Chapter 54
Voldemort's notebook, like his Horcruxes, was deliberately unremarkable in appearance. That, of course, was part of its protection. Its subtlety served him just as well as the formidable enchantments guarding the locket hidden in the cave.
If this book had found its way into Hogwarts, even with Dumbledore's immense authority as Headmaster, he wouldn't have been able to remove it easily. Its magic ran too deep, its nature too obscure. No ordinary concealment spells could have masked it when placed before Dumbledore. Even Albert—who had only studied dark magic for less than two years—could sense the unpleasant aura the book exuded. How could Dumbledore, who had fought Voldemort at the height of his power, not feel the same?
Albert watched as Dumbledore waved his wand. A shimmering silver ribbon shot from the tip and tightly wrapped itself around the notebook. Fawkes, the phoenix, stood at Dumbledore's side, feathers fluffed and eyes narrowed, clearly disturbed by the dark object.
"Come along, my boy," said Dumbledore, still holding his wand aloft. "This may be more dangerous than I anticipated. I'd rather you stayed well away from it."
Although Albert was fairly certain that the notebook had not absorbed much power since its creation—he had only sensed a brief surge of magic—it was not something he could explain in simple terms. So he nodded and took a step back, allowing Dumbledore to deal with it.
Once he was sure Albert was at a safe distance, Dumbledore transformed the silver ribbon into a translucent protective shield that shimmered faintly over the notebook. He then placed it gently on the table and opened it. As he laid eyes on the title page, Albert saw a flicker of recognition—perhaps even shock—cross Dumbledore's face.
And understandably so. The name scrawled on the page wasn't the infamous Voldemort, but the name he had long tried to erase from existence. Despite his efforts, Tom Marvolo Riddle had been Dumbledore's student for seven years. Even if most of the world had forgotten that name, Dumbledore never could.
After all, he had always refused to refer to him as "Voldemort." To Dumbledore, he was still Tom.
Knowing who had authored the notebook, Dumbledore did not dare take its contents lightly.
He flipped the page. Nothing was written.
With a furrowed brow, Dumbledore began to wave his wand in elaborate patterns, muttering incantations aloud.
Albert noticed this at once. At Dumbledore's level, most spells could be cast nonverbally. He had once seen Dumbledore duel Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic, firing spells with ease while carrying on a conversation. For him to speak the incantations now was telling—Dumbledore was genuinely concerned.
Albert, of course, had long since mastered silent spellcasting, thanks to the unnatural talent granted to him by that angel. But Dumbledore had achieved it the hard way—through relentless study and natural brilliance. It was something Albert respected deeply.
From the tip of Dumbledore's wand, glowing runes burst forth, each one aflame, and they flowed into the notebook one after the other.
Though Albert had studied runes extensively in his family's library, the spell Dumbledore was casting was beyond anything he had learned. It was like reading a familiar alphabet but not understanding the language.
As the runes continued to enter the notebook, black smoke began to rise from the pages. Slowly, a face formed above the notebook—blurred, barely distinguishable, made entirely of shadow.
When the smoky visage had fully emerged, the flaming runes transformed into burning chains that wrapped around it. The face recoiled, lashing out in silent fury as it fought against its bindings.
Though Voldemort's power rivaled—or even surpassed—Dumbledore's in some ways, this was only a fragment of him. A mere one-seventh of his soul, preserved at a time when he was still just a teenager. Against Dumbledore, he stood no chance.
Albert watched as the dark face began to shrink, the chains tightening around it until the face could no longer move.
But then, something shifted. Dumbledore's expression darkened.
Before Albert could even finish the thought—Is something wrong?—a scream erupted from the notebook. The face disintegrated into mist, shattered the flaming chains, and morphed into a dense, spear-like cone of darkness that shot straight toward Dumbledore's face.
Albert instinctively clutched his ears. The sound wasn't just noise—it carried a spiritual assault. Whatever this thing was, his instincts told him it was nothing good.
Dumbledore acted quickly, summoning a blazing shield of flame between him and the attack. The shadowy cone collided with the barrier and was immediately consumed by fire. Albert saw it shrink rapidly.
Perhaps the notebook had burned through too much of its energy during the encounter. Whatever strength the Horcrux had left was waning fast. In less than a minute, the dark cone had been fully incinerated by the Headmaster's shield.
The air went still.
Albert sat back, watching breathlessly as the notebook began to tremble on the table. It dropped suddenly, thudding against the wood, and black ink began to pour from its pages—far too much for any ordinary book. The ink spread across the table like gasoline, then suddenly ignited with a flash of flame.
The fire caught hold of the notebook, racing through its pages like it had been soaked in fuel. The cover and sheets crumbled to ash in seconds.
Dumbledore waved his wand once more to dispel the remains. Then, turning to Albert, he gave a reassuring nod.
"It's over," he said.
Albert stepped forward. Dumbledore, now seated behind his desk, regarded him carefully.
"Where did you find it?" he asked wearily.
Albert had already prepared his answer. He said nothing of the Room of Requirement or the broader conspiracy he suspected. He told Dumbledore that Ginny had given him the notebook, and that he had grown alarmed when it started writing back. Not knowing what else to do, he had come straight to the Headmaster.
He also mentioned having seen Lucius Malfoy slip something into Ginny's belongings earlier that year. Though the Weasleys had been the ones unknowingly carrying the danger, the true blame—he insisted—lay with the Malfoys.
Dumbledore listened in silence.
"This was an extremely dangerous object," he said at last. "You made the right choice. I'm awarding Gryffindor fifty points. But, my boy," he added, voice more serious now, "I must ask that you tell no one about this. The evil within that book is not something students your age should be involved with."
"I understand, Professor Dumbledore," Albert said solemnly.
With that, he turned and began descending the spiral staircase from the Headmaster's office. Just before he disappeared from view, he glanced back.
Dumbledore was still seated, staring thoughtfully into space, his expression troubled.
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