Woven in Runes and Stardust (Set in Harry Potter universe)

The Great Hall was abuzz with the usual end-of-term chaos, the lingering scent of treacle tart and roasted chicken still heavy in the air. At one end of the Ravenclaw table, a group of second-years—soon-to-be third-years—were engaged in a heated discussion, parchment sprawled across the table, ink bottles dangerously close to tipping over.

Seated at the head of their little council like a reigning monarch, Artemis Lovelace tapped her quill against her chin. "Right. We must finalize our elective choices before the deadline, or we risk being assigned something dreadful like—" she shuddered, "Muggle Studies with Professor Jenkins."

"I like Professor Jenkins," Rosaline Dawson piped up.

"Yes, but we already know enough about Muggles," Artemis countered. "It's like taking a class on how to Walk"

Across from her, Sol Moonfall was lazily flipping through the elective booklet. "Ancient Runes sounds mysterious and very cool," he mused. "Like, imagine deciphering lost texts and unlocking ancient knowledge."

"Translation: Sol wants to feel like an archaeologist without ever having to dig in the dirt," Vivian Delacroix snickered.

"I have delicate hands," Sol said primly. "They were not meant for manual labor."

"Divination sounds fun," Eliza Dawson said thoughtfully, ignoring Sol's dramatics. "Maybe I'll see into the future and find out if I pass my OWLs before I even take them."

"You're assuming Divination works," Gwenog Jones cut in with a snort. "I sat in on one of my cousin's classes, and all they did was stare at a cloudy crystal ball while Professor Trelawney went on about impending doom. We're all doomed, apparently."

Magnus Kane, who had been silent up until now, grinned. "I'd like to take Care of Magical Creatures. It's hands-on, and I hear Professor Kettleburn has... an interesting approach to safety."

"Interesting meaning nonexistent," Iris Lawrence muttered. "He's already missing most of his fingers, and it's only a matter of time before he loses the rest."

At that moment, two older Ravenclaws slid into the seats across from them, clearly drawn to the delightful mess of second-years struggling with their life choices. They were sixth-year prefects: Helena Montgomery, a composed, sharp-eyed girl, and Felix Myles, who had the smug air of someone who had survived this process and was enjoying the chaos.

"Oh dear," Helena drawled, looking at their parchment-strewn table. "Someone's having an identity crisis."

"It's not an identity crisis," Artemis said loftily. "We're simply making very important decisions about our futures."

Felix smirked. "Yes, because choosing between Ancient Runes and Divination is obviously a defining moment of your life."

"For some of us, it is," Sol said gravely.

"Alright, alright, let's see," Helena said, plucking a parchment from Artemis' pile. "Ancient Runes is brilliant if you like puzzles. Arithmancy is for people who think numbers are fun, which I personally cannot relate to." She ignored the affronted look from Magnus, who had been considering Arithmancy.

Felix pointed at the list. "Care of Magical Creatures is only fun if you enjoy getting mauled by something at least once a week. Muggle Studies is fine, but considering you lot have more collective Muggle knowledge than half the class, you'll be bored to tears." He leaned back. "Now, what do you actually want to do after Hogwarts?"

That stopped them short.

Artemis frowned. "I hadn't really thought about it."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Miss Academic Prodigy. You must have some idea."

"Well," Artemis admitted, "I'd love to publish research in magical theory and spellcraft one day, but I also wouldn't mind working in the Department of Mysteries."

"Ooh, a future Unspeakable," Felix mused. "Very ominous. You could wear a dramatic cloak and refuse to answer questions at dinner parties."

Artemis smirked. "I already do that."

"What about the rest of you?" Helena asked, turning to the group.

"I want to be a professional Quidditch player," Gwenog said immediately. "Preferably for the Harpies or Puddlemore."

"No shock there," Felix remarked. "Try not to get banned from the sport before you even get started."

Magnus tapped his chin. "I'm thinking Curse-Breaker for Gringotts. It sounds dangerous but exciting."

"Translation: he wants to legally steal treasure," Sol teased.

"It's not stealing if it's part of the job."

"Tell that to the goblins," Helena said dryly.

Sol waved a hand. "I'm still deciding. Maybe something to do with magical artifacts? Or maybe I'll just open a bookstore and read all day."

"Both solid options," Felix admitted. "You could always do both—find cursed books, then sell them at a questionable bookstore."

"Iris?" Helena asked.

"Magizoologist," Iris said without hesitation. "I want to work with magical creatures."

"Hope you like burns and scars," Felix muttered.

Vivian stretched lazily. "I haven't the faintest idea. Maybe I'll be rich and famous for no reason at all."

"I respect the honesty," Helena said approvingly. "And the Dawsons?"

Rosaline shrugged. "Something in law enforcement. Maybe an Auror."

Eliza grinned. "Same. But I wouldn't mind being a duelist or Quidditch player either."

Felix let out a low whistle. "So, we have future Aurors, a researcher, a magizoologist, a potential Unspeakable, one or two Quidditch stars, a treasure-hunting curse-breaker, a cursed bookstore owner, and one professional rich and famous person."

"I like variety," Artemis said smugly.

Helena laughed. "Alright, well, now that you've planned your entire lives, do you actually know what electives you're choosing?"

After a round of discussion, most of them settled on their choices. Ancient Runes and Arithmancy were popular among the more academically inclined, while Care of Magical Creatures had its fair share of takers. Divination, despite its 'fun' reputation, was largely avoided (except by Magnus, who wanted to see if she could mess with the new Professor Trelawney).

By the time the conversation ended, Felix and Helena stood, shaking their heads fondly at the chaos they were leaving behind.

"Good luck, little Ravenclaws," Helena said, ruffling Iris' hair, much to her annoyance. "Try not to burn down the school next year."

"No promises," Iris muttered.

As the prefects walked away, Felix turned and smirked. "Oh, and Lovelace?"

"What?"

"Do us all a favor, Lovelace — humiliate Lockhart again next year. Best entertainment we had."

Artemis smirked. "Oh, don't worry. That's already on my schedule."

Laughter carried down the length of the table, bright and careless — a fleeting luxury, though none of them knew it yet. Beyond Hogwarts' ancient walls, the world had no time left for laughter.

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, the November winds rattling the high windows of the castle. The flickering candlelight played over his long fingers as he unfolded yet another letter from Brian Getaway.

The Squib seer had written to him before—cryptic warnings, riddles that seemed to dangle just out of reach, hints at dangers lurking beneath the surface of the world. Some had led to tangible truths, while others had only deepened the mysteries surrounding them. This latest letter, dated November 14th, 1980, had arrived on the wings of an old screech owl, its paper yellowed and ink slightly smudged by the rain.

"The crown of the wise is hidden in folly, resting where the lost gather, becoming eternal. It is shadowed, tainted, defiled by one who never should have touched it. Find it before the dark returns, before wisdom is twisted into madness."

Dumbledore tapped the parchment thoughtfully, rereading the words several times.

The crown of the wise—surely a reference to Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, lost to time, a relic spoken of in hushed tones by those who still revered the Founders. He had long suspected that Voldemort harbored a fascination with artifacts of power, but this was the first suggestion that one might be within Hogwarts itself.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to Fawkes, who preened his crimson feathers with serene patience. "Where the lost gather…?"

But he was missing something. The letter spoke of taint, of defilement. Not merely something lost, but something twisted into darkness.

Winter bled into spring, the war's shadow lengthening with every lost name. It was in February of 1981 that the final piece of the puzzle slid into Dumbledore's hands.

Dumbledore had taken to walking the castle late at night, his mind circling around Getaway's words, waiting for inspiration to strike. That was when he noticed her—the Grey Lady, drifting soundlessly through the deserted corridor near the Ravenclaw common room.

He had spoken to her before, but never of her past, never of the rumors that she had once been someone of great consequence.

Tonight, however, as she paused by a tall window overlooking the snowy grounds, he saw something in her spectral expression—a loneliness not born of mere solitude, but of regret.

He approached with careful reverence. "Helena."

She turned slowly, pale eyes unreadable. "Headmaster."

"There is something I must ask you."

A pause, then a faint sigh. "I know what it is."

Dumbledore's brows lifted ever so slightly, but he remained silent, allowing her to speak.

"You seek the diadem," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have long dreaded the day someone would come asking after it."

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back. "Then you know where it is."

A haunted look flickered across her face, and she turned her gaze back to the snow beyond the window. "He came to me, long ago. He was… charming, persuasive. He made me believe he valued knowledge above all things, that he sought wisdom, as I once did. And so, I told him."

Dumbledore felt a weight settle in his chest. "Tom Riddle."

"I thought I was giving him a gift," Helena whispered, the edges of her form flickering like candlelight. "A secret only I knew. A piece of my mother's legacy — my legacy. But I have felt it ever since. The diadem is here, Headmaster. Twisted. Tainted. And it's my fault."

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling softly. The puzzle pieces had finally assembled themselves into a terrible picture.

He turned to her once more, his expression grave but gentle. "Thank you, Helena."

She nodded, then drifted away, vanishing into the stonework of the castle.

Dumbledore straightened, his blue eyes sharp with determination. Now, at last, he knew where to look.

The hunt for the Horcrux had begun.

Every day brought news of Order members slain, children stolen from their homes, families obliterated by the Dark Lord's forces. The MacKinnon family's bodies had been found arranged like dolls in their ruined home. Dorcas Meadowes had fallen, her name now a whisper in the annals of war, erased but never forgotten. The Prewett brothers had gone down fighting, taking four Death Eaters with them. Only blood and sorrow remained.

And then there were the children.

Muggleborns dragged screaming into the night. Half-bloods torn from their beds, their magic harvested in horrific rituals. The Ministry, already brittle with corruption, barely lifted a hand. The Daily Prophet reported statistics. Dumbledore buried names.

He had too many fires to put out, too many graves to fill, and still, the puzzle of the diadem haunted him.

Then, in the early days of October 1981, the answer had come from the most unlikely of sources.

House-elves were peculiar creatures. They knew Hogwarts in ways that no human ever could. They had walked its halls for centuries, carried its secrets, whispered its hidden paths to one another over cauldrons and enchanted pots of stew.

Dumbledore had been in the kitchens, thanking the elves for their ever-diligent work in feeding the students, when he overheard a hushed conversation between two of them.

"The lost and found room has too many things!" one lamented, wringing its ears. "Yip cannot keep up with the dust!"

"The lost things find their way there," the other agreed. "All the lost things. Some never get found again."

The words had struck Dumbledore like lightning.

"The lost and found room?" he had inquired, gentle but probing. "Tell me, dear ones, where might this room be?"

It was only then that he learned of the hidden chamber—a space that transformed itself to accommodate the forgotten and misplaced, an ever-growing trove of Hogwarts' abandoned past. And in that moment, Getaway's riddle became clear.

Where the lost become eternal.

It had taken him days to locate it, even with the elves' guidance. The castle resisted. The war weighed on his shoulders. But by October 15th, 1981, Dumbledore stood before the great cluttered space, the Room of Lost Things, his heartbeat a quiet drum beneath his ribs.

The room was a vast, chaotic labyrinth of forgotten objects. Books stacked to the ceiling, old cauldrons rusted beyond use, cloaks moth-eaten and covered in dust. Forgotten broomsticks, trunks filled with parchment yellowed with age, quills that had long since dried up. And, somewhere amid the towering relics of centuries past, a tarnished crown.

It took him hours to find it. It sat atop a pile of broken furniture, as if it had been discarded long ago, dismissed as nothing more than an ordinary trinket. But the moment he laid eyes on it, he knew.

The Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.

He did not touch it immediately. He could feel the corruption pulsing from it, could sense the foul presence woven into the delicate metalwork. Voldemort's mark. The abyss staring back.

Dumbledore drew his wand and whispered incantations, layers of protections forming before him. He needed time. Time to study. Time to destroy.

Time, however, was a luxury he would soon run out of.

For the war had already decided its final act, and the end was drawing near.

As he stood there, dust thick in the air, Dumbledore saw it for what it was — not just Rowena's folly, nor Tom's greed, but the bitter truth that knowledge alone had never been enough to save anyone.

Too many were already dead.

And too many more would follow.

Beyond the enchanted walls, the war waited — hungry, inevitable.

One way or another, the end was coming.