Beta'd by the admirable InsaneScriptist.

Of discoveries and dying will

Studying for the OWLs her father has agreed to let her take, keeping up her recreational reading, sparring and trying to access her Soulfire did not take up all of Dorea's time: she was still looking for the Hogwarts Lumber Room after all so time was set aside to that in addition to her other responsibilities. She was fairly certain it would be in the upper reaches of the castle, because the best place to store things you did not need right now was well out from underfoot. Hogwarts was built at the very end of the tenth century, but it wasn't built all at once: her books had told her that much.

There had been three major construction phases, two before and one after Slytherin left. The first phase had built the Great Hall, the basement and the first three floors of the main castle, not including the windows which were a much later addition. The original windows had been much smaller. The second phase had added in the extended dungeon levels, the outer courtyards, most of the towers including those for the dormitories and the fourth to sixth floors of the main building. The seventh floor had only existed as a flat stone roof edged with battlements.

The third phase had been what turned Hogwarts from a fortified military outpost where children were taught into a proper school, and it had been almost entirely Rowena Ravenclaw's work, largely because she had been the only founder still in residence at that time. Well, the only founder still officially in residence. A proper roof had been put over the top storey, covered walkways had been added in between buildings for ease of access, the Main Staircase had been installed and dozens of extra passageways had been put in. The passageways made fortifying the castle interior against invaders practically impossible, since you could get everywhere and anywhere within five minutes if you knew all the secret ways, but it did turn what had been a military installation into an educational establishment. The trick steps, moving stairs and unreliable doors were Rowena's response to the reduced security, but they would not help against an enemy who knew the building. Then again, Hogwarts had originally been fortified to protect the students from Muggles, not other wizards.

There had of course been multiple later building regimes, such as the one that put the massive gothic windows in during the fourteenth century and the most recent in the late eighteenth century, when the plumbing system and bathrooms were installed. However it was the original third construction phase that interested Dorea, as installing a roof meant having an attic and attics were a traditional location for storage. The seventh floor had later been turned into a proper school level with ceilings rather than just exposed rafters, but it was still technically the attic. Hence Dorea ambling along a seventh floor corridor, thinking about where a room for things no longer in use might be in between taking note of the tapestries.

It was as she was walking past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy for the third time that Dorea saw a door that had not been there before. Pausing, she approached it and tried the handle. It opened easily and her instincts did not seem to suggest she was in danger, so Dorea walked inside.

It took her a moment to compose herself: she had found what she was looking for! It was also much, much larger than she'd expected, so multiple trips would likely be necessary to properly evaluate its contents. For one it was easily the size of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris and for another the entire space was divided up into corridors by the piles and piles of junk that stretched out like stacks in a library, higher than she could reach and further than she could see. Looking around curiously at badly damaged furniture, books of all ages and states of disrepair, cauldrons, decaying clothing and a wide variety of banned items like Fanged Frisbees, some of which were still hovering half-heartedly above the walls of forgotten possessions.

Deciding to explore methodically, Dorea produced a notebook and quill and started walking down the front of the 'stacks', headed for a wall. As she walked she scribbled down the 'corridors' she passed, noting down particularly distinguishing features as she went. Hopefully the room's interior did not move about much, so mapping it would actually be a worthwhile activity. While she had persuaded Remus and her Papa to teach her the Mapping Charms they'd used for their map, she had not actually created her own full Hogwarts map and instead simply plotted out the various parsel-locked passages.

She was about halfway down the fourth walkway from the far left when her forehead prickled. Tensing, Dorea set her half-sketched map away in her shoulder bag and closed her eyes, feeling for the source of the disturbance as she tentatively shuffled in various directions. Judging the Horcrux –because there was nothing else it could be– to be at least one stack over to her left, Dorea hurried up to the next junction then back down again to where the feeling was strongest.

It was stronger, but another stack over still. Dorea repeated the manoeuvre, pausing in front of a cupboard that had been badly damaged by someone throwing potion over it. On top of the cupboard was a singularly ugly bust wearing a dusty old wig that had to be at least two hundred and fifty years old. Neatly set upon the wig was a tiara. Actually, a diadem: Ravenclaw's Diadem. It was also the source of the evil her Ward could sense.

Dorea stared hatefully at the horrid thing, her mind running around in circles. She had lost Grandpa Arcturus and Great-Auntie to these abominable things, so just pocketing it, hiding it in her trunk and taking it home would inevitably lead to the death of Auntie Lucretia or Uncle Iggy. She could take it down to Baz, but that would destroy it and Dorea was actually rather interested in studying another founder's heirloom. The Cup had proved to have a number of intensely interesting and unique Enchantments on it pertaining to the neutralisation of poisons, all of which Uncle Iggy had documented and was working out how to replicate. The Diadem had supposedly provided wisdom, but Dorea suspected it imbued the wearer with additional senses, like empathy for instance, and possibly something similar to her own peculiarly accurate instincts.

One thing was certain: the soul fragment had to go. Even if it killed her, it would go!

Even as this resolution settled in her mind Dorea felt a prickling in her fingertips and forehead that was entirely different to the angry sting of the Blood Ward: looking down, she glimpsed pale orange flames dancing over her hands.

Soulfire.

Dorea did not even pause to think: she palmed her holly wand with her left hand even as her right reached up to grasp the diadem, yellow-edged orange flame dancing over the relic as she set it on the ground in the confined space between the stacked junk. Dorea then traced the only Exorcism Ward she knew around the tiara, both magic and Soulfire emerging from the gently smoking tip of her wand to burn fiercely on the grey stone.

Taking three careful steps back, Dorea focused her resolve, gritted her teeth and began the identification and unravelling process she had watched her Great-Aunt carry out three Christmases ago. The magic from her wand burned orange rather than pale silver, but Dorea barely had a moment to notice that before the howling, shrieking cloud of black seeped from the diadem like pus from a wound and pushed at her magic in a way that made her stomach roll and her legs tremble. The Ward roared higher, searing yellow across her skin as she narrowed her eyes and pushed back, wand twitching through the patterns of untangling and unravelling.

It hurt. It seared across her skin like nothing she had ever experienced before, burning and sapping her strength and eating away at her mind. Dorea ignored the pain and the loss of faculties, focusing doggedly on the task to hand.

I will unravel this Horcrux if it is the last thing I do.

The orange flames burned brighter and more intensely, turning a dark, almost reddish shade as they spiralled out away from her wand tip to fall across the surface of the Diadem. The soul shard screamed, writhing away from the brightness as Dorea continued onward, her instincts now bright and crystal-clear. Her smoking wand danced in her fingertips, the spells imprisoning the soul fragment in the diadem unravelling before her eyes. The shrieking rose higher into a terrible wail, then the Exorcism Ward flared and vanished, taking the soul shard with it.

Dorea stared stupidly at the diadem, then stumbled forwards as her exhaustion hit her all at once. As she fell forwards her wand disintegrated in her hand, the wood melting away to ash and sliding through her fingers. The phoenix feather that had been at the wand's core floating in the air for a moment, a fiery streak of red and gold above her orange-wreathed hand, then dropped down onto her skin.

If unravelling the Horcrux had hurt, this was worse. It felt like her hand had been cut open and set on fire. She couldn't even scream; a faint wheezing gasp echoed in her ears as she tumbled to the ground and curled up on her side, cradling the injured limb. The orange flames were snuffed out, leaving behind the familiar yellow of the Ward dancing over the livid scarlet burn running over her left hand from the tip of her forefinger to halfway along her forearm.

As the comforting yellow flames receded so did the pain, leaving Dorea trembling and almost hyperventilating in the wake of the experience. Where the burn had been was now a thin, feathery pink scar and she felt as though she'd had all her magic scooped out with a ladle. Hands trembling and feeling unnaturally cold, Dorea clumsily shoved the now Horcrux-free diadem into her bag and stumbled off towards where she knew the exit to be. She'd have to stash her bag at the top of one of the parsel-locked passages so as to prevent anybody taking her prize, but she really, really needed to get to the Hospital Wing before she passed out.

As it happened there was a convenient passageway that ran from the seventh floor to very near the entrance to the hospital wing, so Dorea dropped her bag at the top and stumbled down it, breathing harsh and legs shaking at every step. She had to keep moving; falling over here would result in her never waking up again, she knew it with the same certainly that applied to gravity. If she stopped here nobody would find her before her body was long gone to bones and dust. Putting one foot in front of another down the staircase was quite possibly the most challenging thing she'd ever done, surpassed only by the effort involved in avoiding the trick step four stairs from the bottom of the flight.

Stumbling out from behind a statue, Dorea tripped over the edge of the carpet, swayed drunkenly and staggered towards where she knew Madam Pomphrey was. The doors to the Hospital Wing were right there…

Dorea passed out just as she touched the doors, falling forward through them to land heavily on the floor. She was oblivious to the matron hurrying to her aid, the diagnostic spells cast and the summons sent to Professor Snape; not even the castle collapsing about her ears could have woken her then.

Neville sat in the Hospital Wing, hands clenched tightly around the book he was trying to read and eyes darting between his current page and the pale, still form of his cousin Rhea lying on the bed next to his chair. He and the rest of the study group had been summoned to the Hospital Wing by professor Snape right after his cousin had been admitted and the Professor had demanded they tell him everything they knew about how Dorea had wound up magically exhausted with most of her sleeves burned off. None of them had said a word about Soulfire of course –it was after all illegal if not technically dark– but every last one of them had a blistering lecture in mind for when their friend and leader woke up again.

They'd all known Dorea was having difficulty calling on her inner flames for more than the smallest of tasks, but it wasn't like she was the only one: Tracy was struggling to call on more than a faint glow, Daphne didn't seem to be able to call hers out at all and Luna had the opposite problem in that her flames kept on springing into life when she wasn't paying attention and muddling her perception of reality. What they were doing was in no way easy for any of them, but they'd all been careful not to push themselves too far.

Except for Dorea, who had clearly overstrained herself and nearly died. Her school uniform was missing half its right sleeve, all of its left sleeve and a portion of the left shoulder, as was the blouse she had been wearing underneath. Her wand was missing –possibly it was with her also-missing schoolbag– and she had a new scar on her left hand that looked much older than was plausible. Her skin, usually so warm, was faintly cool to the touch and with her vibrantly green eyes closed her face looked empty and much younger than usual. It was her hair that bothered Neville though: Dorea usually sported a mop of almost unmanageable curls that she kept tightly braided down her back, leaving just a few bangs to bounce around her face. Those bangs were currently lying almost flat, falling down the pillow in gentle waves and looking much longer than usual.

She had been unconscious for two whole days and the rumours about what had happened to her were getting wilder and wilder. Neville had never really put together the number of people Rhea chatted to on a regular basis, but seeing a solid two-thirds of the school visit her bedside in clumps and groups was rather sobering. Even those who didn't know her personally had detoured past to peer in, though that may have been morbid curiosity rather than genuine concern. The gifts gradually piling up at her bedside were another clue: instead of the usual mountain of sweets there were small, stylish gift boxes of expensive chocolates, a large bunch of flowers in a vase and a neat stack of envelopes that probably contained notecards bearing condolences and well-wishes. There were a few cheery cards and a single box of sugar quills, but they looked slightly out of place among the more subdued and tasteful offerings.

All in all, it was very clear that the people concerned for his cousin were all people who knew her, knew what she liked and had taken pains to find things she would enjoy. Considering how much those chocolates cost, Neville suspected her friends had pooled their sickles in groups of eight or ten so as to be able to buy just one of those elegant little boxes.

Neville briefly glanced from his cousin's face to the headboard, where her owl was perched. According to Madam Pomphrey, Moros had arrived in the Hospital Wing even before Professor Snape and had since refused to leave, the huge and frankly intimidating bird eyeballing all of his mistress' visitors and keeping watch over her stack of correspondence. Fizz, Rhea's snake, had not been with her at the time of the incident, being nearly eight feet long and a bit large to be carried around everywhere nowadays. However the boomslang had spent the past two days hanging over one or other of the Weasley twins, usually George, and looking caught somewhere between concern and exasperation in so far as that was possible for a snake. Currently said twins were being Prewetts One and Two, but that may simply have been due to their snake-sitting and preventing people from connecting George with Jerry Prewett, as it was 'Jerry' who usually had Fizz hanging over him.

Since Fizz was not insisting on guarding his mistress as Moros was, Neville suspected that whatever had happened was properly over, with no loose ends lying around to come back and bite them. However the business of the missing wand did bother him, as his cousin usually kept it in her sleeve. Had she accidentally destroyed it? Some varieties of Soulfire were more destructive than others, as Ginny had proven by accident when she disintegrated half her history textbook beyond all hope of repair.

After the fiasco at the first task Neville had been one of a dozen students in need of a new wand, the purchase of which had been subsidised by the Ministry since the failure of the wards on the stands had been their fault. His new wand worked much better for him that the one he'd inherited from his father ever had and his performance in class had shot up accordingly. His new wand was cherry wood and unicorn hair and it felt much better in his hand than his father's wand ever had.

Neville was drawn from his musing by his cousin stirring slightly. She'd done this several times over the past few days, eyelids flickering as she shifted into a new position, but this time was different: her breathing had changed. Neville quickly set aside his book and leaned forwards.

"Rhea?"

Brilliant green eyes blinked hazily before focusing on him. "Neville?"

Neville glared at his cousin. "What on Earth where you doing that depleted your magic like that? You nearly died! Never do that to me again!"

Dorea's jaw dropped slightly. "Neville?"

"I mean it!" The Longbottom heir stormed on, all of his frustrations at his cousin's secretiveness coming to a boil, "We're your friends, Dorea! Your family, even! You can tell us things and we'll support you! Always! I don't care what you're getting up to when you sneak off so long as you never do this to me ever again!"

His cousin shuffled slowly into a sitting position, her expression mildly chagrined. "Sorry Neville," she said meekly.

"Does that mean you'll stop hoarding secrets?" He demanded, looking her firmly in the eye.

"Er, yes?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

Dorea's lips twitched feebly. "A statement. I'll tell you everything that's not being kept secret to protect other people, okay? You and those of the others prepared to swear secrecy. I can't tell everyone because not everyone knows how to defend their mind."

Neville decided that was good enough, at least for now. They had after all covered the basics of Occlumency in their study group, mainly in the interests of improving recall, but it had the happy side-effect that they would all notice intruders in their mind. That Dorea considered her secrets too dangerous to share might just have been Black paranoia, but then again it might not. After all, a lot of people were out get her for any number of reasons.

"Fine," he said, "I forgive you then. But Daphne, Blaise and several of the others want to yell at you as well. What in Merlin's name were you thinking Rhea?"

Rhea looked a bit embarrassed. "Neville," she said in tones of mild horror, "I don't think I was thinking!"

Neville blinked, considered this admission of flagrantly Gryffindor behaviour, glanced over at his cousin's expression of abject mortification and burst out laughing.