"This doesn't really work," Rowan muttered.
He placed Ravenclaw's diadem on his head and studied himself in the mirror, then frowned. The crown was elegant, studded with gemstones, its silver band engraved with Ravenclaw's famous creed: Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.
On a girl, it would look regal. On a boy, it looked ridiculous.
"Did Ravenclaw never consider male successors?" Rowan sighed.
A moment later, inspiration struck.
"Fabricare."
A traditional wizard's hat appeared in his left hand, the kind commonly worn in this era. Rowan awakened it with a sentience charm, then placed the diadem inside. The hat stretched, reshaped itself, and neatly concealed the crown within.
A crown disguised as a hat.
He put it on and checked the mirror again. This time, he smiled.
"That's better."
The effect was immediate.
A cool clarity poured down from the crown into his mind. His thoughts sharpened, connections forming faster, cleaner, more precise. It felt like the difference between a sluggish afternoon haze and the crisp focus after a perfect night's sleep.
Alert. Energized. Effortless.
Rowan spent several more hours inside the Room of Requirement, studying its structure and refining ideas inspired by it, before finally returning to his dormitory.
Far away, in the forests of Albania, a massive serpent dropped from the branches with a furious hiss.
"Why?" a voice seethed from within it. "Why has another Horcrux been destroyed?"
The Dark Lord. Voldemort.
After his body was annihilated by the rebounded Killing Curse, his fractured soul had fled to this forest, clinging to weak animals to survive. In that state, he could possess only mundane creatures, barely capable of sustaining him, let alone restoring his power.
Dumbledore still lived. His loyal followers were imprisoned. The rest kept their distance.
For years, Voldemort had waited.
Then, three years ago, he encountered Quirinus Quirrell and seized his chance to return to Hogwarts. That plan failed. The Philosopher's Stone was lost. Quirrell died. Voldemort fled once more, humiliated.
The following year, he felt it. The diary Horcrux had been destroyed.
He suspected betrayal. Lucius Malfoy, perhaps. Or Dumbledore himself.
Still, he had four remaining Horcruxes. Hidden. Protected.
Or so he believed.
Now another was gone.
Only three remained.
Panic crept in.
If Dumbledore had uncovered the truth behind Horcruxes and was systematically destroying them, then Voldemort's soul was no longer safe. Once they were gone, Dumbledore would come personally, Aurors in tow, and end him forever.
"No more waiting," Voldemort hissed. "It's time to act."
This year, he had found a suitable vessel.
Nagini.
A Maledictus. Once human, cursed by blood magic to eventually lose her form and become a serpent forever. Unlike ordinary snakes, her body still carried traces of magical blood. Voldemort could channel magic through her, far more than through any normal beast.
It wasn't his true body. But it was enough.
Originally, he had planned to wait. To hide until Dumbledore died of old age. That plan was no longer viable.
After a night of furious deliberation, Voldemort made his choice.
He would leave the forest.
His destination: Azkaban.
He needed followers. Real ones. The kind who had endured imprisonment without betraying him. The ones who still believed.
If the Dementors could be swayed, Azkaban would fall from within.
Once his loyal Death Eaters were free, his resurrection could finally begin.
Three days later, the results of the N.E.W.T.s were released.
Rowan Mercer ranked first overall, earning top marks in all twelve subjects.
Second place went to Percy Weasley.
That same day, Rowan, Percy, and several high-performing seventh-years submitted their applications to the Ministry of Magic.
Positions were scarce. Some years, none were accepted at all.
Yet the very next day, far earlier than usual, the Ministry issued its responses.