The morning air at Hogwarts was brisk, tinged with the earthy scent of thawing snow. Louis stood alone just outside the Great Hall, the pale light of dawn brushing his features. He had spoken to Fleur earlier through their link, her voice calm and supportive as always. "Be careful," she had said, a note of worry in her otherwise confident tone. "If it's truly dark magic… Dumbledore will know what to do."
With that, Louis turned and made his way through the winding corridors of the castle, ascending the moving staircases until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office.
"Fizzing Whizzbee," he said clearly.
The gargoyle sprang aside, and the staircase spiraled open.
Dumbledore was already standing at the top, a serene expression on his face as though he had expected Louis all along. "Ah, Louis. Come in, my boy."
They settled into the warm office, the gentle ticking of enchanted instruments accompanying the rustle of the fire.
Louis began by speaking of the Secret Seekers—how their group had spent weeks working to uncover the Diadem of Ravenclaw. He explained the spell they created, how it sorted magical items, and how they had found an object exuding dark magic.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly behind his half-moon glasses. "Dark magic? You are sure?"
Louis nodded. "Yes, Professor. It felt… wrong. Corrupted. I didn't touch it. I thought it best to tell you."
"You were wise to do so." Dumbledore rose. "Take me there."
They traveled together through the quiet castle and into the Room of Requirement. Louis led him carefully through the neatly stacked artifacts until they stood before the Diadem. It lay nestled in a box, now warded, its silver sheen dulled by the dark aura pulsing softly from it.
Dumbledore observed it for a long moment, then murmured a series of protective incantations before lifting it with tongs and placing it in a velvet-lined case.
"I believe we must consult Nicolas," he said gravely. "Would you accompany me to France this afternoon?"
Louis nodded without hesitation. "Of course."
With a portkey—a silver hourglass—they were whisked away from Hogwarts and found themselves in the warm, herb-scented backyard of Nicolas Flamel.
The ancient alchemist blinked in surprise as they appeared. "Louis, Albus! What a pleasure, though unexpected."
"Nicolas," Dumbledore said warmly. "We require your insight."
After greetings and introductions, Dumbledore presented the Diadem. Flamel studied it with keen eyes, muttering as he waved a glowing wand over it.
"The enchantments are twisted," he finally said. "This was once pure, ancient magic. Now it's… something else."
Louis stepped closer. "Could it be… corrupted?"
Nicolas nodded. "Yes. This, my dear boy, is not just corrupted. It's been transformed into an Horcrux."
The room fell silent. Dumbledore's face became grave. "Then Voldemort—"
"—Is not dead," Flamel finished. "Only someone who fears death would perform such a ritual."
Louis felt his stomach knot. "Is there any way to purify it?"
Flamel sighed, his expression dark. "Only one substance can destroy an Horcrux without releasing its curse: venom from an ancient Basilisk. But such creatures are rare… and dangerous."
Louis frowned. "So it can't be used safely?"
"Not as it is," Nicolas confirmed. "But you were right to bring it to us. We must hide it and protect it."
After further discussions and magical examinations, Louis and Dumbledore thanked Flamel and prepared to return. The old alchemist placed a firm hand on Louis' shoulder.
"You have a gift, Louis. But do not let your brilliance tempt you into pride. Even the cleverest must walk carefully when dealing with the dark."
"I understand," Louis said sincerely.
Before they left, Louis turned to Nicolas one last time. "How did you know it was an Horcrux?"
Nicolas gave a grim smile. "There are legends—tales buried deep in magical history. The dark aura, the corrupted nature, the anchor of soul fragments. Once, in Egypt, I encountered a cursed idol not unlike this. I never forgot the feeling."
Back at Hogwarts, night had fallen. Louis returned to the common room, the Diadem now far from their grasp. He gathered the Secret Seekers and explained everything.
"The Diadem can't be used," he said, "not without Basilisk venom. It's been turned into a Horcrux by Voldemort himself."
Gasps and silence followed.
"So… all this time…" Evangeline murmured.
Cho's voice was quiet. "Then we were close to something truly dangerous."
Charles shook his head. "You did the right thing, Louis. But what happens now?"
"We archive it. Dumbledore will protect and repair it if possible. And we move on. There are still secrets to uncover."
Their eyes lit up with new determination.
That night, Louis lay in bed, eyes on the stone ceiling, his mind turning with thoughts. Through the link, Fleur's presence brushed gently against his.
"You're safe?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied. "But it was darker than I expected."
"You'll always shine through it," she said. "I'm proud of you."
"I miss you."
"Then tell me all about your day. Every detail."
He told her everything—the spells, the danger, the power he felt radiating from the Diadem. They theorized together as they often did: Could the dark magic be reversed? Could soul anchors be undone without venom? Fleur suggested ideas from old Beauxbatons texts, and Louis countered with what he'd read in Rowena's library.
Theories flowed between them, not just as magical students, but as minds deeply connected.
As sleep finally overtook him, her voice lingered in his thoughts. "Tomorrow's another day, Louis. And you're not alone."