CHAPTER 918: CHAPTER 918: THE EVE OF THE GREAT BATTLE

In recent days, Knockturn Alley had been thrown into complete chaos thanks to an article in The Daily Prophet.

What was once a desolate and empty place, where you could go days without seeing a soul, was now even livelier than the neighboring Diagon Alley.

Especially outside Borgin and Burkes, which had been prominently mentioned in the article—hooded figures in dark cloaks now loitered everywhere, lurking with clear purpose.

They had all come for their own reasons, but one thing was the same: none of them had managed to see the shop’s owner.

Though the store was open, it was completely empty inside, and stepping through the doorway gave off a bone-deep chill.

It was as if a powerful curse had been cast there.

Many of the visitors were dark wizards—no one more familiar with curses than them—and they were certain something had happened inside Borgin and Burkes. It was best to stay away.

Still, having come all this way, none of them wanted to leave empty-handed. So they lingered, loitering around the area in hopes that some opportunity might arise.

Of course, not everyone had the patience. Quite a few barged into the shop anyway—but most of those who entered never came back out.

The rare ones who did reemerge were usually missing something—an arm, a leg... that sort of thing was common.

Only then did people remember: this wasn’t some innocent sweets shop in Diagon Alley—it was a real, fully-fledged dark magic store.

Such places were always dangerous. It wasn’t even unheard of for customers to end up as merchandise.

Or perhaps that was just one of the unique "supply chains" used by the owners of such establishments.

Gradually, fewer and fewer dared to force their way into Borgin and Burkes.

So attention shifted.

Since the article had included so many details, the reporter behind it—Rita Skeeter—must know even more. After all, there was only so much space in a newspaper. The real treasure lay in what hadn’t been printed.

Perhaps, with enough digging through those seemingly insignificant details, they could figure out where the mysterious wizard with the Diadem had gone.

But something strange had happened.

Rita Skeeter, the journalist who wrote the article, had vanished without a trace after the Daily Prophet went out.

She had left the newsroom, and not even the Ministry of Magic could track her down.

No Floo Network usage. No Portkeys. No Apparition. Not even the Knight Bus. She had simply disappeared—vanished without a clue, and no one knew where she had gone.

Well—no one except a very few.

...

In a dingy, forgotten wizarding pub in Wiltshire, Rita Skeeter huddled beneath a large hooded cloak, trembling with excitement.

"This is insane... absolutely insane..." she muttered, barely coherent. "You’re a genius—just a few lines, and now the entire wizarding world is running in circles. Even him. Even that one we can’t name."

"Did you see Borgin? The way he was tortured? He’s no pushover, but he didn’t stand a chance against that man."

"I swear, I nearly got caught. I’m telling you, he glanced right at the crack in the wall where I was hiding... He had to have noticed something. So terrifying—don’t you think?"

Rita rambled on, downing drink after drink. Just thinking about those crimson eyes made her shiver. She picked up the half-full bottle of brandy and finished it in one go.

Yes, it had been dangerous—but thrilling too.

And she had the exclusive. Firsthand. Who else but Rita Skeeter could hide in plain sight from You-Know-Who? No one. No one but her.

She sat there, almost floating with pride, a deep sense of satisfaction settling in her bones.

"Yeah... pretty terrifying," said Kyle quietly, seated beside her.

"Seriously though, how did you come up with this idea?" Rita asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "Just a fake diadem, and the whole wizarding world’s gone mad. Even he came out... We’re famous overnight."

"By Merlin, why didn’t I think of this before? It’s a thousand times more effective than gossiping about old wizards’ love lives."

"Fake diadem?" Kyle raised an eyebrow. With a flick of his hand, a silver diadem appeared, glittering in his grasp.

"Who told you it was fake?"

On the front of the crown was a raven with outstretched wings. A large blue gemstone gleamed at its center, dazzling even in the dim light of the pub.

"Of course it’s fake... Everyone knows the real diadem’s been missing for thousands of—years..."

Rita’s voice trailed off as she stared at it.

Something wasn’t right. This thing... it didn’t feel fake.

She wasn’t some clueless witch. On the contrary, as one of The Daily Prophet’s most (in)famous reporters, she’d been inside the homes of many powerful figures.

Granted, not always through legal means—but she’d been there. She’d seen a lot of rare magical artifacts.

This diadem radiated power. It felt like a vortex of enchantment, drawing in everything around it—magic included.

This wasn’t a replica.

Rita’s throat worked, and cold sweat began to trickle down her temple.

Could this actually be Ravenclaw’s Diadem... the thought came unbidden.

In some ways, she wanted it to be real. The legendary diadem, lost for a millennium, resurfacing—what a headline. It could dominate the front page for weeks.

And she’d be at the center of it all.

But that only applied if it was found in a safe place—like Hogwarts, or the Ministry of Magic...

Only then could she benefit from the story.

Right now, the diadem was unaccounted for. Everyone was looking for it.

And that made her the liability.

Anyone with their eye on the diadem would eventually come for her—especially him. And they wouldn’t hesitate to use any means to extract more information.

Just thinking of what had happened to old Borgin made Rita’s blood run cold. She scanned the room stiffly, eyes filled with fear.

Any moment now, someone could burst in and kill them on the spot.

"Relax. They can’t see us," Kyle said, still running a thumb along the edge of the diadem.

It was only then that Rita realized—despite the people passing through the pub, none of them had noticed the glittering object in Kyle’s hand. None of them saw the two of them at all.

"This... it’s really real?" Rita asked, her voice hoarse.

"What else would it be?" Kyle replied matter-of-factly. "A fake diadem wouldn’t fool him."

Rita shivered.

"You weren’t this jumpy before," Kyle remarked, glancing at her. "You even had the guts to watch You-Know-Who interrogate Borgin up close. What changed?"

"It’s not the same..." Rita muttered, pouring herself another full glass of firewhisky.

If the diadem had been fake, and she got caught—well, she’d issue an apology, maybe let it blow over in a few days.

She’d written plenty of flashy nonsense before. Sometimes she didn’t even have to apologize.

But if this was real—she wasn’t a reporter anymore.

She was a walking key to a treasure vault.

That changed everything.

Rita drank faster now, trying to drown her panic in alcohol.

Kyle stood by silently, watching her drink without interruption. Only when she truly couldn’t take another sip did he speak, slowly and deliberately.

"Go on. They’ve worked so hard to track down the Diadem—it’s only fair to toss them another clue."

"I’m not doing it!" Rita Skeeter refused without hesitation. "Bloody hell, if I’d known it was real, I never would’ve helped in the first place!"

"Suit yourself," Kyle sighed. "But tell me, how long do you think it would take them to find you... if they knew Rita Skeeter’s Animagus form was a beetle?"

"You—!"

"Oh, and what if I lifted the concealment charm right now?" Kyle glanced around at the surrounding wizards, their faces hidden in shadow, radiating the unmistakable air of danger. "Think they’d try to grab the Diadem?"

With a smile, he casually shoved the Diadem into Rita’s hands, raised his wand, and gave it a delicate flick.

"How can I help you?" Rita blurted out, suddenly sobered, her drunken haze vanishing in an instant.

"Smart choice," Kyle said, lowering his wand.

"You’re a bastard." Rita glared at him in frustration. "After everything I’ve done for you, and you threaten me?"

"Think of it as a trade. How about an exclusive interview as compensation?" Kyle offered.

"What kind of interview?"

"Can’t say yet," Kyle said thoughtfully, "but I promise it won’t disappoint."

"I’ll give you one more chance," Rita growled through clenched teeth.

Not that she had a real alternative. Agreeing meant she might gain something. Refusing? That got her nothing. Rita knew exactly which way the scales tipped.

And now, with the Diadem in her hands, she was more certain than ever—it was the real thing.

Her heartbeat quickened. She felt an overwhelming urge to put it on. If she could just wear it... she could inherit Ravenclaw’s wisdom, become the smartest witch in the world.

If she wore the Diadem, she’d write articles so compelling that no one could stop reading...

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you."

Dazed, Rita seemed to hear Kyle’s voice, snapping her back. She realized she’d already raised the Diadem to eye level—one more movement and it would be on her head.

"What if I just go for it?" the thought crept into her mind.

Ravenclaw’s Diadem. Even wearing it once would be worth it.

"If I were you, I wouldn’t," Kyle said again, as if reading her mind.

It wasn’t hard to guess. Everyone who got their hands on the Diadem had the same thought. It was almost too easy to predict.

"I know what you’re thinking," Kyle continued. "So, go on—guess. Why haven’t I worn it? Or do you think I don’t know it grants wisdom?"

Rita hesitated. Right—if it really worked, why wasn’t he wearing it?

"All I’ll say is this: the Diadem brings wisdom... and a curse. I suspect that anyone other than Ravenclaw herself who wears it would be driven mad."

Rita didn’t quite understand what he meant. But suddenly, the weight in her hands vanished—the Diadem was gone.

A sharp pang of loss hit her.

Take it back... The thought came unbidden. But what little sense she had left warned her not to try.

"How can I help you?" she asked again, trying to focus her mind elsewhere.

"Same as before," Kyle replied. "Write another article. Tell them the Diadem has reappeared."

"Oh—and this time, add how it felt. What you experienced just now, holding it."

"Why?"

"To make it more convincing," Kyle said simply.

"..."

"And the location?"

"Right here," Kyle said. "A pub like Knockturn Alley—gritty enough to be believable."

"Can I ask why you’re doing all this?" Rita finally asked, unable to contain the question any longer. She’d been wondering from the start—what did Kyle gain from using the Diadem to draw so much attention?

"You really want to know?" Kyle lifted his wand and gave it a light wave. "To lure out You-Know-Who—and get another chance to kill him. How’s that for an answer?"

Something seemed to vanish around them. The Diadem, now glinting openly in the dim pub, drew every eye to it in an instant. The room, once buzzing with background noise, fell into eerie silence.

And then—

Pop!

With a sharp crack, Kyle vanished—taking the Diadem with him in a burst of Apparition.

A second later, the pub erupted into utter chaos. Louder, wilder, more frenzied than before.

"By Merlin’s beard, what did I just see?"

"The Diadem! That had to be Ravenclaw’s Diadem he was holding!"

"Haha, I’m in luck—it’s mine now!"

"Keep dreaming! I saw it first—it belongs to me!"

"Do you have a death wish?"

The bar erupted into chaos. Some were already brawling over who had the right to claim the Diadem, while others—sharper, quicker—had already tried to Apparate after Kyle.

Outside, a beetle wobbled and landed shakily on the branch of a tree.

That beetle, of course, was Rita Skeeter. She still hadn’t recovered from what Kyle had just said.

Kill You-Know-Who again? Could he be serious?

Dumbledore is dead... how can he possibly think he can do it?

And now that she knew his intentions—what if she got caught up in it?

Bloody hell!

Why did I have to ask that question?

Remembering Voldemort’s terrifyingly irrational nature, Rita’s face grew pale. She looked like she wanted to slap herself.

...

Meanwhile, Kyle had already returned to Hogsmeade after leaving the bar.

He’d made two detours along the way, dramatically increasing the difficulty of tracking him. Unless the Ministry itself got involved, no one else would be able to trace his route.

He walked quickly through the streets of Hogsmeade, heading straight back toward Hogwarts.

He’d only been gone a few days, but even from the outside, the castle’s changes were obvious.

First, the entire atmosphere felt heavier—oppressive. And there were two unfamiliar faces among the staff, new "professors" of dubious background.

"They’re hideous," Kyle muttered, frowning at the two smug wizards standing in front of Professor McGonagall.

Voldemort’s taste was clearly getting worse.

Say what you would about Bellatrix or Antonin—yes, they were insane, but at least they looked presentable. Wash their faces and they could pass for someone respectable.

But these new Death Eaters... Kyle seriously suspected they might be related to ghouls. They looked like dark magic had clawed at their features and left them half-melted.

Maybe Voldemort just felt more at ease surrounded by people who looked like him.

Kyle shook his head and walked over.

"Professor McGonagall, I’ve almost finished preparations on my end. Is the evacuation plan for the students ready?"

"Yes." At the sight of Kyle, McGonagall promptly ignored the two men before her. "But Kyle, is it really this urgent? The N.E.W.T. exams are right around the corner. Can’t we at least let the seventh-years graduate?"

"What are you talking about?" one of the Death Eaters barked, a twisted horn growing unevenly from his head. "And who the hell are you?!"

"I’m afraid there’s no time, Professor," Kyle said, completely ignoring the man. "My guess is that Voldemort hasn’t shown himself because he’s still recovering from injuries. That makes this the perfect window to strike.

"As for the N.E.W.T.s, just let the Ministry arrange retakes. It’s not a big deal."

"Hey, you—"

"If that’s your assessment, then fine," McGonagall said firmly. "The Hogwarts Express isn’t safe, so I’ve secured the Knight Bus instead. It’s a specially modified one—should just barely be able to carry all the students."

"It will wait in Hogsmeade. Just give the signal with a Stealth Charm wand gesture, and it will appear."

"Enough!"

The horned wizard finally snapped, shouting, "Answer me, Minerva McGonagall! What are you planning? Unless you want a few students to suddenly turn up dead."

"You’re sending students away right in front of us?" the second wizard sneered. "Do you think we’re invisible?

"All of this will go straight to the Dark Lord—you’ll pay for—"

He didn’t finish his sentence. He suddenly shuddered, then collapsed face-first onto the ground, stiff as a board.

"Oof. That looked like it hurt," Kyle said mildly. "Thanks for the reminder. I almost forgot I needed to deal with you two."

BANG!

Another thud followed as the second man dropped on top of the first.

"What on earth just happened?" McGonagall started in alarm at the abrupt scene.

She’d been ready to act—but the Death Eaters had gone down before she could even lift her wand.

"Maybe they got sleepy. I’ve known a lot of dark wizards who enjoy napping wherever they please," Kyle said offhandedly, catching a Bowtruckle that had leapt onto him.

It had a tiny fang-shaped sword tucked into its waist, looking every bit like a miniature knight.

McGonagall gave the Bowtruckle a slightly puzzled look, but didn’t dwell on it. She turned and headed back into the castle.

She’d always been decisive. If they were going to evacuate the students, then there was no point hesitating.

As for the two Death Eaters?

With Kyle around, she wasn’t worried in the slightest.