THE HIGH PRICE

by peverell.magic

The ash began to bury his legs, enveloping him in its soft, warm embrace. Harry wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in them, allowing the world to drift into the distance.

12. CHAPTER 12: SECRETS OF THE NIGHT AND THE

CHAPTER 12: SECRETS OF THE NIGHT AND THE DARKEST ARTS

Mist coated the overcast sky outside the window, gently streaming down the glass, tracing its path along the painted white windowsill, and finally descending onto the azure carpet. The cold from the outside world seeped through the panes, akin to the twilight shadows that crept from the dense forest at the castle's perimeter.

Fleur gently stirred her cup, murmuring an incantation to invoke warmth. A delicate wisp of steam spiraled upward from the moist spot beneath the window. The greater the struggle to obtain it, the sweeter the victory will be. She dropped another sugar cube into her hot chocolate, observing it as it dissolved. And I shall emerge victorious.

A forceful knock reverberated against her door, prompting Fleur to wince. She tossed her blanket onto the bed and reached for her wand. "Who's there?"

"I'd like to discuss the first task with you, Fleur," came Madame Maxime's resonant voice from the other side of the door.

Fleur cautiously swung the door open. "You weren't satisfied with my performance?"

"You performed admirably, as always," Madame Maxime replied. Her ample countenance briefly broke into a smile before returning to a subtle frown. "I thought it might be beneficial to discuss the other champions and their strategies, considering you didn't have the chance to witness them firsthand."

Fleur nodded and leaned against the doorframe. "It seems like a wise idea, Madame."

I'm quite curious about how the young man managed to outmaneuver that ferocious dragon.

Madame Maxime gently pushed the door ajar with a finger, causing Fleur to stumble back momentarily before resettling into her seat. She sipped her hot chocolate, savoring its warm, decadent sweetness as Madame Maxime squeezed herself into the other petite chair.

"The first competitor from Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory, set the stage," Madame Maxime remarked. "His strategy was commendable, yet execution lacked perfection. Nevertheless, he showcased prowess in advanced transfiguration, suggesting competence in other areas."

Fleur pondered, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. A model student, but not much beyond that. One of those fortunate lads, blessed with a respectable family, handsome looks, and a sharp mind, but perhaps lacking the fire of determination.

"I concur that the Hogwarts champion may not be your primary competition," Madame Maxime continued.

Fleur nodded and savored her drink. "I share that sentiment."

"Viktor Krum also exhibited some skill," Madame Maxime added.

Fleur resisted the urge to roll her eyes, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. Naturally, the lad would come last, even in his absence, he managed to be vexing.

"Krum employed the Conjunctivitis Curse to blind his dragon; his casting was swift and precise. However, his plan did not anticipate the damage inflicted by the enraged and wounded dragon. Durmstrang's champion is undoubtedly a formidable and accurate spellcaster but falls short in strategic foresight. He excels in dueling and flying but lacks the skills of a meticulous planner. Nonetheless, he'll be a formidable rival in tasks where Karkaroff's guidance can aid."

Fleur gently placed her mug on the table and leaned forward. "And what about Harry Potter?"

Madame Maxime grinned. "He took an unconventional approach. Potter cheated by employing a model dragon and using a potent Enlarging Charm. The Hungarian Horntail focused on the model, and while it was distracted, Mr. Potter used the Rupturing Curse to blind one of its eyes. The model, despite its enchantments, was only made of plastic and didn't last long, but the young wizard seized the opportunity to snatch the golden egg."

"An Enlarging Charm..." Fleur furrowed her brow.

Madame Maxime tapped her fingers on the table. "Are you disappointed by his straightforward solution?"

Fleur swirled the hot chocolate in her mug. "No. If it works, it works."

"Perhaps jealous, then?" Madame Maxime inquired.

"It was a clever solution, but one applicable only to this specific scenario. I doubt he possesses the ability to craft enchantments like I can, and even if he did, most magical beings could easily overcome such a creation. It's impossible to replicate a witch or wizard's magical abilities in an object."

Madame Maxime cautioned her, pushing Fleur's mug aside on the table. "You should look beyond the surface. The scale of the Enlarging Charm he employed demonstrated a remarkable level of magical power for a fourteen-year-old, rivaling or surpassing any other champion, yourself included. His use of a curse considered dark is intriguing as well. Albus Dumbledore wouldn't permit the teaching of such a curse here, so he must be receiving guidance from another source. Furthermore, when cornered by the dragon at the end, he boldly faced it without a trace of fear."

Fleur studied her polished rosewood wand thoughtfully. "So, he wasn't afraid. That's interesting."

"You seem impressed with him," she remarked.

"Indeed, I am," Madame Maxime admitted. She pressed her palms flat against the table, causing the chair to groan under her weight as she leaned in closer. "There's something unique about him. I'm certain you noticed it during your observations of the other champions."

Fleur met Madame Maxime's deep brown eyes, briefly glancing at her hot chocolate. "I might have," she replied.

"He doesn't respond to the allure of your magic, does he?" Madame Maxime inquired.

Fleur scowled. "No, he didn't even notice me until the first task."

Madame Maxime smiled. "I suspected as much. He's quite intriguing. Openly using a curse like the Rupturing Curse, shamelessly cheating, and, above all, at the end, for a moment, I thought I sensed a spell."

Fleur's lips twitched. If only I could have observed that task myself. I would have discerned much more than you, regardless of your ancestry. "What kind of spell?" she asked. "What did it feel like?"

"It was merely a sensation," Madame Maxime explained. "Like a fingertip gliding down my spine, and it lasted only briefly."

"But if you felt it..."

Madame Maxime's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "I may not possess the finesse of your lineage, Fleur, but I didn't require it to detect that magic. If the Horntail hadn't been subdued by its handlers, I believe we might have witnessed something truly extraordinary."

Fleur pulled her hot chocolate closer and took another sip. It was cold. She tapped the mug with her wand until tendrils of steam once again rose from the dark liquid. Much better.

"He should not be underestimated," Madame Maxime cautioned. "You cannot beguile him with the allure of your magic without capturing the attention of everyone in the room. He appears to be much more formidable than we initially suspected, and he's aware of and has used at least one morally questionable curse."

Fleur responded, "I won't underestimate him. I've encountered plenty of young men who can resist my magic initially. They tend to falter when I truly concentrate my efforts on them. All I'd need is a moment during the tournament when no one can see."

It's not cheating, she reminded herself, though her stomach tightened. But it's also not how I'd like to win.

"Perhaps," Madame Maxime acknowledged. "However, I must insist that you remain cautious nonetheless. He has already resorted to cheating, and he might do so again in a less benign manner. It was his disregard for the rules alone that cost him the points, points that would have placed you in second position had he summoned the toy from the tent with more presence of mind."

"What?!" Fleur stared deeply into Madame Maxime's eyes, searching for any signs of falsehood, but found none. She realized that Madame Maxime was not merely attempting to motivate her; she genuinely believed what she was saying. Fleur swallowed the bitter taste that had risen within her and felt a surge of heat, her skin tingling with an almost-feathery sensation.

I lost to a fourteen-year-old. Unacceptable.

"I do not know the boy's mind very well," Madame Maxime continued, rising from her chair and striding to the door in a single graceful movement, her pride mixed with concern. "But he has unsettled even Albus Dumbledore."

He looked as proud as he did concerned. Fleur closed the door behind Madame Maxime and leaned against it. In essence, he had triumphed, and it would be unwise to assume he would make another small mistake.

She gulped down the last of her hot chocolate. "He will be as formidable a rival as Krum, and he has the advantage of no expectations."

Dumbledore must have placed him in the tournament, she thought. It's a way to help him grow. It will be painful for him, but, like me, he'll emerge stronger because of it.

Fleur picked up a slim envelope from her bedside table. She tucked it into the front of her blue robes and cast a Disillusionment Charm, sneaking out of the carriage between Caroline and Emilie when they opened the door.

She made her way to the top of a gloomy, gray tower, where the incessant hooting and screeching of owls echoed through the room. Thick wooden beams and worn perches filled the space beyond a battered old door, and the scent of sour bird droppings and must lingered in the air.

Beauxbatons' Birdcage is far more elegant than this dirty old attic, she thought, sniffing disdainfully. But at least there's nobody up here to ask me to be their Yule Ball date.

"That's quite an impressive Disillusionment Charm," a half-familiar voice commented from the door, laced with a touch of admiration and amusement.

Merde. Of course, he notices me when I am invisible. What a vexing boy.

Fleur dismissed the Disillusionment Charm. "Merci. How did you notice?"

"Miss Delacour," Harry Potter replied, his gaze briefly flicking past her to the owls. "I am aware of the weaknesses of the charm and am thus capable of recognizing it."

Fleur's eyes fell to his empty hands. "What are you doing up here?"

Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced around the room. "Sending a letter... As I assume you are, since this isn't the most scenic part of the castle."

"No, I'm not," Fleur sighed. "I have no owl."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Perhaps I could offer you the use of my owl?"

Fleur grappled with her pride. "Didn't you just send a letter?"

"I was sending a letter to my godfather. For one reason or another, I hadn't been able to contact him until now, but he sent his own owl, and I returned my letter with it."

"I didn't realize you had a godfather," Fleur remarked.

"Not many do."

He moved past her, maintaining an arm's length of distance between them. Dust covered the back of his robes as they brushed against the beams.

That was kind of him. Most men would seize any opportunity to touch me. Fleur extracted her wand from her sleeve and banished the dust. There, now we're even.

"Thanks," Harry Potter said.

A beautiful, black-speckled snowy owl perched by the window on the far side of the tower top. It gave Harry a disdainful look, then swiveled its head away.

He chuckled. "Don't be like that, Hedwig. I was going to give you a letter to deliver on behalf of an acquaintance of mine."

An acquaintance? The word left a bitter taste in Fleur's mouth. I suppose that's what I am, but most boys would call me a friend to my face. Does he not care about what I think at all?

Hedwig's head swiveled back around, and she hooted, hopping closer to Harry and nibbling at his fingers.

Harry Potter laughed. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist." He turned to Fleur and extended his hand. "Do you have the letter? She's a bit particular about who gives her the things she takes; she nearly took one of my friend's fingers a year ago."

One of the friends who turned their back on you? Fleur discreetly reached inside her uniform and retrieved the warm envelope hidden under her bra strap. Let's hope he doesn't realize where I stashed it, although if his past lack of attention is any indication, he might not even care.

Harry pinched the uppermost corner of the envelope between his thumb and forefinger and passed it to Hedwig.

Fleur stared. Is he really that repulsed by my body heat? She stifled a laugh. Forget about my magic's allure; if I want to beat him, perhaps I can just hug him.

"Gabrielle Delacour," Harry Potter read off the envelope. "It's a long way to Beauxbatons from here, Hedwig. Can you find her?"

The bird fluffed its feathers and took off through the window.

Harry Potter chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes." He watched Hedwig soar away into the drizzle, then turned to Fleur with a furrowed brow. "Your younger sister?"

Fleur nodded. "Yes, I often write to Gabby. She misses me when I'm away."

And I miss her. Only a Veela understands what it means to be a Veela.

"It must be nice for her to hear from you," Harry Potter said.

"I'm sure your family finds it equally nice to hear from you," Fleur responded.

Harry Potter laughed, and Fleur winced. Merde. He's an orphan.

"I'm sorry," she added quietly.

"Don't worry," Harry said, half a smile crooking his lips. "It's actually almost refreshing to have somebody forget."

"They stare," Fleur murmured.

"Yes, they do." His green eyes briefly turned cold and hard, then warmed into a bright, brilliant smile.

The same one he gave Rita Skeeter. Smiles are simple lies. Fleur's stomach churned and twisted. Girls like Rita Skeeter deserve to be smiled at like that, but not me. I'm not like them.

"Madame Maxime told me about your task," she said.

Harry Potter glanced at the door behind her. "More questions? Well, at least you haven't stolen my glasses this time."

Fleur twitched. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

The corner of Harry's lips curved into the same half-smile. "No? That doesn't sound familiar? It must have been another French witch with an exceptional grasp of the Disillusionment Spell, then. What did Madame Maxime say?"

Fleur stepped in front of the door. "She said you cheated by bringing the model dragon in, and that if you had summoned it, you might have received full marks."

A flicker of anger danced in his eyes and then faded. "I forgot about the wands-only rule. How foolish of me."

"You still came in second."

Amusement danced in his green eyes. "Second is not first, is it?"

"No. You intend to try and win now."

"Winning will prove to myself that I'm stronger than I used to be."

You have years to grow stronger. Fleur tried to see the child that should stand before her. Yet what else is there but winning when everyone turns against you?

"You're fourteen," Fleur began.

"When I win, I'll let you read my name off the Triwizard Cup," Harry Potter declared. His green eyes turned as cold and sharp as the winter icicles that hung from her window. "I guarantee it won't say my age." With those words, he swept past her and descended the steps.

There will be other chances, Fleur told herself, listening to the fading echoes of his footsteps down the tower. Even if he doesn't feel the allure of my magic, I'm still the prettiest girl he's seen. He'll talk to me.

She recast her Disillusionment Spell and wandered along the edge of the Quidditch pitch.

Ludo Bagman sat in the bottom row of the stands, beside a witch dressed in official Ministry robes. A sharp glint flickered in the witch's eyes as they whispered to each other.

Fleur gave the two of them a wide berth.

Suddenly, a third person appeared out of nowhere in front of her.

She twisted to avoid the rat-faced wizard and froze.

He cocked his head, sniffing the air, his small, watery eyes darting around, and his long fingernails curling from his tattered sleeves like claws.

Fleur wrinkled her nose at the stench of stale food and dirt that reached her. Perhaps this is Argus Filch, the infamous squib caretaker.

The wizard scuttled into the shadows of the red and gold-painted section.

Silence hung in his absence. Every shadow seemed to harbor a hundred dark creatures, the posts jutting into the sky like the spires of Nurmengard, and eyes watching her from the darkness beneath the pines at the pitch's edge, where the wards ended.

Fleur shivered, her heart pounding against her ribs. It's time to leave this place. She didn't look back until she had closed the door of Beauxbatons' carriage behind her.

As the Great Hall's grand ceiling was shrouded in ominous, rolling clouds, the echoing growl of thunder resonated in the background, accompanied by the clattering of plates and cutlery.

Harry carefully folded Sirius' letter in half, discreetly tucking it beneath the rim of his dinner plate. He pondered the significance of his invisibility cloak, now revealed to be a cherished family heirloom. His gaze drifted towards the high table where the teachers sat, contemplating the cloak's extraordinary resistance to summoning charms and revealing spells, among others—details Sirius had highlighted in his letter. It suddenly occurred to Harry that perhaps this cloak was the key to how he had managed to pass the age line during the Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore, having possessed the cloak, might have known its capabilities and thus believed Harry responsible for the breach.

His thoughts turned to the Marauder's Map, which he retrieved from his pocket and unfurled to examine the flurry of names and their locations. 'Igor Karkaroff is absent from the castle,' he noted. 'And Professor Moody is still confined to his office, as usual. This leaves Snape, who, I suspect, Sirius only implicated due to his personal grudge.'

At that moment, a new name appeared on the edge of the Quidditch pitch—Peter Pettigrew. Harry absently twirled his wand within his sleeve, considering the possibility of capturing Pettigrew to vindicate Sirius' innocence. The name, however, abruptly vanished, leaving him determined to seize the next opportunity.

"Harrikins!" The mischievous twins, Fred and George, joined him at the bench across the table. "It's been a while."

Fred, or possibly George, reminded his brother, "We should probably stop calling him that."

Harry discreetly stowed the letter out of sight, responding, "I've been called worse. Quite a lot worse."

"I suppose he's right," George acknowledged. "After all, he did survive the dragon."

Fred added, "Shouldn't the two of you be over there?" Harry gestured toward Angelina, Alicia, and Katie.

'No,' Fred said with a sly grin, 'you see—'

'—they're coming over here,' George interjected. 'We told you this wouldn't last long if we could help it.'

Fred added a playful wink. 'Although it was Katie who did most of the persuading.'

As the three Gryffindor girls made their way toward Harry, he worked to maintain a composed demeanor, masking the swirl of emotions that churned within him. He envisioned the inky black circle on crisp white parchment, using it as an anchor to steady himself.

'Angelina, Alicia,' he greeted them with a warm smile. 'Katie.'

'Harry,' Katie replied, her uneasiness evident. 'Nice to see you again.'

Angelina placed her hands on her hips and addressed Harry with determination. 'I was assured you'd hear me out, despite Hermione telling me otherwise.'

'I promised somebody that I'd at least listen to you. I always keep my promises,' Harry replied.

She drummed her fingers on her hip, her expression softening. 'Then I'm sorry about what I did. You've represented both Gryffindor and Hogwarts as well as I could've, regardless of whether you used an invisibility cloak to put your name into the Goblet of Fire.'

'So you don't believe me, but you've moved past your jealousy at not being chosen yourself,' Harry remarked, glancing down the table at Hermione and Ron. 'An invisibility cloak isn't enough to cross an age line. I heard someone in Ravenclaw tried it.'

Angelina's fingers curled into her waist, and her knuckles turned pale. 'I suppose that's a fair enough description.'

Harry's inner thoughts swirled in a soft, velvety whisper from the depths of his mind. "She'd do it again. Forgive and forget, and I'll be betrayed next time, too."

"Then I'll tell you what I told the rest of you. I don't trust you anymore. We're not friends," Harry stated, with a momentary glimpse of Katie's brow furrowing, "but I don't want to fight about a stupid tournament, so let's just... let's say it's like we'd never met."

Katie beamed, her mahogany eyes shining from beneath her tousled fringe. "Thank you, Harry."

Alicia, however, couldn't help but mutter, "I get the feeling you don't mean Katie."

Harry replied, "She was the one who convinced me to listen to you, so no, I don't mean Katie."

Alicia smirked knowingly. "I'm not very surprised Katie didn't go along with everything."

Katie blushed and toyed with her little finger. "Thank you for listening," she said before glancing at her friends, who moved back and took seats several meters down the table.

"I said I would," Harry reminded her, his gaze drawn to Katie's fidgeting fingers. "Er…"

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Katie blurted out.

Harry inquired, "Who's going?"

"Me," Katie whispered.

Oh. A date, Harry realized with a blink. A date with Katie.

Katie stared at him with wide eyes, nervously biting her lower lip. "If you don't want to go, it's okay," she murmured.

Harry found himself grappling for a reason to say no. She's cute, and she's fun. And she stuck by me.

"What time?" he asked.

Katie's face lit up with a bright pink blush. "Eleven. I'm not much of a planner. We can figure out what to do when we get there."

Harry's stomach coiled into a knot, wondering what he should do or wear. Maybe I should've said no.

"Sounds perfect," he finally replied, flashing her a smile.

Katie's blush intensified, skipping all intermediate shades of red to settle on a deep crimson hue. She glanced back down the table, where Angelina and Alicia were sharing playful giggles, then boldly leaned in, wrapping her arms around Harry.

A soft, comforting warmth enveloped him as he reciprocated, inhaling the fragrance of fresh-cut grass, broom polish, and a hint of coffee.

"I'm sorry, I've never asked anyone on a date before, and I sort of expected you to say no," Katie's words tumbled forth in a joyful babble. "I need to get some food and go find Angelina and Alicia, and then there are classes…" She gave him a friendly wave and a radiant smile before skipping off to rejoin her friends.

"Hogsmeade with Katie Bell," Ginny's voice broke through from a few seats down the table.

Harry blinked in surprise. "How long has she been there?"

"Erm... yes, I think," he stammered.

Ginny's smile trembled as she spoke. "I was going to ask you if you'd take me to the Yule Ball, but if you're going on dates with Katie, then you'll be going with her."

Harry realized that it would be a bit strange if he didn't ask Katie now. "I guess I will be."

Ginny's smile wavered slightly. "I suppose I've missed my chance, then."

Harry studied the lines on his palm, suppressing a grimace. "Sorry—"

Ginny responded, her voice tinged with resignation, "I can go with Dean or with Michael. I'll enjoy myself with either of them."

"Don't make any decisions with me in the back of your mind," Harry advised sincerely. "I like Katie. She's fun. And nice. And, well, Katie."

Ginny managed a small, melancholic smile and blinked back a few tears. "Ah. I hope you enjoy going with Katie, then."

"I'm not the boy you grew up dreaming about. I've never been the boy any of you grew up hearing about," Harry admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of expectation and reputation.

"I think I'm probably going to hate the Yule Ball," he mumbled to himself, his apprehension growing.

But Katie will make it bearable, Harry thought, as he headed for the Chamber of Secrets. "Salazar's very unlikely to cry, ask me on a date, or invite me to a ball. Well, I certainly hope he doesn't, at least."

However, his thoughts were interrupted as Ron rose from his seat and blocked Harry's path. "What the bloody hell did you say to my sister?" Ron demanded, his face twisted in anger.

Dean, standing behind Ron, glowered at Harry, his fists clenched and jaw tight.

Ginny did mention Dean. Did he ask her already?

Harry replied, "I told her something I think she already knew I was going to tell her, but hoped I wouldn't."

"Was she not good enough for you?" Dean banged his goblet on the table. "You thought it was alright to just toss her away?"

"Would you rather I'd lied to her?" Harry shot back.

"So you just crush her and walk away?" Ron's face turned a furious shade of puce. "Does she mean nothing to you?"

Harry sighed, his voice calm but resolute. "Better she understands now and has the chance to move on. Seriously, Ron. The longer she goes on wishing, the worse it is when it doesn't come true. She's your sister, the little girl I saved in second year. This is the right thing to do for us both."

Dean snorted, his distrust evident. "Something tells me you're more concerned about yourself, mate."

Ron's anger flared. "If you've hurt her—"

A chill crept beneath Harry's ribs as he retorted, "You'll do what?" His wand slipped into his hand. "It's not your place to decide things for Ginny, but if you want to play at being the protective older brother, you can start by asking Dean what his intentions were in asking her to the Yule Ball."

Ron turned to stare at Dean, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"I was going to tell you if she said yes," Dean explained. "But she wanted time to think about it, obviously because she wanted to go with him."

Ron contemplated this, clenching and unclenching his fists. "It's alright. I trust you, Dean, but if you upset her, the same bloody rules apply. You'll have me and all her older brothers to explain yourself to." He then glared at Harry. "You've already hurt her, you arrogant prat, and you'll pay for it."

Harry snorted, unimpressed. "You think you scare me? More than a dragon? A basilisk? Voldemort?"

Ron flinched, seemingly reminded of the powerful adversaries they had faced together.

"Exactly," Harry continued, sliding his wand back into his sleeve. "If you can't even say a silly made-up name, you might as well get the hell out of my way." With that, he brushed through the pair of them and continued toward the Chamber of Secrets.

Once he reached the chamber, Harry carried Salazar's portrait over the bridge. As he settled the picture against the wall, Salazar inquired, "Did you read all the books?"

"I did," Harry replied, his voice filled with determination. "More than once. Some took a few tries to wrap my head around."

Salazar probed further, "You understand the principles, then? How blood magic, sacrificial magic, and rituals all fit together."

"I understand the principles, but not how you would decide on an appropriate sacrifice," Harry confessed.

Salazar explained, "That comes from understanding yourself and what you're after. Was there anything in the books that caught your eye?"

Harry nodded and opened the Secrets of the Darkest Arts. "There are over a hundred pieces of parchment covered in Tom Riddle's handwriting stuffed in this book. I found it curious he'd devoted so much effort to the subject, but it wasn't part of my reading."

Salazar furrowed his brow as he gazed at the book. "Tom, like yourself, found he took well to certain areas of magic and pursued them single-mindedly."

Harry tapped the tome thoughtfully. "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

Salazar nodded in understanding. "It's an old branch of soul magic. It involves separating a piece of a person's soul to anchor them to the world when they would otherwise die, though I suspect the separating isn't as simple as it sounds."

Harry recalled Voldemort's chilling words from their first meeting. "I was less than the meanest ghost, but I was alive. That's how he survived."

"Tom Riddle created one," Harry revealed.

Salazar grimly confirmed, "Whatever he made into a Horcrux is anchoring him here. It will have to be destroyed before Voldemort can be killed."

Harry was determined to act, but he needed to know how. "How can I find it?"

"Casting the person-revealing charm might locate it once you were close enough," Salazar suggested. "The charm is derived from soul magic and may well identify a fragment of a person's soul as well as the whole thing." He absentmindedly stroked his chin with one hand and his snake with the other. "These items will be very dangerous. A soul fragment, if brought into close proximity, could theoretically affect those around it in all manner of ways."

Harry's gaze shifted to the pristine patch of stone near the basilisk's mouth. "All manner of ways, huh. Like showing memories, absorbing life, and casting magic?"

He couldn't help but ask the most concerning question on his mind. "Could it possess someone?"

"I believe it could in the right circumstances," Salazar replied, his tone laden with concern. "But I have little practical experience with this aspect of soul magic. Why do you ask?"

Harry continued to relay his experience with the diary. "When I slew your basilisk, it had been unleashed on the school by a girl possessed by a shade of Tom Riddle. The shade was connected to a diary and was only destroyed when I stabbed it with a basilisk fang."

The grim certainty settled upon Harry. It was a Horcrux. But if I destroyed it, does that mean Riddle is finally dead?

Salazar inquired further, "That may very well have been a Horcrux. What else did the diary do?"

Harry described its eerie properties. "It wrote back if you wrote in it, it showed me his memories, and it tried to drain the life from Ginny to become real again."

Salazar acknowledged, "Horcrux or not, that was certainly no ordinary enchanted book. It is likely the diary contained a soul fragment."

With a sense of urgency, Harry realized that someone needed to know. "I have to tell Professor Dumbledore," he said, his worry evident. "I gave the book back to Lucius Malfoy after leaving the chamber. What if it's not completely destroyed?"

Salazar reassured him, "Basilisk venom is an unnatural substance, designed to destroy both organic tissue and any magic it comes into contact with. Whatever that diary was, Horcrux or not, it's destroyed."

Harry then confirmed the identity of Professor Dumbledore. "This Professor Dumbledore, he is Albus Dumbledore, the same one who taught Tom Riddle and defeated Grindelwald, a powerful wizard?"

Harry added, "Yes. He's recognized as the most powerful living wizard."

Salazar considered this. "If he's as powerful and knowledgeable as Tom Riddle feared and you believe, then I have little doubt he knows exactly what the diary was."

Harry shook his head in frustration. "He would have told me. Or, he would've told someone in the ministry. We'd have seen something happen."

Salazar, deep in thought, stroked his chin. "Perhaps, but it seems he hasn't, and I can't help but wonder why. There's too much that we don't know."

Harry couldn't help but question the seemingly inexplicable secrecy. "He might not have realized."

But he always knows. Every year. Harry scowled as he thought about Dumbledore's uncanny awareness. "Dumbledore suggested we use the time-turner to save Sirius and Buckbeak, Fawkes came to help with the basilisk, and Dumbledore found me before the Mirror of Erised twice."

Salazar tried to ease his concerns. "It doesn't yet matter. We've no real proof he ever created one, just a stack of notes on the subject. Read through them, and perhaps we'll learn something. Albus Dumbledore will have his reasons for keeping this a secret. It's possible he intends to quietly destroy the other anchor and wishes to ensure Voldemort does not suspect anything."

Harry was determined to find answers. "There has to be another anchoring Horcrux. The diary was destroyed by the basilisk venom, so there has to be another one somewhere."

Salazar cautioned him, "The Horcrux will be well hidden and warded."

Harry found it perplexing. "I'm surprised he left the notes."

Salazar offered an explanation. "Tom was the last of his family. Not only is this place well protected by the basilisk, but many wards, too. It was as much a sanctuary to him as it is to you now." Salazar sighed, his eyes darkening. "Tom's hubris was born in this room and it grew to consume him, amongst other things. He would've never believed I might find a more suitable heir than him even if some other blood relative came here, so he likely expects my Chamber of Secrets to be his for as long as he lives."

"Professor Dumbledore must be searching for the other Horcrux," Harry mused. "That must be why he's not said anything."

Salazar considered another possibility. "Or he's already found the anchor and is searching for a way to destroy it and confirm it's the only one. It's unlikely there are more than a few, the side effects of soul magic are not something to lightly risk."

Harry's mind couldn't help but conjure the nightmarish image of Voldemort. "He didn't look human. The crimson eyes, slit nostrils, pale face, and smoke-black spirit. Barely human at all."

Harry inquired further, "What kind of effects does creating a Horcrux have?"

Salazar explained, "The soul is a reflection of many things. I studied the subject in an attempt to create an artifact such as the one my daughter and I searched for. I swiftly gave up when I realized I didn't have enough of my lifetime left to master such magic."

Harry recalled his first encounter with Voldemort. "When I saw him in first year, he looked inhuman."

Salazar noted, "Voldemort, for it seems there's little left of Tom, appears to have severely damaged himself, or, at least, changed himself. I would imagine it is the result of however you create Horcruxes or whatever he's done that allowed him to be able to create them." Salazar shuddered. "It would require a truly terrible desire to live, nothing less than an act of absolute selfishness would be powerful enough to fuel such magic, likely inflicting the very thing the creator wishes so desperately to escape on another to save himself."

Harry asked, "Is his soul weaker now?"

Salazar offered a more nuanced perspective. "A soul doesn't have strength in such a simple way. It's the essence of yourself. Your intentions in all things, great and small, and everything associated with them. Your body has strength, your magic has power, your mind has its intellect and will. The soul is that little bit more behind them. Any soul magic is cast upon your own consciousness and magic itself. Something not to be undertaken lightly, Harry."

Salazar nodded in agreement. "Indeed, true soul magic is another highly abstract and powerful form of magic. Much like blood magic, but in this case, the medium is your intent and magic itself. It delves into the very core of one's being, affecting not just the physical, but the metaphysical aspects of a person."

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