Chapter 375: The Room of Ravenclaw
In the Great Hall, enchanted snow fell softly onto the towering Christmas trees. Beneath the vaulted ceiling, where a few cottony white clouds drifted aimlessly, multi-colored silk ribbons were draped in festive loops.
Sean walked past the Great Hall's roaring fireplace, heading toward the eighth floor where the Room of Requirement lay hidden.
At the four long House tables, the hum of conversation was constant. Justin was quietly reading a copy of The American Arcane Weekly, while beside him, Harry and Ron were sighing in unison. They were clutching a copy of the morning's Daily Prophet.
The headline was grim:
INQUIRY INTO MINISTRY OFFICIAL
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, was fined fifty Galleons today for bewitching a Muggle automobile.
The enchanted vehicle was discovered earlier this year when it was seen flying over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of the school, has recently called for Mr. Weasley's resignation.
"Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Malfoy told our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draft our laws, and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."
Mr. Weasley offered no comment, though his wife instructed our reporter to leave their property lest she set the family ghoul on them.
"Well, the ghoul would certainly do it," Ron said with a weak, forced laugh.
"I'm so sorry, Ron," Harry said, his voice thick with guilt.
At the edge of the hall, in a relatively deserted corner, Sean paused for a few seconds. He had spotted Draco Malfoy swaggering toward Harry's group.
"Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much, they ought to snap his wand in half and make him live like one," Malfoy sneered to Pansy Parkinson as he passed. "Looking at the way that family behaves, you'd never guess they were Pure-bloods. Of course, my father always says having Dumbledore as Headmaster is the worst luck this school ever had. He's a Muggle-lover. A respectable Headmaster would never have let a dunderhead like Creevey into the school."
Malfoy raised an imaginary camera, performing a cruel yet vivid imitation of Colin: "Potter, can I take your picture? Potter, can I have your autograph? Can I lick your boots? Please, Potter, please!"
He dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron with an expression of mock surprise.
Harry and Ron stood up instantly, their faces set in grim lines. Justin frowned, slowly setting aside his magazine to stand between them. Neville pressed in close to Justin, his hand already gripping the wand at his waist.
With a trembling, furious Hermione added to the mix, the group presented a much more formidable front than Malfoy had anticipated.
"Hmph," Malfoy grunted, trying to maintain his poise. He had only noticed Harry at first and hadn't realized the boy's entire circle was present. "Saint Potter... he doesn't understand. Some people are simply born foolish, while others are destined for greatness by right of blood."
With a final sneer, he turned and led his gang away.
"He's like a mosquito! Juvenile and utterly pathetic!" Hermione spat.
"If we ever gave him the thrashing he deserves, you know what he'd say..." Ron began, adopting a high-pitched, whiny drawl. "'I'm telling my father—he'll have you all expelled!'"
Ron let out a bark of laughter. "But I bet Hogwarts could expel a hundred Malfoys before they'd touch us. Not while we have—SEAN!"
Ron's sudden, booming shout drew startled looks from the surrounding tables.
"Ron, keep it down, will you?" Harry whispered.
Hermione and Justin, however, had both whipped their heads around to look behind them. There was nothing there but the empty air of the corridor.
Ron rubbed his eyes vigorously, wondering if the stress of the news report was making him see things—or rather, not see things.
The Eighth Floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnaby the Barmy.
Sean's silhouette slowly materialized at the end of the corridor. He gave his wand a tap, and the shimmer of a Disillusionment Charm bled away from his robes.
He looked at the wall. There, Barnaby the Barmy was still attempting to teach a group of trolls to dance the ballet, while the trolls continued to rhythmically club him into the floor. After a moment, a moth-eaten troll stopped mid-swing and turned its painted head to stare at Sean.
Sean had already walked past this stretch of wall twice. Just as he prepared for his third pass, a large oil painting manifested directly over the tapestry.
"Mr. Owl," Sean said, fixing the portrait with a steady look.
"Clever little wizard. Very clever little wizard," the Owl Gentleman muttered. He clutched his roll of parchment tightly, his gold-rimmed pince-nez sliding dangerously low on his beak.
"Why the Confundus Charm?" Sean asked. He had already emptied his mind, building a rock-solid wall of Occlumency.
If the portrait tried anything else, Sean's Transfiguration would be faster than any mental hex. However, he suspected it wouldn't come to that. The Owl had used a Confundus Charm, not Legilimency. His memories hadn't been invaded; he had simply been "nudged" into forgetting the existence of the Diadem. It was a subtle, elegant bit of misdirection.
"Vexing Occlumency! Vexing! Vexing!" the Owl grumbled, repeating the word as he stared down at Sean.
"Mr. Owl?" Sean prompted, tilting his head.
"A room of errors! A room that has nothing to do with true intellect! A room filled with the junk and clutter of centuries!" the owl chirped, his white-feathered chest puffing out. "It is a room for house-elves to nap in—why would a wizard ever set foot there?!"
"Young wizard, clever wizard... the first Ravenclaw the Sorting Hat has seen fit to choose in ten centuries...
"When you discover the true secret of the Room of Ravenclaw, you will see what her wisdom truly looks like. An eagle soaring in the high heavens has no need for the weights of the mundane world."
From the portrait's rambling, Sean's thoughts finally fell into place.
The Room of Requirement was merely a prototype—a utility space. The room they called the Room of Hope was the final, perfected form of Rowena Ravenclaw's spatial magic.
It explained everything. The Room of Requirement couldn't distinguish between a master and a student, but the Room of Hope recognized Sean. The Room of Requirement couldn't connect to the Floo network, but the Room of Hope could...
Have we been sitting on a gold mine this whole time without realizing it? Sean wondered.
"The 'Room of Hope'—you have the right to name it, of course," the Owl said, ruffling his feathers. "But wisdom only belongs to those who truly understand the knowledge they seek.
"Clever wizard, clever Ravenclaw... living a mediocre life is a choice. Giving in to every human emotion is a choice. But the true wizards? They are the ones who choose the harder path."
[End of Chapter 375]
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