Exams brought with them a heavy load of studying.
This caused many students to break down under the pressure of schoolwork—especially with that Umbridge woman constantly piling it on. Some students would be studying and then suddenly burst into tears.
Malfoy looked at Hannah Abbott being escorted away and scoffed, "What a weakling. Can't handle anything."
Then he turned and saw John silently staring at him.
"You weren't any better back at the Whomping Willow," John said meaningfully. "You cried back then too."
Exposed like that, Malfoy looked embarrassed. His lips twitched.
John didn't let Malfoy socially die for too long—everyone had their breaking points.
The atmosphere for fifth years across the board was suffocating.
Sometimes Oz would bring in luxury candies, rumored to be from her poor unfortunate friend.
They were handed out during class to help relieve stress, and she even organized some striking drills to let students vent.
John saw the logo stamped on them—Silverhand Sweethearts—and could pretty much guess who that poor unfortunate soul was.
"Look at you, giving away candy like it's worthless," John sighed. He didn't even know if the sweets had been paid for.
After class, John spotted Neville in the Constellation Society.
Neville looked like he was facing a great enemy, setting down a foul-smelling box with intense focus. His entire body was taut, the Marvolo Sword in his hand aimed directly at the box.
The ruby on the sword glowed a vivid red.
John immediately understood what it was—Neville truly lived up to being the Child of Prophecy; he had actually found it.
"Where did you find it?" John stepped closer, a buzzing noise ringing in his ears as something tried to affect him.
"In a room on the 7th floor. That thing messes with your head—be careful!"
Neville saw John getting near the box and shouted, nearly rushing forward.
John stopped him with a gesture, signaling that it was fine.
He opened the box, revealing a diadem encrusted with gleaming gemstones.
Along the base of the diadem, John saw an inscription:
"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."
"Heh~" He ran his fingers over the engraving, murmuring, "Ravenclaw's Diadem."
According to legend, Ravenclaw's Diadem had the power to enhance one's intellect.
John looked at the diadem—this item had already been turned into a Horcrux, and it was continuously letting out screeching, hissing noises.
Parseltongue.
It was trying to influence him.
Too bad it picked the wrong target.
John's soul could not be shaken.
The only reason Neville could resist the influence was because John had healed his parents.
Had they still been in their previous condition, Neville might have been affected. But now, with a happy and whole family, there was no room in his heart for resentment or self-pity.
John opened his right hand, and wisps of black threads emerged from his fingertips.
The diadem sensed danger and let out a soul-piercing scream.
Neville nearly collapsed, staggering to catch himself against the wall, but he didn't lower the sword in his hand. Gritting his teeth, he asked in pain, "John, what do we do?"
"Just wait a moment, Neville." The diadem thrashed in a final struggle as John's black threads wrapped around it, layer after layer. "Now it's done."
Neville's hands slowly came away from his ears, eyes wide with amazement. "You did it!"
"Thank you, Neville," John replied.
The Soul-Eating Curse he had created was a natural counter to Horcruxes. If it had been anyone else—even Dumbledore—they wouldn't have been able to suppress a Horcrux as easily as John had.
The Ravenclaw Diadem was now bound tight. John guided the Soul-Eating Curse deeper into the object.
The sliver of Voldemort's soul hidden inside refused to come out.
"Just like the Cup," John muttered as he withdrew the Soul-Eating Curse.
Among all of Voldemort's Horcruxes, aside from Nagini, the diary possessed the highest level of sentience.
The Cup and the Diadem, like the others, didn't reveal themselves directly.
They hid.
"Interesting… if all the fragments have self-awareness, then what would happen if two soul fragments were to come into contact with each other?"
John stared at the diadem. He still couldn't extract the soul shard inside.
Rather than destroy these treasures, he preferred to preserve them.
Of the four Founders' relics, he now possessed all but Gryffindor's Sword and Slytherin's Locket.
...
Harry felt that without the training sessions, he might've already lost his mind.
Every day he had to study under Umbridge's hostile gaze, while also making sure not to let his brain explode from stress.
At the same time, he had a new thought: if every member of the Dumbledore's Army earned an "Outstanding" in Defense Against the Dark Arts, then Umbridge's face would be quite a sight to behold.
Today, they were going to start practicing the Patronus Charm.
Even Aurors didn't always master this spell, and Professor Oz hadn't planned to teach such an advanced charm to fifth-years.
It was the last lesson before the Easter break.
Harry had already moved on from Cho Chang in his heart. He began instructing everyone on how to cast the spell.
He reminded everyone that while the Patronus Charm was an excellent form of protection, its true effectiveness would depend on how it was used in real situations.
They were practicing in a brightly lit classroom, their minds filled with joyful and entertaining memories.
But whether they'd be able to summon a Patronus when truly facing a Dementor was another question entirely.
Cho Chang stared dreamily at the swan-shaped Patronus she had conjured.
It really was beautiful.
Lavender gazed at the swan enviously—her own Patronus Charm only produced a faint silver mist.
Hermione's Patronus was an otter.
The atmosphere was full of joy and harmony.
But that mood instantly vanished the moment the doors swung open.
It was Dobby. His eyes were wide with terror!
He had come to warn Harry, but as a house-elf, he couldn't say it outright.
Harry had to piece things together through guesses and fragments, but eventually he figured it out.
"Someone has snitched. Umbridge is coming."
The moment the words left his mouth, everyone froze.
"What are you all waiting for?!" Harry shouted. "Run!"
The D.A. members scattered like birds and beasts, scrambling to flee through the doors.
But as soon as that door opened, an old woman in a pink outfit was already sitting there calmly in a chair she had dragged over.
Next to her stood a boy in Slytherin robes, snapping photo after photo with a camera—every single person who came out was caught on film.
That meant running was pointless now.
Harry came running out as well, only to be caught in the flash of the camera.
His face turned pale, while Umbridge smiled even more nastily and disgustingly than usual.
No one had expected it—they'd all been caught in one net.
All of them were detained.
They were locked up in a classroom.
Umbridge sat at the front, idly playing with her thin, long quill.
"Tell me—Harry Potter was the ringleader, right?"
Her voice rang out through the classroom.
The atmosphere was thick with pressure. On each student's desk sat one of those quills.
Harry recognized them. The scar on the back of his hand—still there—came from that very quill.
Umbridge walked up to a girl, her sagging face looking terrifying.
Hannah Abbott's tears were falling pitifully, but that didn't evoke any sympathy from Umbridge. She stroked Hannah's head and asked in a syrupy, sickly-sweet voice:
"Was it Harry Potter who led the creation of that place?"
Hannah, crying, shook her head.
Umbridge let out an affected laugh and moved on to the next person.
This time it was Hermione.
"There was no organizer. We just happened to pass by that place," Hermione answered quickly.
Umbridge looked at her and said softly, "You shouldn't lie."
She turned to look at everyone and raised her voice, "None of you should lie."
"I need you all to write a few lines—until someone is willing to step up and name Harry Potter."
Harry glared at her. Ron grabbed his hand and whispered, "Mate, don't give her an excuse to expel you."
They could all see that Umbridge wanted someone to accuse Harry so she'd have a reason to expel him.
As long as no one spoke, there was nothing Umbridge could do.
They exchanged glances—everyone had made up their mind.
Umbridge made them pick up the quills and start writing on the parchment.
"I only hope you can study hard and grow into people who are useful to the wizarding world,"
Umbridge said in a tone dripping with false sincerity. "A failed education has made you unruly, dishonest students."
"I need you to write: I must not tell lies."
After she finished speaking, she gave a pleasant smile.
"Fine, we'll write," Seamus muttered defiantly.
He grabbed the quill and began writing forcefully on the parchment.
But as he wrote, he started noticing something wrong.
And he wasn't the only one—other students began gasping.
Bright red letters appeared on the backs of their hands, as if etched into their skin.
Umbridge looked as if she were enjoying a symphony, sitting in her chair with her eyes closed, listening peacefully.
The students wrote through the pain—some breaking down in sobs, others contorted in agony.
While Umbridge reveled in her little concert, the door to the classroom suddenly opened.
It was Dumbledore.
______
Yo, what just happened indeed! Apologies for the sudden disappearance, but my "quick" visit to Grandma's house turned into an unexpected mini-vacation. I rode my bike over with plans to be back that night or the next morning, and then the heavens opened up. The northeast got hit with some of the heaviest rain I've seen in a while. Being a bit of a noob when it comes to riding in downpours, I decided it was safer to just hunker down and wait it out.
Turns out, Grandma's roof took a bit of a beating, so I helped her get that fixed up. Between that and rediscovering my old, still-working PS2 (hello, nostalgia trip!), the time flew by.
Anyway, I'm finally back!