Moriarty erected the Slytherin staff in the hole on the floor and glanced at Dumbledore. "Cast together and find the Headless Horseman."
"That's it," Dumbledore muttered, stunned for a moment. He stood up with a light chuckle. "Otherwise, I'll deduct ten points from Slytherin House for deliberately damaging the floor."
Despite the humor in his voice, Dumbledore's movements were swift and deliberate. He drew the Elder Wand and balanced it under the bend of his index finger with his thumb. Raising his arm, he pointed the wand toward the ceiling and began muttering an incantation.
The ancient syllables that spilled from Dumbledore's lips carried power. Moriarty felt the castle shift as if responding to the Headmaster's call. Dumbledore's magic surged outward, radiant like a forge burning at full heat. It spread like flares, every corridor and tower now sensing its command.
On the other side, Moriarty gripped the Slytherin staff with both hands and hissed in Parseltongue. The chilling sound startled Professor Trelawney, who shrank back, and Diana shot Moriarty a surprised glance.
Dumbledore's eyes glinted with recognition. That same language had echoed in the Great Hall when Moriarty had declared the reawakening of the Chamber of Secrets. The spell had returned.
"The heir of Slytherin, the descendant of the lion of Godric's Hollow, the young eagle who embraces ancient wisdom, and the rose of Hufflepuff—speak now, for the Four Founders demand it!"
It was a summoning. A spell that tapped into the very core of Hogwarts—its original architecture, its old magics.
To keep the Headless Horseman from reacting, Moriarty gave a mental command. All mobile entities—stone piers, armor, ghosts, and portraits—were ordered to move swiftly.
The stone piers and armors marched toward the gates. The ghosts flowed back into their respective house common rooms, and the portraits evacuated into murals on the first floor corridor, forming a long line.
Though confused, the castle's occupants obeyed.
Moriarty wore a victorious smile. "Peeves said only the Headless Horseman can ignore my orders to the castle. So? It must hide when I issue commands."
He turned to Dumbledore, eyes gleaming. "Let's begin the search. At this moment, all the other murals are empty—only one is still moving."
"A clever reverse trap," Dumbledore praised. His eyes lit up like he was fifty years younger. He raised his wand and began casting.
The Elder Wand drew spirals of fire in the air, brilliant and expanding fast. From those swirls emerged the shining form of a phoenix—larger and more glorious than Fawkes, glowing with golden feathers that shimmered with heat.
It hovered above Dumbledore's head, majestic and eternal.
In Moriarty's spiritual vision—his "God's Perspective"—he saw Dumbledore's magic split into dozens of miniature phoenixes, flying across the castle like flares of wildfire.
"Phoenix Flower Dance… Peverell family magic."
Dumbledore's voice dropped to a whisper. A wave of ancient solemnity enveloped him. He looked up at the majestic phoenix with a distant gaze. "I haven't used it in seventy years."
Moriarty's heart skipped. The Peverell family?
He knew from Salazar's notes that the Peverell line was linked not just to the Deathly Hallows, but to the phoenix itself—guardians and witnesses of magical fate.
"I've found it," Dumbledore announced, smiling slightly at Moriarty. "You'll never guess where the Headless Horseman is hiding."
"Where?" Diana asked, unable to keep the tension out of her voice. She stood, straightening her glasses with a flick of her fingers. Her presence was like a rose blooming under moonlight.
"Patience, Professor Diana," Dumbledore said gently. "We must not label the Headless Horseman as a villain yet. He might be the key to untangling everything."
Moriarty pulled the staff from the hole with a crack, the echo impatient. He gave Dumbledore a look that said, Get on with it.
Dumbledore chuckled. He shook his head, then focused his gaze in a specific direction. "Sir Cadogan's mural. That's where he's hiding."
"Sir Cadogan?" Diana echoed, shifting her weight and leaning against the wall near the office door. Her brows furrowed slightly.
She was no stranger to Hogwarts' deeper secrets, and that name hinted at something more.
"Moriarty, how much do you know about Sir Cadogan?" Dumbledore asked, walking to a nearby bookcase.
"His painting hangs on the seventh floor. Every time a student passes, he challenges them to a duel," Moriarty replied. "He's temperamental and battle-happy—but not malicious."
"Correct."
Dumbledore retrieved an old, yellowed diary from the shelves and opened it. The pages had a timeworn strength to them.
A deep, steady voice sounded—amplified by magic, echoing through the room like an old recording.
"According to our findings, Sir Cadogan was once part of the legendary Knights of the Round Table!
Though mostly forgotten, he rose in status thanks to his bond with Merlin.
Naturally, Muggle tales of Arthurian legend ignore him entirely. Ha—Muggles.
But the wizarding version preserves his deeds alongside Lancelot, Bedivere, and Parsifal.
He's portrayed as reckless, fearless, sometimes foolish—but his heart remains noble."
The powerful voice held a commanding charisma. It carried listeners into the romantic, dangerous world of Cadogan's adventures.
Moriarty frowned. The way the voice spoke of Muggles—with such contempt—felt eerily familiar.
Grindelwald?
A bold theory bloomed in Moriarty's mind: In their youth, Dumbledore and Grindelwald must have searched for Merlin's secrets. This diary was a remnant of that quest—a forgotten artifact from an old ambition.
Crash!
Dumbledore turned a page. The aged parchment resisted, but it held strong.
The voice returned:
"Sir Cadogan's most famous moment was his duel with the bipedal dragon of the River Wye.
You've seen them, right, Dumbledore?
Those beasts still lurk in southwest England.
In their first clash, the dragon devoured Cadogan's warhorse, bit off his wand, and melted his helmet with a breath of fire.
Blinded by steam, he escaped—but not in retreat.
He found a grazing pony in a nearby field, mounted it, and rode back to the dragon with nothing but a splintered wand, prepared to die with honor.
When the dragon lunged, Cadogan thrust the broken wand into its mouth, triggering a fireball in its belly.
Boom. It exploded."
A pause, then the voice chuckled.
"Even now, older wizards say 'I'll take Cadogan's pony' when determined to change the tide.
His wand? Likely blackthorn and giant's beard. Volatile. Bold. Like the knight himself.
But tell me, Dumbledore… Have you decided to pursue the Hallows?"
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