Chapter 26
Chapter 26
A great man once said that practice was the sole criterion by which magic could be tested.
“Casting spells in the corridors is forbidden!”
Filch’s aged face was utterly severe. A cat with dishevelled fur sat beside his feet.
“But, Mr. Caretaker, we’re inside a classroom,” the girl said quietly. “We haven’t broken any school rules.”
“You still can’t do it!” Filch shouted.
Training dummies lay in a disorderly heap inside an empty classroom on the second floor.
Hands on his hips, Filch glowered at the two young wizards before him.
“Mr. Filch, we have written authorisation from Professor McGonagall.” One of the boys calmly put away his wand and took a small square note from his pocket.
Filch accepted it with a suspicious expression, but Professor McGonagall’s bold, sweeping signature could not be faked.
As the lifelong caretaker of Hogwarts Castle, a man who had watched generation after generation of students come and go, Filch naturally knew every professor’s signature by heart.
Except, of course, that of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, who changed every year.
Filch examined the note repeatedly. He even scratched at the signature with a slightly grubby finger. There had been a similar incident two years ago–
Filch regarded it as a lifelong humiliation, a stain upon his professional career.
He had caught those damned Weasley twins from Gryffindor wandering the castle at night in their first year. The twins produced a note bearing a professor’s signature, proving that they were out after curfew to assist with magical research.
Filch had thought first-years unlikely to lie.
The truth had proved him painfully naïve. In hindsight, the twins’ story had been riddled with holes. When Filch eventually questioned the professor involved, the man’s blank expression told him everything.
The two students cornered in the classroom now were naturally Suer and Hermione.
Their note, however, was entirely genuine.
“I will confirm this with Professor McGonagall.” Filch failed to scratch away even a trace of the writing.
He delivered this cold parting threat, then left the classroom with his cat.
After a while, Suer and Hermione departed as well.
“I wish there were somewhere we could practise magic without anyone interrupting us,” Hermione said before she and Suer parted at the stairs.
Her words stirred something in Suer. A sleeping memory suddenly rose up and attacked him.
Hogwarts Castle did possess such a place, didn’t it? A mysterious room capable of assuming countless forms. Whenever a young wizard had a need, the room would answer it.
It was somewhere on the eighth floor, perhaps?
He could go exploring tomorrow, when he had no classes.
The following day, after Herbology, Suer wandered up to the eighth floor. All he remembered was that the room lay near a picture of a troll holding a club. How one entered it would require some investigation.
The corridors on the eighth floor were enormous. Suer searched half of them without finding the image that marked the entrance to the Room of Requirement.
The search took time, and evening began to fall. He had no choice but to abandon it and head down to the Great Hall for dinner. If he arrived late, he would be left with nothing but bread, and that was unacceptable.
Finding the Room of Requirement was not urgent. He could search the other half of the corridor tomorrow.
Lost in thought, Suer failed to notice the person coming down the stairs in the opposite direction.
“Oh! A-are… are you all r-right?”
“I’m fine, Professor Quirrell.” Suer brushed the dust from his robes and quickly climbed to his feet.
Quirinus Quirrell.
No, he had already taken on Tom’s shape. Strictly speaking, he ought to be called Voldemort Quirinus Quirrell.
With a kindly expression, Quirrell asked what had brought Suer up here. Curiosity and suspicion flickered in his eyes. Under normal circumstances, young students did not visit the castle’s upper floors.
“I had no lessons this afternoon, so I thought I would look around the castle.” Suer lowered his head, avoiding Quirrell’s eyes.
If he remembered correctly, Voldemort was one of the most accomplished practitioners of Legilimency in the original story. The best defence against that sort of magic was to avoid eye contact.
“Oh?” Quirrell looked at the bowed head and Hufflepuff robes before him, and some of the doubt faded from his eyes.
“Y-yes… Hogwarts C-Castle is a… a most w-wonderful place. When I was y-young, I… I did the very same th-thing.”
Quirrell stammered through a few more pleasantries, asked Suer about his studies, then allowed him to leave.
Their conversation was a perfect display of harmonious relations between teacher and student.
Quirrell did not notice Suer look back after descending several flights of stairs.
Was Voldemort going to the Room of Requirement?
What did he intend to do there?
Still puzzled, Suer returned to the Great Hall.
If that was the case, he would have to be more careful in his search. Running into Quirrell once or twice could be dismissed as coincidence. Do it too often and Voldemort would inevitably become suspicious. That would be disastrous.
If Voldemort could possess an adult wizard, taking over a young one would be even easier. For the sake of Suer’s life and future happiness, caution came first.
He soon decided to make one more attempt tomorrow, then cheerfully picked up his silver knife. Dinner tonight was charcoal-grilled steak. If he ate quickly enough, he might even secure a second serving.
That evening, the hopeless chess player Morn began another passionate game of wizard chess against the equally hopeless Justin. Suer sat nearby, engrossed in An Introduction to Transfiguration.
Even among terrible players, there were differences in ability. Having grown up in a wizarding family, Morn was clearly a cut above Justin.
But there were exceptions to everything.
“You lost!” Justin shrieked, leaping from his seat with a triumphant look.
Suer glanced over. Several pieces lay fallen beside the board, while a black knight brandished its sword and drove the white king from his throne. The white pieces eliminated earlier were berating Morn from the sidelines.
Morn conceded in despair. Under their agreement, the loser had to fetch a late-night snack from the Hogwarts kitchens.
“Bring me something too, please!” Suer called cheerfully after Morn’s dejected back.
Without turning around, Morn lifted a hand in acknowledgement.
“What are you reading?” Justin, still flushed from victory, crowded beside Suer. “An Introduction to Transfiguration?”
Justin recognised every word on the page. Why, then, did they become a completely unknown language when placed together?
“It’s material from fourth-year Transfiguration.” Suer kindly answered his question and explained the concept of transformation spells.
Judging by the spirals in Justin’s eyes, he understood none of it.
“The Sorting Hat must have made a mistake,” Justin said, staring at Suer as though he were a monster. “You belong in Ravenclaw, not Hufflepuff.”
A little while later, Morn returned to the Hufflepuff common room with an enormous pile of food in his arms.
After feasting to his heart’s content, Suer rubbed his stomach and sank happily into a bed as soft as a cloud.
He was asleep within moments.