With Dumbledore's death, the school had yet to show any intention of restarting Quidditch matches. But Harry could understand that. For someone of Professor McGonagall's age, the loss of a person—especially someone like Dumbledore—would hit harder.
Even Harry himself wasn't really in the mood for Quidditch anymore.
He didn't truly want to become a Quidditch star. Sure, it sounded nice, but it wasn't what he genuinely wanted. He just wanted to escape reality for a bit, to avoid Hermione's constant talk about the O.W.L.s and all the pressure it brought.
Sometimes, he wondered—he had already defeated Voldemort, so why did he still have to take exams?
But then he'd realize—he'd rather fight Voldemort again than deal with this.
Exams, life, the future…
They all seemed scarier than Voldemort—scarier than death itself!
And when he thought of death, he couldn't help but think of Cyrus.
"I don't know if Cyrus is ready to face Death yet," Harry said. "It's been quite a few days since we last heard from him, hasn't it?"
His eyes swept over the group. The moment Cyrus was mentioned, it felt like they had all been deliberately avoiding the topic lately—otherwise, every conversation would grow too heavy.
They told themselves not to worry—but it was impossible not to worry.
"I guess we could write him a letter. Have Hedwig deliver it."
"Forget it," Ginny finally lifted her head. The dark circles under her eyes were heavy; she looked completely drained, as though she had returned to how she'd been in second year when she'd been possessed by Cyrus.
But at least back then, Cyrus had been concerned about her health. Now, Ginny looked even more haggard.
"Ginny, how long has it been since you had a proper night's sleep?!" Ron jumped up.
"I can't sleep," Ginny brushed back her hair. That fiery red hair, once so vibrant, now looked like it was fading—dry, dull, and fraying at the ends like a toothbrush worn out over decades.
"Every time I close my eyes, I have nightmares."
She pushed a small, black notebook toward Harry and the others.
"Tom Riddle's diary?" Harry recognized it immediately. Then something occurred to him. "If you're so worried, why not use the diary to ask him? Or is Cyrus ignoring you again?"
"I did ask," Ginny said, slumping tiredly into the couch. She wanted to explain, but the words just wouldn't come. "Just open it and see."
Harry seemed to realize something—or even if he hadn't, he could read the seriousness in Ginny's expression.
His hands trembled as he picked up the diary. His palms felt sticky, and the diary felt slippery like a loach, nearly slipping from his grasp.
Maybe it should have flown away,
he thought.
He didn't want to hear—or see—any more bad news.
But Ginny's expression… it was as if the diary contained Cyrus's obituary.
Hermione couldn't stand how slowly he was moving. She snatched the diary straight out of Harry's hands! In that moment, she truly looked like a Gryffindor—impatient and unwilling to wait even a second longer.
In fact, ever since Ginny pulled out the diary and hinted that something might have happened, Hermione's heart had felt like it was on fire.
She flipped the diary open quickly.
Then she saw it—pages and pages filled with tightly packed black-ink handwriting, all written in quill.
They were Ginny's messages, her worries, her every word, sentence, and letter from the past few days!
"He didn't reply to any of them?" Ron asked, trying to see the bright side. "Maybe he's just really busy… And, you know, it's not like this never happened before—he used to leave people on read all the time…"
But he couldn't keep talking for long.
Because they all knew—this diary wasn't an ordinary book. It was a magical object.
And now? It was behaving like an ordinary notebook—anything you wrote on it just stayed there, without response, without desolving, without reaction.
"The magic in it has worn off…"
Suddenly, the diary felt unbearably heavy in Hermione's hands. So heavy she couldn't even hold it anymore—and it fell to the floor with a dull thud.
For a moment, none of them said a word.
When does a person's magic fade?
Harry thought of Halloween—that day he and Snape returned to his parents' house.
There had been a Fidelius Charm protecting the place.
But after his parents were killed by Voldemort, the charm disappeared.
"Maybe Cyrus just removed the magic himself," Ron said after thinking for a moment, finally speaking up.
"Or maybe he went somewhere… somewhere that cut off his magical power…" he stammered, piecing together a few vague possibilities to make it all sound more plausible.
He wasn't just trying to comfort Harry and the others—he was comforting himself, too.
On the surface, Ron and Cyrus didn't seem particularly close. But in truth, to Ron, Cyrus really was a good friend.
The reason was simple: even when Ron was surrounded by more talented friends, Cyrus had never forgotten him.
Back when he lost Scabbers, it was Cyrus who remembered how much that meant to him—and gifted him an owl. Every holiday afterward, Cyrus's gifts never failed to arrive, and they were never thoughtless.
For Ron, just having someone who remembered him—that was the best gift of all.
"Maybe…"
Ginny let out a weary sigh. "I've already written to Cassandra several times, but she doesn't know where Cyrus is either."
Truth be told, no one did.
They had all guessed that Cyrus had probably gone to seek out Death—but no one knew where Death actually was, nor whether Cyrus had found Him… or had already died by His hand.
"At the very least, if Death had won, the world wouldn't still be this calm," Ron finally said.
And so, time passed quietly amid their worries.
Soon, Harry faced the Ordinary Wizarding Levels.
Though he always acted like he didn't care much, when the exams finally arrived, he threw himself into them with unprecedented focus. In truth, he found the content of the exams wasn't as difficult as he'd imagined.
"The results will be delivered to you over the summer holiday by owl," Professor McGonagall told every student after their exams.
Harry returned to the dormitory to pack his things.
With the exams over, it was time for him to go back to stay with Sirius, or maybe spend a few weeks at Ron's house. But most importantly—there was still no word from Cyrus.
He had been gone a long time now. Neither Bella nor Cassandra knew where he had gone.
"But for now, it's still manageable. If Cyrus doesn't show up by the time of the International Confederation of Wizards' presidential election next year, then the whole world will start to suspect something."
He was thinking about all this as he shook out his clothes.
Clink!
Just then, a small object fell out from inside his robes.
Harry paused in surprise, then bent down, picked it up, and held it in front of his eyes.
"What is this… a flashlight?"
He knew it couldn't be a flashlight.
Not just because there was no such thing at Hogwarts—but also because a voice echoed in his mind:
"It will take you to the person you want to see."