Chapter 16: Unraveling Mysteries

The soft crackle of the fireplace filled the stillness in the headmaster's office. Shelves filled with ancient tomes and peculiar artifacts stood in silent witness to Professor Dumbledore's contemplation. At the center of his desk, resting atop a swatch of dark velvet, was the fractured relic.

The artifact pulsed faintly, an erratic glow radiating from the jagged edges of its surface. Silvery-black veins burned through its fractured form, glimmering faintly with a pulsing rhythm that suggested it was alive.

Dumbledore's fingers hovered over the relic, his expression thoughtful. This was no ordinary magical artifact; its power was ancient, untempered by the strictures of modern spellcraft. The energy it radiated was heavy and raw, but fractured. Whatever its purpose had been, it was no longer whole.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a quill and parchment. He began to scribble notes:

•Ancient artifact original purpose? Residual energy supports connection towards soul binding/ soul container.

•Recent activation unclear—destruction triggered by unknown force.

•Unknown interaction with those present.

He set the quill down and turned his focus back to the relic. It was frustratingly unyielding to his diagnostic spells. Even the most probing incantations provided only fragmented glimpses into its nature. The artifact had long been lost to history, its purpose erased with time.

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and cast another diagnostic charm. Silvery threads of light unfurled from the relic's core, rising into the air to form faint images—visions of the past. Brief, fragmented glimpses: shadows of cloaked figures weaving spells, the roar of distant storms, and finally, the haunting image of a woman with piercing eyes, her hand outstretched toward the artifact.

The image fractured, disintegrating into nothingness as the spell ended.

"Morgana," Dumbledore murmured softly, his tone a mixture of admiration and wariness. If the relic was indeed hers, its appearance now gave him extreme discomfort. He had received only fragmented reports so far—Hagrid had been found unconscious, and young Draco had been too shaken to offer anything coherent. And yet, Harry and Daphne had returned unharmed, albeit clearly changed by whatever had occurred.

His thoughts lingered on Harry. The boy had been unconscious for several days now, his magical core stable but showing unusual fluctuations according to Madam Pomfrey's reports. Dumbledore frowned slightly. He had long suspected that Harry's connection to ancient magic ran deeper than most wizards could comprehend, the Potter family was an already old family with many ties to much more ancient houses.

But how did this relic factor in?

Fawkes let out a soft trill from his perch, drawing Dumbledore's gaze. The phoenix stared back at him, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the firelight.

"I agree, old friend," Dumbledore said quietly. "It's a curious puzzle. But we must tread carefully. There's something more at play here than we yet understand."

Before he could reflect further, a knock at the door broke his reverie.

"Enter," he called.

Professor McGonagall stepped inside, her usual stern demeanor softened by concern. "Albus, Harry Potter is awake. Madam Pomfrey sent word just now."

Dumbledore's eyes brightened, relief and curiosity flickering across his face. "Ah, excellent," he said, standing from his desk. His gaze lingered on the relic one final time.

With a wave of his wand, he sealed the artifact beneath a protective dome, locking it into place. The soft pulse of its fractured energy continued faintly as he followed McGonagall out of the office, his mind already racing with questions for the boy who lived.

Harry groaned as he sat up in bed, blinking against the bright sunlight streaming into the hospital wing. The sharp scent of disinfectants filled the air, and he realized he wasn't alone. To his left, Hermione sat in a chair, a book in her lap, though her attention was fixed squarely on him. To his right, Daphne sat with a calm, guarded expression, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Ron stood a little further back, arms crossed and looking restless.

"About time, mate," Ron said, attempting a grin but failing to mask the concern in his voice. "You've been out for days."

"Days?" Harry asked, startled.

"Three," Hermione said matter-of-factly, snapping her book shut. "Madam Pomfrey said it was exhaustion and magical strain. Whatever you did in the Forest, Harry… it wasn't normal magic."

Harry's memory flashed back to the encounter: the spiders, the relic, the white fire. His chest tightened, the sensation of that raw, overwhelming power still vivid in his mind.

Before he could respond, the door to the hospital wing creaked open, and Professor Dumbledore entered, his long robes trailing behind him. His expression was kind, but there was a sharpness in his blue eyes that spoke of curiosity and concern.

"Ah, Harry, you're awake," Dumbledore said warmly. "I trust you're feeling better?"

Harry nodded, though he still felt weak.

Dumbledore's gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on Daphne and then on Ron and Hermione. "I've come to ask you and Miss Greengrass a few questions about the events in the Forbidden Forest. If you'll indulge an old man's curiosity."

"Of course, Professor," Harry said, though his voice was hoarse.

Dumbledore hesitated, then addressed Ron and Hermione. "If you don't mind, I would like to speak with Harry and Miss Greengrass alone. This matter concerns—"

"They can stay," Daphne interrupted smoothly, her tone firm.

All eyes turned to her.

"They're our friends," Daphne continued, her calm demeanor never wavering. "If anyone deserves to know what happened, it's them."

Harry blinked, surprised by her assertion. Dumbledore studied her for a moment, his piercing gaze meeting hers, before giving a small nod.

"Very well," he said, gesturing for everyone to sit.

Dumbledore pulled a chair closer to Harry's bed and folded his hands in his lap. "Now then, Harry, Miss Greengrass, tell me everything you remember about the night in the Forest."

Harry took a deep breath and began recounting the events, starting with the detention, the encounter with the spiders, and the discovery of the glowing relic. Daphne added her own observations, describing the relic's appearance and the overwhelming magical energy it radiated.

When Harry reached the part about the white fire, he hesitated. "I… I don't know how it happened, Professor," he admitted. "I didn't cast a spell. It just… happened. I felt like I needed to protect Daphne, and then it was there."

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. "You say it wasn't a spell? Then what did it feel like, Harry?"

Harry frowned, trying to put the sensation into words. "It felt like… it came from me. Like it was my emotions, not my magic. I was scared and angry and… protective. And then it just happened."

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Fascinating," he murmured. "Magic driven purely by emotion, without incantation or intent. That is… exceedingly rare."

"There's something else," Harry said hesitantly. "After it happened, I blacked out. But I had this dream… or maybe it wasn't a dream."

"Go on," Dumbledore prompted gently.

Harry hesitated, glancing at Daphne. He didn't want to betray her trust by revealing too much, but he also felt that Dumbledore needed to know. "I was… somewhere else. There was this voice, and it kept saying things about choices and power. I don't remember everything, but it felt… important."

Dumbledore's expression grew more serious. "Is there anything else Harry that I should know about? Anything at all?"

Daphne, sensing the shift in the conversation, decided to speak up. "There's one more thing, Professor," she said casually, though her tone was carefully measured.

Harry turned to her, confused, as she continued. "Before all of this happened, Harry and I performed a ritual together. Just a little thing I found in my library at home. A friendship ritual. It probably doesn't mean anything, but I thought you should know."

Dumbledore's sharp gaze turned to her. "A ritual, you say?"

Daphne nodded, her expression unreadable. "It was just something silly, really. A bonding ritual for friends. I thought it might be fun."

Dumbledore's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, as though trying to discern whether she was telling the whole truth. Finally, he nodded. "I see. Thank you for sharing that, Miss Greengrass."

Daphne's calm demeanor didn't waver, but Harry could sense the tension beneath the surface.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "This relic," he said, almost to himself, "is unlike anything I have encountered in many years. Ancient magic, to be sure, but its true purpose remains a mystery. I suspect, however, that its destruction was no accident. Whatever power resided within, I believe may now reside within you both."

Harry and Daphne exchanged a glance, both grappling with the implications of Dumbledore's words.

"I will continue to study the relic," Dumbledore continued. "But for now, I advise caution. Whatever magic you've become entangled with, it is powerful, and it may have unforeseen consequences."

He rose from his chair, his gaze softening as he looked at Harry and Daphne. "Take care, both of you. And thank you for your honesty."

With that, Dumbledore turned and left the hospital wing, leaving Harry, Daphne, Ron, and Hermione to sit in silence, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.