, and now I am ready to take Hogwarts back from that old fool Dumbledore. Not that he is here to see my triumph, having already fallen to my will, but still it is him that I shall defeat this day. Him, and that wretched inconvenient Potter child. In truth I have no real quarrel with the lad personally, save for that which Dumbledore concocted, but he stands in my way. He must die, that I may go on to greater things.
Carnage. So much blood, so much power spilled out on these ancient grounds. Such a waste. I would prevent it if I could, but I will not turn away from my rightful place at the helm of this society. They leave me no option but to cow them into submission; the slaughter is at their insistence, the blood on their hands. Someday, perhaps today, they will begin to understand that.
I call a pause, to treat the injured and at least gather up the dead. Every death on either side is a loss for the Wizarding world, a blow against the strength of the new society which I must create from the ashes of this conflict. The fools, why do they not see?
I issue a challenge to Potter, to come to me, man to man. Him I will not spare, cannot spare; he will die by my wand this day.
In time the boy comes, willing and alone; that, I must confess, I had not expected. For that I can respect him, even think of him as a man. It changes nothing, of course - still he must die.
The Killing Curse failed me that night in 1981, for the first time. In the graveyard at Little Hangleton it failed once more, but for reasons which would apply equally to any spell - the old wandmaker was quite clear on that point. Having investigated and resolved these problems, it is only fitting that I should use the Killing Curse now as I finally kill the so-called Boy-Who-Lived. My research has been most thorough, even by my standards.
I cast the curse, and I see it strike true. The boy crumples, falls. I feel no pain, no sign of any problem - this time, at last, he is dead. I send Narcissa, dear houseproud housebroken Narcissa, to confirm that he really is dead. He is. I allow myself some satisfaction. With the giant oaf carrying the body and weeping pitifully, I lead my people towards the castle for our final reckoning.
The boy is alive! How can this be? I saw him hit by my own Killing Curse, and I saw that the spell did not fail. In any case, a mystery for later consideration only - Potter's stunt, however he managed it, has roused the plebs and they are fighting without restraint. I cannot join the fray myself, locked as I am in some sort of contest with Potter. He dodges or deflects every spell I send - his power is absurd for one so young - and he even casts spells at me. Schoolboy stuff, nothing more - the old man left him truly helpless, after all.
He stole my wand! Summoned to his own hand the Elder Wand, and it went to him! This I do not understand, and for the first time I feel fear. This is an unexpected unknown, and it calls all of my plans into question. No matter, though - Avada Kedavra one last time, and he will fall.
Floating unseen above the battlefield, Helena Ravenclaw watched with considerable satisfaction as Harry Potter faced down the ruins of that beautiful youth Tom Riddle. Earlier she had seen Harry destroy the Diadem, with the unwitting help of a junior Dark Wizard. Finally she could find peace, could leave whenever she so desired. She remained now only to see Harry Potter prevail.
As anticipated, he did so. She watched as Voldemort, he who had fought so hard to become more than merely human, suddenly and violently became less than nothing.
Unnoticed above the bustling crowds, the Grey Lady finally relaxed. She felt the world slipping away, but reminded herself that strictly speaking it was she who was slipping away from the world - she was, after all, her mother's daughter.
She smiled at the thought, and realised with some surprise that she was genuinely eager to see her mother again. Finally, it had been long enough.