Reborn as Petunia Evans with a System-Chapter 33 - 32

The Room of Requirement was silent—eerily so—as if the very stones were holding their breath.

Petunia stepped deeper into its endless heart, each footstep muffled against the dust-laden floor. She had never imagined it could be so vast. Forgotten trunks, splintered chairs, ancient scrolls, and cobweb-draped mirrors stretched as far as the eye could see. Objects piled high like monuments to years of secrets. Somewhere in this chaotic graveyard, the diadem lay hidden—Ravenclaw's treasured crown, long lost and now poisoned with a sliver of Voldemort's fractured soul.

Her fingers tightened around her wand. A hundred doubts pressed against her thoughts.

How could she possibly find one item among thousands? What if she had been wrong? What if the diadem wasn't here?

But she forced herself to pause. Breathe.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to feel instead of search. Not with her hands or her eyes, but with something older—her magic. Her focus narrowed to a single thought: Show me what is hidden and vile. Show me the Horcrux.

There it was. Faint, but there. A coldness blooming in the back of her mind like frost creeping across glass. Her magic shuddered in recognition. There was something nearby—something alive with darkness.

She followed the pull.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. Time seemed to warp in the Room's depths. Eventually, she found herself standing before a crooked bust of an old wizard. Atop his head sat a delicate silver crown—slim, ornate, with sapphire inlays that glinted in the low light. Etched across the front, in flowing script, was a phrase she knew by heart: Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.

The Diadem of Ravenclaw.

And it pulsed with dark magic.

She didn't move. Her skin prickled with invisible static. The closer she got, the more her thoughts felt like they weren't entirely her own. One part of her wanted to reach out, to touch it, to feel the weight of that power in her palm.

But another part, the part that had studied, prepared, read the darkest texts in the library's shadows, screamed in warning. Do not touch it. Not ever.

Petunia raised her wand, whispering, "Wingardium Leviosa."

The diadem floated gently into the air, spinning slightly as it hovered before her. Even now, suspended in magic, it felt... sentient. As though it were watching her with unseen eyes.

She needed to hide it. Somewhere beyond the reach of curious students or wandering professors. Somewhere only she could find it again.

The Room responded.

In the far corner, a spiral of stone unfolded from the wall like a blooming flower. It formed a narrow tower chamber—cold, gray, and windowless. She stepped inside, bringing the diadem with her, and began the work.

First came the runes.

With a steady hand, she traced ancient symbols in the air with her wand. Lines of golden light followed her movements, carving themselves into the floor, walls, and ceiling like threads of flame.

The first rune sealed the diadem to the space, forbidding it from being removed by anything but her own magic. The second warded against physical contact—anyone attempting to touch it would suffer burns that could not be healed by ordinary means. The third rune worked on the mind, creating a protective mental shield to keep the Horcrux's whispers at bay.

The symbols pulsed once, then sank into the stone.

Next, she transfigured a pedestal. What began as a jagged boulder reshaped itself beneath her wand into a basin of smooth obsidian. Its surface shimmered like oil, reflecting twisted, distorted images. Anyone who stared too long would see lies instead of truth, fear instead of courage.

Around the basin, she summoned a cage of thick bramble wrought from ironwood—enchanted to resist flame, blade, and spell. The roots twined around the pedestal like a living barrier.

Then came the concealment. She poured her magic into illusion spells—ancient, subtle, powerful. The tower chamber would vanish from the Room's visible pathways. Even if someone entered the Room with a similar intent, they would be led elsewhere.

Finally, Petunia took a slow breath, drew her wand to her temple, and whispered, "Mnemoris Scripta."

A single strand of silver memory unspooled from her temple, glowing with warmth. She infused it into the spellwork, binding the location's knowledge to herself alone. Anyone attempting to find it through Legilimency would see only a false memory she had crafted—of a dark forest, of a burial site in the Forbidden Woods.

The light dimmed. The tower felt colder.

The ritual was complete.

And the Horcrux—still floating above the pedestal—was no longer a threat. Not for now.

She let it settle gently into the center of the obsidian, then backed away, wand still raised, sealing the entrance behind her with one final spell.

Then she turned and left the Room.

The halls of Hogwarts were still and dark as she made her way back to the Ravenclaw dormitory. She peeled off the Disillusionment Charm just outside the bronze door and answered the guardian's riddle with a bleary mind.

Once inside, she tiptoed past her sleeping roommates and slid beneath her blankets, not even bothering to change into pajamas. She had two hours, maybe less, before classes began.

But her mind wouldn't rest.

Her thoughts drifted to what she had learned so far.

The Horcruxes. She tried to recall the known Horcruxes.

The Diary, already destroyed by Harry Potter in his second year. A part of the past now.The Locket, hidden in a cave by the sea. Not just any cave, but the cave—where Voldemort, as a boy, had taken two children from the orphanage and hurt them. She had read the account. Cold salt air, a lake filled with Inferi, a ritual requiring blood. The locket had since been taken and moved.

The Cup, belonging to Helga Hufflepuff, stolen and hidden in the Lestrange vault in Gringotts. That one would be harder to reach. Dragon-guarded. Impossibly deep. The Ring, once owned by Marvolo Gaunt, hidden in the ruins of the Gaunt shack. It had nearly killed Dumbledore himself. Nagini, the serpent. Still alive. Always at Voldemort's side. Watching. Waiting. And possibly... Harry is she did not managed to changed the future.

She clenched her eyes shut.

How could she possibly destroy them all?

But one thing was certain.

She had taken the first step. And there was no turning back now.

The war had begun in the shadows. And she, Petunia Evans of Ravenclaw House, was hunting the soul of a monster.

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So much to do.

So little time.

But for tonight, she had made progress. One piece of the soul was contained.