Room of Requirement, Laboratory No. 003.

The diary and the Diadem sat in two separate containers.

Magic held the outward perceptions of both objects in check, a brief, deliberate seal.

Lucas faced the two most dangerous dark magical objects of this century.

He made his decision.

One Horcrux was enough to keep.

Compared to Horcrux No. 1, made when its creator was still a student, housed in a Muggle's notebook, Lucas had spent enough time with the Diadem to develop something close to familiarity. The difference between the two wasn't a matter of how many memories they held.

The diary was the Dark Lord's first attempt. The Diadem was a carefully considered masterwork.

How many Horcruxes had been made in the years between them?

Lucas had interrogated the Diadem more than once. After the diary came into his hands, he'd spent considerable effort fabricating false memories, engineering a prisoner's dilemma, forcing the two soul fragments into conflict with each other.

But on the one question that mattered, the number and locations of the Horcruxes, both pieces went silent. The Dark Lord's soul fragments were at odds with each other, but they wouldn't be easy to break.

Lucas hadn't wasted breath on promises like just tell me and I'll let you go.

When every option had been exhausted, he lifted the sealing magic from the Horcrux.

In full view of the Diadem, he dropped a mass of Fiendfyre into the crucible where the diary rested.

Using a crucible for this felt genuinely wrong.

Inside it, Lucas had compressed a folded space ten stories tall: his mentor's proudest creation, the Soul Furnace.

Violent agony erupted from the crucible. The Diadem, close enough to feel it, was hit by the same bone-deep suffering.

But this was a room within the Room of Requirement that no one else knew existed.

The screaming lasted a long time. Lucas had grown accustomed to suffering. He controlled the Fiendfyre in silence, without casting so much as a single soundproofing charm.

The Fiendfyre stayed contained within a very small area.

He hadn't always had the power to guarantee that. There had been a time when this spell could have slipped past his control entirely.

Now that he'd grown into a proper young wizard, his magic could finally keep pace with theory.

The crucible let out a sharp crack. No matter how carefully the force was held in check, when Lord Voldemort's Horcrux breathed its last venomous breath, the crucible split apart.

The Diadem, with its ruby host, was too weakened to leave the gemstone.

Lucas put his wand away. The crucible hadn't cooled yet.

There was no longer any trace of it on the table, only the scorched black surface the Fiendfyre had left behind.

He brushed through the ash, and from the ruins he picked out a pearl-sized, milky-white pellet.

The only thing a soul fragment leaves behind in this world.

Lucas checked the magic on the Diadem. He didn't linger. He said a quiet "goodnight" to the surviving piece of Lord Voldemort and left.

---

The following morning, end-of-term results were announced. Lucas had a stack of Outstandings, and Slytherin had won the Quidditch matches again.

He listened to Marcus hold court at the breakfast table, dissecting the team's strategic lineup with the enthusiasm of a professional analyst. According to Marcus, several lower-year players with real potential were only going to improve, and the team would keep getting stronger.

Oh, and this year's House Cup was absolutely going to Slytherin.

Lucas tucked his results slip away.

He sat among a cluster of young students and listened to them swap grades, elation, relief, disappointment, and trade plans for the holidays.

These kids didn't need to know that a soul fragment had turned to ash in the flames last night.

It was just another node in Lucas's plan. No different in nature from his row of O grades.

Fear of the Dark Lord was old skin. It had to be stripped away. Once you got past the fear, the rest would follow easily enough.

---

After breakfast, Marcus pulled Lucas into an empty corridor.

"I've got a brilliant idea," Marcus said, voice low and conspiratorial, "for running your Tin Soldier business."

This term, Marcus had at least stopped describing Lucas's invention as his own enterprise.

The enthusiasm, though, had not dimmed.

"We get so many people coming to commission custom outfits for the Tin Soldiers, right? The costs on that are actually pretty steep. What if we fixed on a few holiday-limited outfits and did batch releases over a set period?"

Lucas listened carefully.

Marcus's voice climbed. "And don't put a direct price on them. Set up a prize pool. The best-looking outfits — make the fewest of those. Do you see what I mean? You set up the prizes, and you only sell the chance to draw!"

Lucas was quiet for a long moment.

"That's a good idea," he said. "If you're willing, I can license this project to you — fifty-fifty."

Marcus's eyes went wide. This would make him famous across all of Hogwarts.

"Really? I'll write home today. Lucius Malfoy is already working with your projects — if I tell them that, I can definitely get my family to invest!"

He circled Lucas once, restless with the energy he couldn't contain, then grabbed him in a firm hug. "You're too good to me. This is genuinely profitable and you're just handing it over!"

Lucas, caught in the squeeze, said quietly, "I know it'll make a lot of money. But from my fifty percent, I'll split out ten percent as an agent's commission for Malfoy, you can contact him directly."

Effectively, Lucas had just handed Marcus another opportunity to move in more elevated social circles.

Marcus stood there, dazed.

If he walked home with both pieces of news, his father wouldn't even think to ask about his end-of-term results.

"Really..." He had a strong sense of unreality. "All of it, you're actually giving this to me to run?"

"We're wizards, Marcus." Lucas said it simply, almost offhandedly. "Go home and talk it over with your family. It's genuinely profitable, but hear what the adults think too."

Wizards could actually curse other people.

Once Marcus opened this door, any number of them might come to hate him for it.

Marcus paused. He turned it over, then shook his head. "I get what you mean. But that won't happen, this is business. The whole point is to make as much money as possible."

Lucas didn't argue.

He looked out at the sky beyond the corridor. Heavy clouds sat low over the grounds.

Most of the students from the Great Hall were filing past now, moving through the corridor in ones and twos, passing Lucas without a glance.

The past and the present looked the same as they always had.

But everything was moving forward.

➤ Next: Filling Out Forms

Chapter 257 - Filling Out Forms

---

Chapter 257: Filling Out the Forms

The first day of summer vacation.

Snape stood before the public Floo fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron and gave Lucas the destination address: "Italian Ministry of Magic, Maritime Office."

Lucas held the bowl of Floo Powder and nodded.

Snape grabbed a handful and vanished into the green flames.

Lucas grabbed a handful too and stepped into the fireplace.

This summer, Lucas's father had no questions about his son boarding at his teacher's home, same as before. As long as the idea had been planted early enough, wizards spending their holidays consulting with their teachers, that sort of thing, it just became habit after a while.

The Maritime Office of the Italian Ministry of Magic sat on the fifth floor underground. It was plainly an office connected to the sea, yet the room smelled entirely of ink and parchment.

When Snape and Lucas arrived, several staff members were crowded around a large table, drawing sea charts. One of them clutched a piece of parchment and read aloud without lifting his head: "Summit Lighthouse atmospheric magic report: the Adriatic Sea will experience sustained subtropical high pressure next week."

Standing beside him was a stocky wizard with a walrus mustache. He listened, then bent over a section of the chart and began writing and sketching in ink.

Lucas looked around the office. The place felt like the hull of a seafaring ship had been transplanted wholesale into the room, a great ship's wheel and anchor leaned against the wall. In another corner stood an aged cannon with a hole-riddled fishing net draped over it.

Snape had already crossed toward the working staff, and his presence was hard to ignore. Anyone charting maps who felt a shadow fall over their work would grumble, "Move along — you're blocking my light!"

But the shadow did not move.

The walrus-mustached wizard looked up in irritation and met Snape's unfriendly gaze.

He scratched his head. "You're that, that..." Snape's long sleeves, long trousers, and sweeping robes gave him pause. After a moment he managed: "That Order of Merlin."

The office had received a message from the upper floors that morning. The document stated that a visitor would be calling today, someone who needed to complete a set of ancient apprenticeship rites, and who required the Maritime Office's help selecting a sailing route. The visitor held the Order of Merlin, and staff were asked to cooperate fully.

The Maritime Office employees had studied that message with great interest. They were tremendously curious what an Order of Merlin recipient would look like. Most had assumed it would be some venerable old man with a white beard.

Reality was considerably less flattering.

The Italian wizard muttered something and waved over a young man who had been drawing nearby. "You speak English — take him to pick a route!"

The young man glanced at Snape with reverence, then at Lucas standing behind him with something closer to envy.

He pulled a roll of Muggle sea charts from the drawer under the large table.

"You mentioned your general requirements in your letter to the Ministry. We've selected the following route." He spread the Muggle shipping chart across the surface; the markings on it wouldn't shift on their own. "We recommend departing from Venice, traveling along the eastern Adriatic coast past the Croatian islands, and disembarking at the Bay of Kotor in Montenegro."

The official drew out another sheet and layered it over the Muggle chart. The paper was semi-transparent, designed to overlay the Muggle map exactly. Flowing lines covered the restricted sections beneath.

This was the wizarding nautical chart.

Silver fishhook symbols marked the deep-blue trenches. A tiny squid illustration sat between the island chains. And then there was an island that appeared from nowhere, a miniature flag planted on it.

The official walked them through each symbol.

"The fishhook marks indicate deep-sea fish gathering zones. Note that this is not a fishing permit — there are enormous creatures in the deep water, so extreme caution is required."

"The squid illustration means squid are the primary fishing resource in this area, but you can also catch over a hundred other species."

"And lastly, a wizarding island. It doesn't appear on any Muggle map or satellite. You can stop there to rest and do some seafood trading. There's a complete wizarding village on it."

Snape and Lucas followed each point the official indicated and studied the chart carefully. They quickly approved the plan.

"Now, regarding the procedural side of things, since you hold the Order of Merlin, the Ministry's formalities have been kept to a minimum." The official handed over a pass.

Then he pivoted and produced from somewhere a thick stack of paper documents. "However, the Muggle-side water use permits are rather involved. We don't currently offer a form-completion service, only submission. There are seventeen forms in total..."

The stack, several centimetres thick, was delivered with an expression of grim resignation, held directly under Snape's considerable nose.

The Potions professor recoiled.

Lucas sighed and took the documents.

The official's eyes lit up. Someone to do the work.

He handed Lucas the Ministry of Magic's International Confederation of Wizards Marine Association special pass along with it, then pointed to a single desk in the corner. "You can fill them out over there."

"Please keep the pass safe, and this as well." The official handed over a magical sea chart. "This one was generated specifically for your route. Whenever we receive a transmission from a lighthouse and log it in the register, your chart updates automatically."

"And this, the Special Marking Identification Handbook!" Another handbook, thicker than the Complete Compendium of Potion Ingredients, came crashing down onto Lucas's arms.

"This contains every special marking that may appear on the map. You'll want to learn a retrieval spell so you can look things up quickly in an emergency."

The pile had already reached Lucas's nose. He was forced to tilt his chin up just to keep it from toppling.

The staff member wasn't finished.

"This booklet, vessel types. You'll need to go upstairs to select a boat. I'd suggest reading through this first before you choose. Novice sailors tend to get overwhelmed very easily."

The final handbook landed on top of the stack. It had every appearance of the last straw.

Snape moved fast and slipped the top two compendiums out from the pile, holding them himself.

Lucas's face emerged from behind the remaining documents. "Is there anything else?" he asked, the anxiety in his voice not quite gone.

"That's everything!" the official said brightly. "Have a wonderful journey!"

➤ Next: Proof of Identity