That evening, Adrian made his way to the eighth floor of the castle. He paused right at the entrance where the Room of Requirement would appear.

Behind him was the infamous tapestry of "Troll Clubbing Barnabas the Barmy".

'A room where flames cannot spread,' He thought with clarity.

He began pacing, back and forth along the seemingly blank wall. On the third pass, the stone began to shimmer like heat waves over summer street. Gradually, as if emerging from deep water, the outline of a door appeared.

Inside was a circular room built of smooth stone blocks. Apart from that, it was completely empty.

Adrian surveyed his surroundings with satisfaction—this was exactly what he wanted. The Room of Requirement actually had this kind of room, which made him feel somewhat amazed.

After looking around and confirming that everything was made of stone, Adrian took out the diary from his robes and placed it in the center of the room on the floor.

Next, Adrian carefully retrieved a transparent small bottle from his pocket, containing some deep blue liquid.

[Name: Liquid Fiendfyre]

[Warning: Do not pour it all out at once]

That's right, this was the liquid Fiendfyre that Adrian had prepared for Ravenclaw's diadem last term. Although it hadn't been useful then, now was the perfect time to use it.

Fiendfyre was among the most destructive forces in the magical world. In its liquid form, concentrated and stabilized, it became even more devastating.

Adrian was confident that under such heat, even the most powerfully enchanted artifacts would crumble to ash.

After making his preparations, Adrian slowly unscrewed the bottle cap. The deep blue liquid swayed slightly in the bottle, emanating an eerie glow.

Adrian carefully tilted the bottle mouth, letting a few drops of blue liquid fall onto the diary's cover.

Hiss—

The sound was soft, almost gentle, like rain on hot stones. But the effect was immediate. The blue liquid soaked into the diary's leather cover disappearing completely in a moment.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then came the fire.

A pillar of blue flame erupted from the diary's surface, shooting up. The flame squirmed and danced, reaching toward the stone ceiling. The heat hit Adrian forcing him to shield his face with his sleeve.

Almost instantly, the flame gradually changed from blue to the appearance of ordinary fire—red mixed with yellow. This was also a sign that Fiendfyre was changing from controllable to uncontrollable.

Seeing this, Adrian satisfactorily put away the liquid Fiendfyre in his hand. With just a small spark, Fiendfyre could spread throughout the entire room.

The red and yellow flames greedily devoured the diary like living creatures. Soon, the temperature in the room rose to Adrian's limit, and flames had filled the entire room. In just a moment, not even ash would remain of the notebook.

Adrian backed toward the door, never taking his eyes off the magnificent destruction, he had unleashed. The Fiendfyre roared and crackled with the voice of a living thing, filling his ears with the sound of pure annihilation.

By now, Voldemort's second Horcrux had been reduced to ashes obliterated in the cursed flames.

The moment Adrian stepped through the doorway; the stone chamber sealed itself. Behind the barrier, the Fiendfyre would burn until it exhausted itself, The Room of Requirement had done its work perfectly.

Standing in the corridor, Adrian allowed himself a moment to savor the sensation of cool air against his heated skin. Now, Voldemort's second Horcrux should be completely dealt with.

But his moment of relief was short-lived.

As Adrian turned around the corner into the main corridor, two familiar figures appeared from the shadows ahead.

The sight of them together struck him as odd—Professor Lockhart's golden hair caught the torchlight, while beside him, Filch's skinny body hunched forward with his typical suspicious posture and clutched his ever-present oil lamp.

At this moment, the two seemed to be discussing something. Adrian slowed his pace, to catch their conversation.

"I tell you, Mr. Filch," Lockhart's voice carried clearly down the stone corridor, "if you truly want to successfully use magic, you must follow my method. Honestly, that Kwikspell correspondence course is completely useless. You'd be far better served spending that time reading my autobiography. Magical Me contains insights that could revolutionize your understanding of spellwork!"

The desperation in Filch's voice was obvious.

"Please, Professor Lockhart... stop bringing that up, would you? Just... please." Filch said in an almost pleading tone.

But Lockhart seemed ignorant to his distress, or perhaps simply chose to ignore it.

He placed what he probably thought was a comforting sympathetic hand on Filch's shoulder. "I completely understand your feelings, dear Filch. The longing to cast spells, the burning desire for magic, yet finding yourself powerless to achieve it—believe me, I know that particular pain all too well!"

Adrian watched as Filch's face twisted with a mixture of humiliation and rage. His hands trembled around his lamp handle, and his eyes took on the wild look of a cornered animal.

'Why had I been foolish enough to let my Kwikspell enrollment form fall where this preening peacock could find it?'

Lockhart seemed to take pleasure in poking at old wounds, each "helpful" suggestion was another twist of the knife.

The breaking point came suddenly, like a dam bursting under too much pressure.

"Mind your own business!" Filch's voice cracked. "Professor Lockhart, it's well past curfew now. Even if you are a professor, you can't just wander the halls at all hours—"

But Lockhart straightened up, puffing out his chest like a strutting rooster and interrupted him. "Oh, my dear fellow, you quite misunderstand my position! As Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, I have a solemn responsibility—nay, a sacred duty—to ensure this castle's safety! The students depend on my vigilance!"

It was at this moment that Adrian's own footsteps, finally reached Filch's ears. Years of hunting rule-breaking students had given him senses sharp as a hunting hound's.

Filch turned around and, upon seeing Adrian, showed a surprised expression: "You are... Professor Westeros? What brings you to these corridors at such an hour?"

Adrian's expression remained perfectly composed. "Good evening, Mr. Filch, Professor Lockhart. I came up to admire that remarkable tapestry on the eighth floor—'Troll Clubbing Barnabas the Barmy.' The craftsmanship is quite extraordinary when you examine it closely."

He paused, allowing his own curiosity to color his tone. "But what about you? What business brings you both to this remote part of the castle so late in the evening?"

The question was perfectly reasonable—the eighth floor of Hogwarts held few attractions beyond the Room of Requirement and the Headmaster's office. For two such different individuals to be found here together after midnight was indeed curious, worthy of polite inquiry.

"Routine patrol," Filch said expressionlessly. He indeed was just conducting routine patrol. However, unluckily, the course enrollment form he wanted to send to Kwikspell had accidentally dropped in the eighth-floor corridor. Even worse, the enrollment form had been found by Lockhart.

From that moment, the golden-haired professor had attached himself to Filch like a persistent shadow, offering an endless stream of "helpful advice" and "proven techniques" for successful spellcasting.

Each suggestion was more useless than the last, delivered with the kind of patronizing smile that made Filch's teeth ache.

'Damn the man!' Filch thought bitterly, his grip tightening on his lamp. 'I am a Squib! Every word from Lockhart's mouth is pure nonsense! If those precious "tricks" actually worked, I'd eat my own wand!'

Accepting Filch's explanation with a nod, Adrian turned his attention to the Defense professor. Lockhart's response came with his trademark smile, the expression he'd perfected for book signings and public appearances.

"Ah! Professor Westeros! How delightful to encounter you on such a lovely evening!" Lockhart gestured toward the nearest window. "The moonlight tonight is absolutely spectacular, don't you think?"

Adrian followed the gesture and immediately understood why Lockhart's smile had begun to falter.

Beyond the glass, rain had begun falling over the castle walls. Lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating storm clouds that blocked every trace of moon light.

The silence stretched uncomfortably as Lockhart realized his error. His smile froze on his face, and he cleared his throat with obvious embarrassment.

"Um... well, you see... it actually wasn't raining just a moment ago..." The excuse sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Finally abandoning pretense, Lockhart's shoulders sagged slightly. "Very well, I'll tell you the truth. I came up here searching for something I'd misplaced, but halfway through my quest, I encountered Mr. Filch. The poor fellow was in such obvious distress—you know how I've always been one to help others in their time of need."

Adrian nodded with polite indifference, though his mind remained focused on more important matters. Lockhart's night wanderings were of no importance to him, as long as neither of them had seen him enter the Room of Requirement.

The destruction of the Horcrux must remain his secret.

"Well then," Adrian said with practiced pleasantry, "I'll leave you both to continue your evening. Please don't let me keep you further."

With that, he turned and began walking back toward the main staircase.

The moment Adrian disappeared around the corner, Filch seized his opportunity for escape. "Right then, Professor Lockhart! Time for me to patrol other sections of the castle. The dungeons won't check themselves, and there's always mischief brewing in the lower levels. Good night!"

Without waiting for a response, he lifted his lamp and hurried away in the opposite direction from Adrian's path, his footsteps fading rapidly into the depths of the castle.

For a long moment, Lockhart stood alone in the corridor, surrounded by shadows and the distant sound of rain against stone.

After a while, Lockhart slowly sighed.

That one sentence, at least, had emerged from the deepest part of his heart: "Wanting to cast spells but being powerless to do so—I know that pain all too well!"

Of all the lies he told, all the stories he'd stolen and claimed as his own, that single admission was his absolute honesty. Behind the golden hair and perfect smile, behind the bestselling books and adoring fans, lay a wizard whose magical abilities were as limited as they were disappointing.

After standing in ponderings for several more minutes, Lockhart finally gathered himself and walked deeper into the corridor.

Author's Note: From this Chapter Onwards, There are better improved reworked chapters every chapter as I promised.

________________

You can read more chapters on:

/IamLuis