"Merlin, would you look at all this." Ron stared at the endless sea of junk, his jaw dropping. A sudden thought struck him, and his face lit up with excitement. "There could be antiques in here from a thousand years ago."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Faced with a room this magical, and that's the first thing that comes to mind?"
Ron rubbed his cheek sheepishly, muttering, "It's a perfectly normal reaction."
Warren watched them with a smile. After giving them a moment to take it all in, he turned to Harry and asked, "Harry, do you feel anything?"
"Huh?" Harry looked up, confused. "Er, it's amazing."
"And?"
Harry frowned, puzzled. "Should I feel something else?"
Ron and Hermione also turned to Warren curiously.
"Nothing. I was just wondering." Warren waved it off. "Feel free to look around. Maybe you'll find a thousand-year-old antique, just like Ron said."
Ron eagerly dragged Harry away to explore. Hermione gravitated toward a pile of glittering objects to investigate.
As he watched them disappear into the maze, Warren's expression grew serious. He narrowed his eyes. It seemed the attraction and resonance between Horcruxes was not automatic from the beginning.
He had found the Room of Requirement in his third week at Hogwarts. It was not because he desperately needed a private sanctuary, but because he knew a treasure lay hidden within the Room of Hidden Things. That treasure was Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem. Legend held that this alchemical artifact granted wisdom to whoever wore it.
Warren was not entirely sure what form that wisdom took. However, there was no doubt that as an object once worn by one of the Four Founders, it housed the most mysterious and advanced magic of ancient alchemy. Worse still, Voldemort had turned it into a Horcrux.
Warren's expression turned icy at the mere thought of the noseless Dark Lord. Not for a single moment had he considered kneeling before Voldemort or kissing the hem of his robes. Voldemort was utterly unhinged, having fractured his soul so many times. He was not someone to be followed, nor was he worth allying with. Yet, there was no denying that Voldemort was an immensely powerful wizard.
In his past life, some fans had argued that Voldemort was overrated, noting that he could not even defeat an elderly wizard like Dumbledore. They conveniently ignored that Dumbledore wielded the Elder Wand and was a master of Transfiguration. As events proved, the Killing Curse was not invincible. It could be blocked. Transfigured objects could be briefly animated to take the killing blow in the wizard's stead. Voldemort, having devoted his existence to the Unforgivable Curses, had essentially met his match in Dumbledore. And yet, Dumbledore had never truly defeated him.
I need time to grow. I also need to weaken Tom. At the very least, I need to ensure he remains dormant for the next few years, just as he did in the original story.
Warren twirled his wand between his fingers, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the piles of junk. He had no intention of destroying the Horcrux himself. However, nothing was stopping him from finding it and handing it over to Dumbledore. The old man had always been puzzled by Voldemort's immortality. Warren would simply be helping him out. Hopefully Dumbledore would be grateful.
Warren had been planning to leverage Harry's sensitivity to Horcruxes to track down the Diadem, but that approach was not yielding results yet. He would have to resort to the tedious method of manually searching through the cluttered space instead.
The trio found the Room of Requirement thrilling and intended to spend several days exploring it.
The very next day, news that Harry had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team spread through Hogwarts like wildfire. Wood, the team captain, was furious. He had specifically instructed the team to keep it quiet, planning to use Harry as a secret weapon, but Harry had immediately told his friends. To make matters worse, Fred and George spent the day bouncing around telling everyone they met, "Harry is our Seeker. The House Cup is ours this year for sure."
That night, Wood sat glumly on the Quidditch pitch, contemplating the fate of a team with so many loose lips.
Harry was miserable too. He had forgotten that his detention with Malfoy was set to last a whole week. In comparison, polishing trophies in the Trophy Room had been a holiday. He now had to help Professor Snape prepare ingredients, which meant the trio's plans to explore the Room of Requirement had to be postponed.
After two more days of fruitless searching, Warren returned to Professor Snape's office that weekend.
The moment he stepped through the door, Snape's sharp, biting voice cut through the air. "Tsk, tsk, Potter. I would love to crack open your skull and see if it is filled with slug slime, clogging up your thick, stupid brain."
Malfoy lurked in the background, barely containing his snickering.
At the sound of the door, Snape drew back. His face had been mere inches from Harry's. His gaze flicked to Warren, and he produced a slip of parchment from a drawer before extending it toward him. Speaking with characteristic economy, he said, "The books are in the library. Here is the authorization. Read them yourself first."
"Thank you, Professor."
Warren thanked him and glanced at Harry, who stared back with a pleading, shell-shocked expression. Warren shrugged helplessly. "That's the professor's love for you, Harry. What can you do?"
At the library, Warren handed the slip to Madam Pince. Madam Pince was the third most terrifying person at Hogwarts. Anyone who dared to make a noise in her library would feel her wrath and be chased out in disgrace.
She looked at the slip with hawk-like eyes, then at Warren. "The Restricted Section? Why would Professor Snape write such an absurd authorization? Those books aren't for first years."
"Professor Snape believes I am qualified, Madam Pince," Warren said with a smile.
Hmph. Madam Pince snorted, sounding like an angry bull, but she did not argue further. "Follow me. And be quiet."
She guided Warren to the Restricted Section at the back of the library. She undid the magical barrier, left Warren outside, and hurried in. She emerged carrying several books. "Advanced Potion-Making, Moste Potente Potions, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7, and this one. A Beginner's Guide to the Dark Arts. These are the books Professor Snape has authorized you to borrow."
"Thank you, Madam Pince."
Madam Pince gave him another long, hard look. "The contents of these books are dangerous. If you run into any trouble, any at all, come to Professor Snape or me immediately. Do you understand?"
Warren promised he would, and she allowed him to leave.
Fred was waiting outside the Gryffindor common room with a mischievous grin, watching the door like a cat stalking a mouse. The moment Warren stepped through the portrait hole, Fred pounced.
"Warren! My favorite little entrepreneur!" Fred threw an arm around Warren's shoulders and steered him toward the Tower staircase. "Tell me honestly, how are your finances? Still have some funds squirreled away?"
Warren's eyebrows rose. "I still have about twelve Galleons left. But that money is reserved for emergency supplies."
"Twelve Galleons?" Fred's eyes practically sparkled. "That's more than enough! Trust me, we're talking about an investment that costs almost nothing but pays dividends forever."
"And what exactly is this miraculous investment?"
Fred pulled something from his robes: a small, plain cardboard box. There was no label or writing on it whatsoever.
Warren took the box and examined it carefully. The cardboard was rough and unmarked, the kind you'd find holding cheap biscuits or buttons from a market stall. Inside, wrapped in wax paper, lay a single pale green sweet.
"This," Fred announced with theatrical grandeur, "is the Fast-Acting Skip-Class."
Warren stared at the unremarkable candy in his palm. "Skip-Class Sweets already exist. I've seen them in your shop."
"Ah, but this is different!" Fred shook his head vigorously. "This is version 2.0! The original Skip-Class Sweets take fifteen minutes to kick in, and they're detectable if you're searched. But this beauty?" He tapped the box. "Acts in thirty seconds. No symptoms. No trace. The professors think you've simply lost interest and send you straight to the hospital wing for a boredom check. By the time they realize nothing's actually wrong, you've already enjoyed a lovely stroll through the castle."
Warren considered this. "What's the catch?"
"The catch," Fred admitted, "is that you need to eat it in advance. You can't just pop one when you're already in class. But honestly, who's going to notice a student casually stepping out for a breath of air?"
"And you're certain it's safe?"
"George and I tested it on ourselves seventeen times. Eighteen, actually, but the eighteenth was partially my fault for eating four at once." Fred paused. "I was having a rough day."
Warren turned the candy over in his fingers, watching the pale green surface catch the torchlight. It looked almost appetizing in a plain, ordinary sort of way.
"If you had just eaten one at a time like a normal person..."
"Where's the scientific rigor in that?" Fred demanded. "We needed to establish the upper limit! Besides, I only vomited for an hour. Small price for progress."
Warren couldn't help but laugh. The twins' approach to product development was unconventional at best, but their results spoke for themselves. He tucked the box into his robe pocket.
"Alright, I'll take a box. How much?"
Fred named a price that made Warren's wallet weep.
"That's robbery."
"That's entrepreneurship, my friend. You're welcome."
Warren handed over eleven of his twelve remaining Galleons. The last one wouldn't buy much anyway, and he had a feeling these candies would prove their worth many times over.
As Fred disappeared down the corridor with Warren's gold jingling in his pockets, Warren examined his purchase more closely. The cardboard box had a slight chemical smell, like cheap soap mixed with something faintly sweet. The candy inside was firm but not hard, and when he brought it close to his nose, there was a subtle minty undertone.
He pocketed the box carefully, resolving to try one tomorrow. Perhaps in Defense Against the Dark Arts, during Quirrell's lectures on the history of dueling. Those never failed to make him drowsy.
But for now, there were stairs to climb and a dormitory waiting. Tomorrow would bring new opportunities for skipped classes and strategic absences.
Somewhere in the depths of the castle, Quirrell's TMJ condition was acting up again, his jaw clicking audibly as he prepared tomorrow's lecture notes. He made a mental note to visit the Hospital Wing for another pain relief potion. Madam Pomfrey's concoctions always did the trick, though the taste left something to be desired.
The halls of Hogwarts were quiet at this hour, populated only by the occasional portrait yawning in its frame and the distant sound of Peeves rattling chains somewhere in the upper floors. Warren climbed the last flight of stairs to the Gryffindor Tower, nodded at the Fat Lady, and slipped through into the warmth and firelight of the common room.
George was already there, bent over a cauldron near the windows. Various compounds bubbled and steamed around him, and the smell was somewhere between burnt toast and overripe fruit.
"Don't mind the mess," George said without looking up. "I'm developing something new."
Warren raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The twins' room was never anything less than chaotic, with half-finished products lining every surface and mysterious stains marking the walls. He stepped around a pile of Fanged Frisbees and made his way toward the dormitory stairs.
"Oh, Warren?" George called after him. "Fred wanted me to tell you that the Milo order came in. It's by the fire."
Sure enough, a small package sat on the mantle, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Warren retrieved it and tucked it under his arm. The familiar weight was comforting.
"Thanks, George."
"No problem. Let us know if you want to invest in anything else. We've got several projects in the pipeline."
Warren nodded and climbed the stairs to his dormitory, where he found his trunk waiting and his bed made with the precision only house-elves seemed capable of achieving. He set the Milo package on his desk, changed into his pajamas, and sat on the edge of his bed to examine the Skip-Class candy one more time.
Eleven Galleons for a box of magical sweets that could potentially revolutionize his Hogwarts experience. Expensive? Perhaps. Worth it? Only time would tell.
He placed the box in his trunk, under his spare robes where no one would think to look, and climbed under the covers. Tomorrow would be a new day, full of possibilities and chances to test his purchase.
For now, sleep beckoned, and Warren was more than ready to answer.