Chapter 21

The soft flicker of candlelight illuminated Dumbledore's office as he sat behind his desk, the artifact resting ominously before him. Its surface, black as obsidian and marred with faint, silvery cracks, radiated a quiet but unnerving presence. Fawkes chirped softly from his perch, the phoenix's golden-red feathers casting a warm glow over the otherwise cold room.

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, leaning back in his chair. His mind lingered on the diagnostic spell he had cast weeks ago. The horrifying images still haunted him—war, suffering, and destruction beyond comprehension. At the heart of it all had been the vision of a woman, her eyes burning with fury and despair as she reached for the artifact. Morgana.

He let out a long, slow breath. The weight of the implications pressed on his shoulders. If his suspicions were correct, the relic had not only been touched by Morgana's magic but might have served as a prison for something far more dangerous—her very soul.

Determined to uncover more, Dumbledore stood and retrieved his wand. He circled the artifact, murmuring incantations under his breath. This second diagnostic spell required precision and an unshakable focus; anything less might unleash a backlash from the dark magic contained within.

The spell activated with a faint hum, and a shroud of black smoke spiraled up from the artifact. Dumbledore's blue eyes hardened as the visions began.

Black fire roared, consuming everything in its path—forests, villages, even the sky seemed to burn. Dark creatures rushing in behind the black flames killing the survivors. Echoes of screams reverberated in his ears, and the intangible presence of something ancient, malevolent, and insatiable seeped into his very soul. Dumbledore tightened his grip on his wand as the vision intensified. He saw faint glimpses of figures in torment, shadows writhing in agony, and then the fire coalesced into a pair of dark, glowing eyes.

The spell ended abruptly. The black smoke dissipated, leaving the room silent once more. Dumbledore swayed slightly, steadying himself against the desk.

"Fawkes," he murmured, as the phoenix let out a mournful trill, "it's worse than I feared."

He turned his attention to his notes, where his thoughts on the artifact and Harry's recent actions were scribbled in a chaotic scrawl. The battle in the forest came to mind—Harry's conjuration of white fire, pure and protective, capable of repelling the darkness without harming Hagrid or Daphne. A stark contrast to the black fire he had just witnessed.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. The white fire couldn't have been ordinary magic. Harry's bond with Daphne, forged during their mysterious ritual in the Forbidden Forest, might hold the key to understanding it.

His thoughts drifted to the Great Hall. He had observed Harry and Daphne closely over the past weeks—the way they seemed to respond to each other's emotions, their unspoken communication. It was subtle, but to someone as observant as Dumbledore, it was clear.

Could they truly share emotions? Was their connection deeper than even they realized?

Dumbledore frowned, recalling Daphne's offhand mention of the ritual in the hospital wing. She had dismissed it as something inconsequential, but Dumbledore now doubted that. He suspected the ritual had bound their souls together in some profound way. If the artifact was involved, the implications were staggering.

Pulling an old tome from his shelves, he began to scour through texts on soul magic and ancient rituals. The presence of the artifact, combined with the white fire and their bond, hinted at something extraordinary. But how much of this was tied to Morgana?

He paused as another thought surfaced. Could the ritual have activated latent properties of the artifact, aligning Harry and Daphne as opposites to Morgana's dark magic? And if so, what did that mean for their future?

Setting the book down, Dumbledore sighed deeply. "I must find out exactly what they've done."

He tapped the edge of his desk thoughtfully. There was one person he trusted to help him unravel this—Nicolas Flamel. His old friend's unparalleled knowledge of ancient artifacts and magic might shed light on the artifact's purpose and its connection to Harry and Daphne.

Rising from his seat, Dumbledore retrieved his traveling cloak. He turned to Fawkes. "Keep an eye on things while I'm away, old friend."

Before leaving, he summoned Professor McGonagall to his office. When she arrived, he gave her instructions to keep a close watch on the castle, particularly Harry and Daphne. Though he did not share his full suspicions, he emphasized the need for vigilance.

"I will be making a short trip," he told her, his tone grave. "I must consult an old friend about this artifact. But I fear the answers I seek may not ease my concerns."

As he left Hogwarts, Dumbledore's thoughts remained fixed on the artifact, Harry, Daphne, and the shadow of Morgana that seemed to grow darker with each passing day.


The morning air was crisp as Harry and Ron made their way down the sloping grounds toward Hagrid's hut. The grass was still damp with dew, and the lake reflected the soft golden light of the rising sun.

"Did you see the way Wood was going on at practice yesterday?" Ron groaned, kicking a loose stone down the path. "I thought he was going to have an aneurysm when Kirke missed that last block."

Harry chuckled. "Wood's always like that before a match. He takes Quidditch way too seriously."

Ron huffed. "Well, if we lose to Ravenclaw, I'm never going to hear the end of it from Percy. 'As a prefect, it pains me to see such an abysmal lack of house pride—'" Ron mimicked, his voice going pompous and exaggerated.

Harry snorted. "At least you're not on the team. I have to deal with Wood's speeches all the time."

They rounded a bend in the path, and Hagrid's hut came into view, smoke curling from the chimney. Fang barked as they approached, his tail thumping against the door. A moment later, Hagrid pulled it open, beaming at them.

"Ah, 'bout time yeh two visited!" Hagrid grinned, stepping aside to let them in. "Come in, come in. Just made a fresh pot of tea."

The inside of the hut was warm and smelled of freshly baked bread. Hagrid moved to the stove, pouring tea into large mugs.

Harry and Ron sat at the rough wooden table, and as Hagrid set their mugs down, Harry leaned forward. "Hagrid, we've been meaning to ask—where exactly did you get Norbert's egg?"

Hagrid hesitated for a moment before shrugging. "Won it in a card game down at the Hog's Head. Fella in a cloak had it, lookin' to get rid of it."

Ron furrowed his brows. "A bloke just happened to have a dragon egg lying around?"

Hagrid took a deep sip of tea. "Odd, I s'pose. But yeh know me—I wasn't about ter say no."

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron. "Did he ask you anything? About Hogwarts?"

Hagrid frowned in thought. "Well… yeah, now that yeh mention it. Kept askin' what sort o' creatures I looked after. I told him all 'bout the great beasts I've handled." He chuckled fondly. "Told 'im 'bout Fluffy, too. He seemed real interested in 'im."

Harry's stomach twisted. "What did you say about Fluffy?"

Hagrid waved a hand. "Nothin' much—jus' that he's as gentle as anythin' if yeh know how to handle 'im. The most important thing with any magical creature is knowin' how to calm 'em down."

Ron's ears perked up. "And how do you calm Fluffy down?"

Hagrid smiled. "Oh, tha's easy. Just play a bit o' music, and he's out like a light."

The moment the words left Hagrid's mouth, Harry and Ron stiffened.

Hagrid suddenly realized what he had said. His face paled. "I shouldn' have told yeh tha'."

Harry and Ron barely exchanged a glance before shooting to their feet. "We have to go—thanks, Hagrid!" Harry said hurriedly, dragging Ron toward the door.

Hagrid looked bewildered. "Now, wait just a—"

But they were already gone, jogging back toward the castle.

As they neared the path leading up to the entrance, Harry grabbed Ron's sleeve and yanked him behind a large tree.

"What—?" Ron started, but Harry clamped a hand over his mouth and nodded toward the path.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were walking briskly toward Hagrid's hut, their expressions tight with concern.

"…His timing is troubling," Flitwick was saying, his voice tense. "Why leave now, of all times?"

McGonagall's lips were pressed into a thin line. "I agree. We must ensure everything remains secure. If Albus won't share his plans, we have to prepare for anything."

The professors disappeared around the bend, heading toward Hagrid's hut.

Harry and Ron barely dared to breathe until the sound of their footsteps faded.

"They're worried," Harry whispered.

Ron swallowed. "If Dumbledore's gone, and Snape knows how to get past Fluffy…"

"We don't have time to waste," Harry said, urgency setting in. "We need to find Hermione and Daphne. Now."

Without hesitation, they sprinted back toward the castle, knowing that time was quickly running out.