The starry sky was boundless, silent as an eternal curtain.
But against this profound backdrop, a change quietly occurred.
Between the dark void below Viktor and Dumbledore and the vast river of stars above, a bright moon slowly materialized. It transitioned from faint to vivid, as if drawn by an invisible brush.
It didn't hang in a sky; rather, it seemed embedded within this bizarre space—cold, perfectly round, and radiating an ancient, gentle silver glow.
The moonlight pooled before Viktor, Dumbledore, and Tom like spilled liquid mercury.
The streams of light wove together, like a master weaver spinning thread among the stars, rapidly solidifying a tall, elegant female silhouette from the ethereal.
First, a robe that seemed cut from moonlight and starlight, flowing with obscure astrological patterns.
Then, a cascade of dark hair, partially pinned up with a simple hairpin that looked like a living vine, the rest falling smoothly over her shoulders.
Finally, her face. It wasn't the image commonly seen in portraits, which carried the heavy weight of time and a mysterious distance.
She was younger. Her skin seemed soaked in moonlight. Her eyes were closed, long eyelashes casting faint shadows. Her features were as exquisite as a classical sculpture, yet possessed an indescribable, vivid vitality that a statue could never achieve.
It was a unique aura forged from pure wisdom and transcendent magic.
The moment her figure completely solidified, those closed eyes snapped open.
Initially, her gaze was hollow, reflecting the eternal galaxy but holding nothing.
But as her cold gaze swept over a wary, astonished Viktor and a shocked but composed Dumbledore, the emptiness vanished.
A vibrant, incredibly sharp light ignited in her eyes, as if capable of piercing all illusions and seeing straight to the essence of things.
Within that light lay the accumulated wisdom of a millennium—the legendary poise of a Founder who had laid the cornerstone of magical education.
Rowena Ravenclaw.
Viktor's heart gave a heavy thump.
He had seen her portraits at Hogwarts; he had read descriptions of her in countless ancient tomes.
But a portrait is just a portrait, and words are just text.
The sheer presence of this phantom, forged from moonlight and Hogwarts' ancient magic—the oppressive weight of her intellectual aura—far surpassed any static record.
She looked younger and more vibrant than her portraits, and... far more real.
It was as if a thousand years hadn't eroded her spirit, but only allowed it to settle here in another form.
Ravenclaw's gaze quickly swept over the two men and the cat, seemingly searching for something.
A flash of disappointment flickered in her sharp eyes—she didn't see who she was hoping for.
But the emotion vanished so quickly it almost seemed like an illusion. She gave a slight, elegant nod to the visibly shocked but striving-for-calm Viktor, and to Dumbledore, who had already bowed slightly in respect. The gesture carried a sense of ancient etiquette.
Then, as if drawn by a magnet, her eyes fell upon the shattered diadem floating inside the crystal casket.
Seeing the jagged crack through its center, and feeling the residual foul, evil aura that completely contradicted the essence of her creation, Ravenclaw's perfectly drawn brows furrowed slightly.
It wasn't anger. It was the displeasure and pity of a master craftsman seeing their meticulous work desecrated by clumsy, malicious hands.
She raised a hand casually, naturally, as if merely brushing dust from the air.
The lid of the crystal casket slid open silently. The exquisite but "dead" diadem floated out lightly and landed in her pale palm.
The moment the diadem touched her hand, Viktor—through his unique contract connection with Hogwarts castle—clearly felt an unimaginably massive torrent of magic being mobilized!
This magic didn't come from Ravenclaw herself—or rather, not just from her.
It seemed to well up from every brick and stone of Hogwarts, every secret passage, every classroom, every tower.
It was the magic accumulated over a thousand years by countless young wizards learning, living, and casting spells, blended with the earth's ley lines—a magic as vast as the ocean!
Now, this dormant magic was awakened and gathered by the legend before them. In this starry space, it faintly manifested as tangible streams of pale gold!
These golden streams of magic, like living tendrils, gently but firmly wrapped around the diadem in Ravenclaw's hand.
They didn't wash over it violently; they acted like the most precise purification instrument, penetrating every molecular structure and magical circuit of the artifact.
Sizzle...
Wisps of black mist, thick as tar and reeking of despair and curses, were forcefully expelled and stripped from the depths of the diadem.
The moment this black mist bled out, attempting to struggle or corrupt its surroundings, it was instantly enveloped by the pure, overwhelming golden magic and annihilated into nothingness.
Simultaneously, the shattered sapphire in the center underwent a miraculous transformation under the nourishment of the pure magic.
The edges of the crack seemed to come alive, wriggling, growing, and realigning.
Fine threads of light, like a network of starlight, spread and wove within the gem, filling the missing structure and awakening its dormant spirit.
In mere moments, the hideous crack vanished without a trace. The sapphire was restored.
It was even clearer and deeper than before, looking as though a small slice of a tranquil night sky had been sealed inside, radiating a soft, intelligent light once more.
The entire diadem was completely revitalized. The "extraordinary" aura it lost when the Horcrux died had returned, now carrying an even deeper, more restrained elegance, having survived the ravages of time and purification.
Ravenclaw gazed at the restored diadem in her hand. Her fingertips lightly brushed the cold metal and warm gem, her eyes complex.
After a moment, she looked up, her gaze returning to Dumbledore. Her voice rang out clear and calm, sounding as if it were bypassing the barrier of a thousand years to echo directly in the room.
"You are the current Headmaster of Hogwarts. Tell me, how many years have passed?"
Dumbledore took a small breath, suppressing the waves in his heart. Maintaining absolute reverence, he answered clearly.
"Respected Madam Ravenclaw, I am Albus Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts. The year is currently nineteen ninety-two."
"Nineteen ninety-two..." Ravenclaw repeated softly.
In those eyes holding the stars of wisdom, a profound sorrow flashed uncontrollably.
The sorrow was so palpable it seemed to dim the surrounding starlight for a second.
She sighed softly. Her voice was barely a whisper, yet it echoed clearly against the silent, starry backdrop.
"So... in the end, Helena never chose to return?"
Hearing that name, and the lingering, vivid yearning and regret hidden in her tone for a millennium, a spark of understanding flashed in Dumbledore's blue eyes behind his half-moon glasses.
He immediately took a half-step forward, his tone gentle but firm.
"No, Madam. Madam Helena... she did return."
Ravenclaw's eyes snapped up to look at Dumbledore. The sorrow in her eyes was instantly replaced by shock and a sudden, fragile spark of hope.
Dumbledore continued, his voice steady and comforting.
"She returned to Hogwarts, in the form of a ghost. For a thousand years, she has remained here as the ghost of Ravenclaw House, the Grey Lady. To my knowledge... she has carried a deep remorse with her, even to this day."
Ravenclaw's figure seemed to tremble slightly.
She fell silent for a moment. Her eyes, capable of piercing the fog of knowledge, now stared intently at Dumbledore, as if judging the truth of his words, or perhaps just processing the sudden, shocking news.
Dumbledore met her gaze, gentle and resolute. "Perhaps, I could invite Madam Helena here?"
He phrased it as a question, his eyes seeking permission.
Ravenclaw met his gaze. Her millennial wisdom quickly deduced the utter sincerity in the powerful wizard's words.
The last trace of hesitation vanished from her eyes, replaced by a complex mix of nervousness, anticipation, and maternal tenderness.
She gave a small nod. The motion was slight, but it seemed to take all her strength.
Dumbledore said no more. He raised the Elder Wand and gave it a gentle wave.
"Expecto Patronum."
Silvery-white light erupted from the tip of the wand, flowing like moonlight, rapidly condensing into a massive, elegant silver phoenix that radiated a comforting, warm aura.
The Patronus spread its brilliant wings, letting out a silent, soul-cleansing trill.
It circled Dumbledore and Ravenclaw gracefully, then looked at Dumbledore with its intelligent silver eyes.
Dumbledore whispered something to it.
The silver phoenix nodded in understanding, then turned into a brilliant silver streak, plunging directly into the boundless, starry sky forged by Hogwarts' magic, disappearing from sight.
Watching the direction the Patronus vanished, Ravenclaw stood silently, her gaze tracking the fading silver trail, unmoving for a long time.
The moonlight radiating from her seemed to soften. Beneath the majesty of a thousand-year legend, the most foundational, anxious anticipation of a mother quietly revealed itself.
After Dumbledore summoned the Patronus and watched it leave, Ravenclaw's gaze returned to the greatest wizard of the modern age.
She studied him quietly—the wise, slightly weary blue eyes, the signature half-moon spectacles, the silver hair and beard, and the Elder Wand in his hand, humming with extraordinary power.
She could feel the magic within the old man—deep as an abyss, vast as an ocean, yet gentle and restrained. More importantly, she felt his unwavering will to protect the castle and its students.
A glint of satisfaction crossed her eyes, seeming to dilute the lingering sorrow regarding her daughter.
For the first time since she appeared, she offered Dumbledore a clear smile. It was a smile that seemed to pierce through a millennium of dust, carrying approval and relief.
"A thousand years have passed, and the world has changed. Yet, Hogwarts still possesses a wizard as powerful as you to serve as Headmaster and protect this castle."
"With you here, I imagine the young witches and wizards can still grow safely and happily under this sanctuary, pursuing the mysteries of knowledge and magic. This is very good."
The weight of this praise, coming from a Founder of Hogwarts, was immeasurable.
It wasn't just an acknowledgment of Dumbledore's personal power; it was a validation of his lifelong dedication to educating and protecting the younger generation.
Dumbledore showed no hint of pride at the compliment. Instead, his expression grew even more humble and solemn.
He bowed slightly, his silver hair shifting with the movement, his voice filled with sincerity and a sense of historical responsibility.
"You are too kind, Madam Ravenclaw. The legacy and peace of Hogwarts have never been the work of one person."
"It relies on the collective efforts of generations of teachers and students, the magic of the castle itself, and above all, the wisdom and sanctuary left behind by you and the other three Founders."
"All I can do is follow the teachings of my predecessors, doing my utmost to maintain this haven, so that every child who steps foot here has the chance to discover their potential, safe from the storms of the outside world."
"Seeing them learn safely and happily here is the greatest comfort to me, and to all the guardians of Hogwarts."
Ravenclaw's eyes showed even deeper satisfaction.
She nodded slightly, as if seeing in Dumbledore's answer the unbroken continuation of the Hogwarts spirit she and her companions had forged a millennium ago.
She said no more, turning her gaze back toward the direction her daughter would arrive from. Her maternal, tender anticipation resurfaced.
The wait wasn't long, but in that atmosphere, it felt stretched.
Finally, at the far end of the starry sky where the silver phoenix had vanished, a milky-white, slightly hazy figure was "floating" toward them at a speed far exceeding a normal ghost.
The figure was slender, wearing an ancient wizarding robe, her aura cold and melancholic. It was the ghost of Ravenclaw House, the Grey Lady—Helena Ravenclaw.
Helena arrived in a frantic rush. She didn't even notice the hovering crystal casket, nor did she immediately register Viktor or Dumbledore.
Her entire being was completely captured by the silhouette standing between the moonlight and the stars—a figure incredibly familiar, yet separated by a lifetime.
When her eyes locked onto Ravenclaw, she stopped dead, hovering in the air, just staring blankly. Her semi-transparent, ghostly face was filled with absolute shock, disbelief, and a sudden surge of a thousand-year-old, unfading filial love and crushing guilt.
"Helena," Ravenclaw called softly. Her voice lacked its previous cold calm; instead, it carried an almost imperceptible tremble.
She reached out her hand, her movements impossibly gentle.
That single call seemed to shatter a millennium of ice.
Helena's ghostly form rippled violently. She let out a choked, broken sob, and her milky-white figure threw itself at Ravenclaw like a swallow returning to its nest.
Even though, as a ghost, she couldn't physically touch her mother's magically manifested solid form.
But the moonlight and magic radiating from Ravenclaw gently accepted and enveloped her, forming a halo that felt like a tangible embrace.
Ravenclaw's ethereal yet real hand gently stroked her daughter's ghostly hair. She couldn't truly feel it, but the love and tenderness in the gesture transcended the boundaries of life and time, unmistakably clear.
"You're back, Helena," she repeated, her voice slow and soft, as if afraid of waking from a fragile dream.
"M-Mother..." Helena finally broke down crying. A thousand years of loneliness, remorse, and longing burst the dam in that moment, turning into silent but soul-shaking sobs and confessions.
"I'm sorry... Mother... I was wrong... I stole the diadem... I... I always wanted to come back... I missed you... so much..."
Ravenclaw didn't offer any words of blame. She just gently, repeatedly stroked her daughter's "hair," drawing her "figure" tighter into the moonlight, whispering.
"I know... I know it all... I never blamed you... It's good that you're back... It's good that you're back..."
This embrace between a mother and daughter—spanning a millennium, crossing the boundary of life and death, separated by a mistake and reunited by a miracle—carried a soul-stirring power.
It wasn't just family; it was an epic tableau woven from time, magic, regret, and forgiveness.
Viktor watched, his heart deeply moved. Tom, in his arms, was already a blubbering mess.
The cat wrapped his two front paws tightly around Viktor, his large eyes brimming with tears that slid down his furry cheeks, letting out tiny, sniffling whimpers.
The whole cat was so immersed in the touching atmosphere he looked like he wanted to jump in and rub against them too.
Viktor and Dumbledore exchanged a knowing glance, seeing the same profound respect and emotion in each other's eyes.
They silently stepped back a few paces, leaving the core, softest space under this starry sky entirely to the newly reunited mother and daughter.
Their presence felt insignificant at this moment; they were merely witnesses to a millennial reunion.
After holding her crying daughter for a while, Ravenclaw seemed to pull herself back slightly from the overwhelming emotional tide.
She lifted her eyes, her gaze sweeping over Dumbledore and Viktor standing respectfully at a distance.
And the cat in Viktor's arms, its face wet with tears, staring at them with wide, curious, and deeply moved eyes.
Finally, her gaze landed on the unassuming suitcase Viktor still gripped tightly in his hand, which hadn't left his side even during the violent spatial upheaval.
Her eyes lingered on the suitcase for a second. Within those eyes that saw through the mysteries of knowledge, a flash of understanding appeared... along with a very faint, almost appreciative amusement.
Then, she raised her free hand, pointed a slender finger in Viktor's direction, and tapped the air lightly.
A point of silver-white light bloomed from her fingertip.
The light rapidly stretched and expanded in the empty space in front of Viktor, as if countless invisible shuttles were weaving, intertwining, and sketching.
In the blink of an eye, strands of silver-white thread materialized. They weren't physical matter, but patterns of light forged from highly condensed magical knowledge and intent.
These light patterns rapidly wove, layered, and solidified.
A moment later, a silver-white gem—about the size of a thumbnail, cut into a perfect polyhedron, with countless tiny starlights flowing inside and shifting complex 3D runic images—hovered quietly in front of Viktor.
The gem radiated a pure, ancient aura of knowledge, faintly resonating with the magical ley lines of Hogwarts itself.
Ravenclaw's clear voice followed, still calm but lacking the previous distance.
"These are some elementary insights and design philosophies regarding the construction of magical spaces like the 'Room of Requirement'—spaces that 'respond to the mind and weave reality.' You seem to possess considerable talent and interest in spatial and contract magic. This... might be of some use to you."
Viktor froze for a second, before an indescribable wave of ecstasy and awe surged in his heart!
A gem of knowledge personally gifted by Rowena Ravenclaw!
Containing the original concepts and magical principles behind the Room of Requirement—one of Hogwarts' most miraculous spaces!
This was a priceless treasure every magical researcher dreamed of!
Suppressing his excitement, he extended both hands with utmost solemnity, carefully cupping the hovering silver-white gem.
The gem felt warm to the touch. It wasn't a physical sensation, but a coagulation of pure magical knowledge; a stream of information flowed directly into his perception upon contact.
"I cannot thank you enough, Madam Ravenclaw!" Viktor bowed deeply, his tone filled with heartfelt respect and gratitude.
Ravenclaw gave a slight nod, accepting his thanks.
Her gaze returned to her daughter Helena, who was still immersed in the emotion of their reunion. Those cold, starlike eyes completely melted into a timeless, unchanging tenderness.
The starry sky remained silent, witnessing the warmth of a legend, and the new passing of knowledge and magic.
Watching this scene, Tom sniffled. He decided that from today on, aside from being with his master and eating delicious food, he would add "reuniting separated families" to his list of ultimate feline life goals.