I sat at a magnificent oak desk, which the Room of Requirement had created specifically for my request for a comfortable reading space. Its polished surface reflected the soft light, and it was extremely pleasant to sit at tactilely. I was seated in a comfortable chair with a high back and velvet upholstery, which felt like an extension of my body. This place had become my sanctuary in recent months.
All around, shelves stretched in neat rows, filled with books. Some of the books from certain shelves were from the Restricted Section, while others were from general access. The main thing was that there was no nonsense here, like the autobiography of some Quidditch celebrity or a philosophical treatise on magic containing less magical theory than a first-year textbook for another subject.
On the desk lay two neat stacks of papers: one already written on, the other slowly being filled by my Quick-Quotes Quill — a faithful helper in recording thoughts and ideas. It wrote letters faster than I could, and I wasn't distracted from my reading. Next to the workspace, there was a small open area where I could stretch; currently, various objects of different weights lay there for telekinesis training, and one target, just in case. Of course, this wasn't my main training room, but I had left the option to throw something or test a newly learned spell.
For training, I had a more extensive hall with dozens of targets, dummies, equipment, and a bunch of other things.
But right now was not the time for training. My attention belonged entirely to the book in my hands with the catchy title "The Astonishing Ritual of Becoming an Animagus." I slowly turned the pages, immersing myself in the complex world of Metamorphmagic.
Actually, this was already the third book on the topic and the last in the entire Hogwarts library — at least among those where the entire book, or almost all of it, was dedicated to Animagi. And there were generally few of those.
"Ah, I see…" I whispered, tracing a line with my finger.
I sat in the Room of Requirement, mentally reviewing everything I had managed to study over the last few months. Stacks of books on Transfiguration and information on Metamorphmagic lay before me, their bindings gleaming. After a deep dive into the topic of Animagi, I was finally beginning to understand the full complexity of this art, which was not simply the result of a ritual.
Becoming an Animagus was far from just learning a spell and performing a ritual. It was a long path of self-discovery and mastery. That very ritual of becoming an Animagus, which I initially considered key, turned out to be only the possible first step — an opportunity to discover one's primary animal, that is, the animal form closest to one's essence, which would easily transform into that creature. In fact, depending on the period of life, this form could vary, but you gained the ability to transform only into the one whose likeness you revealed through the ritual.
But true Animagus abilities, as I understood, were much more complex. It was a subfield of higher Transfiguration — Metamorphmagic, accessible only to the most gifted wizards pursuing the path of Transfiguration, or those who simply didn't spare years of training for it. And although by law, both were supposed to register as Animagi, Professor McGonagall, for example — she wasn't just a person who could turn into a cat. She was a master capable of taking many forms, though preferring her primary, most natural one.
True Animagi, who weren't limited by the ritual or didn't perform it at all and achieved their primary Animagus form independently, were rare.
That is, if even some schoolchildren like the Marauders could perform the ritual (though it was unlikely to succeed), a true Animagus could only become someone who dedicated a huge amount of time to it and had talent or a predisposition for it.
I was particularly interested in the part about the primary form. Apparently, for McGonagall, it really was a cat — the form in which she felt most comfortable. But as a master of Animagus abilities, she could probably become other animals too, she just didn't demonstrate it. How could I find out my own animal… maybe learn the Patronus Charm?
The more I read, the clearer I understood that becoming a true Animagus was incredibly difficult. Even masters of Transfiguration didn't always dare to study this subfield, and many didn't even perform the ritual, seeing no practical sense in it. After all, it required not only mastering the most complex magic but also deeply understanding one's own nature, being able to merge with an animal essence without losing human consciousness. In short, it was difficult, and as a result, you couldn't even cast spells properly in that form… although… that wasn't exactly confirmed.
I set aside the last book and pondered. Initially, I just wanted to understand all the intricacies and perform this ritual. The ritual itself, though called the Ritual of Becoming an Animagus, its creator named it quite differently: the Ritual of Attaining Animagus Form.
And this name reflected the entire essence of the ritual. Of course, I wouldn't become an Animagus now, but trying to at least attain my primary Animagus form was worth it. At the very least, I would gain the ability not to go insane in Azkaban if I were ever imprisoned. Not to mention the possibility of getting a flying primary beast — then I would no longer fear falling off a broom. But that wasn't the only benefit of discovering my inner beast.
An Animagus form opened many possibilities for spying, ambushes, escape, concealment — as, for example, Peter Pettigrew hid in the guise of a rat. I knew this for sure thanks to the Map, and now I was racking my brains over what to do with him.
So, this was a useful and relatively easy way to gain all these advantages. And although the ritual wasn't complex from a layman's perspective, it was extremely tedious, lengthy, and inconvenient. So, I planned to tackle this either in the summer or in the next academic year. As for becoming a full-fledged Animagus… I'd think about that when I at least attained my Animagus form and re-read these books again.
I leaned back in my chair, thinking: How wonderful that I have a place where I can come and simply enjoy the silence, read or train whenever I wish, and no one can even enter. True, there was one nuance: the Room of Requirement didn't open any passages or portals to other places, and its location was static. So, many things differed from my "meta-knowledge," but one should never forget that the knowledge in my head was only from a children's story.
I suppose I used the Room of Requirement well, but the only thing I needed to do and hadn't done was to find Ravenclaw's Diadem and rummage through the things in the Room of Hidden Things. But for now, I wasn't sure what to do with the diadem. And among that junk, there definitely were many useful things. Another point: you could leave something in the Room of Requirement and retrieve it later, but things the Room itself created — no.
This was logical, considering that in most cases, the Room of Requirement made copies of objects and places, and what it couldn't find, it transformed from the requester's mind — which was difficult for me, as we shouldn't forget about mind protection. As for mentally opening the door, it should be understood: thoughts that I literally emit into the surrounding environment without protection are easily picked up by the Room of Requirement. And I was "thinking loudly" when I wandered in search.
That is, it's as if I send a signal that gets intercepted. Although the data from the place where these signals originate are protected.
Despite the Room of Requirement not breaking every conceivable and inconceivable magical and physical law, it was still a true marvel. I could literally, before entering, wish for any kind of help, and the school would do everything possible, based on things within the school, to satisfy the request.
It was also interesting that in the case of the same request repeated but by a different person, the same room was created. I was just curious: what would happen if someone tried to enter? Would the Room of Requirement let someone in while I was here, and if it did, and that person wanted the same place?
In general, there were many questions that couldn't be answered without external help, but I'd manage without that information. Thanks to the new hall, access to all books from the library, and many other possibilities of the Room of Requirement, I had significantly accelerated my progress in magical development and brain development.
The Hogwarts library, by the way, was truly extensive, and although 90% of all books were repetitions or outright garbage, even the remaining 10% were enough for me to extract everything I needed.
Many, by the way, were worried about exams, but I passed them perfectly — honestly, I had long outgrown the second-year level and was confident I could pass the third-year theory with an "Outstanding." Practical exams unlikely — there were specific spells and checks, but I'd have passed those too, though not with an "Outstanding."
In short, the exams caused no problems, unlike Flint, who barely scraped through the year. I should tutor him or do something about his motivation to study.
A perfect pawn — I'd like to mold something out of him, but I'm not sure yet.
Much had changed since finding the Room of Requirement, including managing to soften the situation with Amanda a bit even before the exams, simply by having a serious talk about grievances and problems. She seemed to understand, and although the previous relationship wasn't back yet, things were improving. And that's good, because if my plan doesn't work, I'll have to agree to let other people choose my fate and my other half, and I'm a whole person!
Pride, it seems, isn't such a great trait. If they had consulted me, I would have accepted a marriage of convenience without scandal. After all, I understand what my payment is for all the acquired luxury and power, but Father decided to act differently.
Anyway, Amanda was smart, so I could see her by my side. And although, apart from sympathy, I didn't feel anything more for her, some didn't even have that — like Sophia Selwyn, who, out of desperation, resorted to all measures, and I helped her with that. In the end, only Answorth remained the loser, who, let's be honest, didn't deserve everything he got. But I don't care… his future doesn't concern me, so I spit on the moral side of my actions.
By the way, Answorth became quieter than water, lower than grass, and tried not even to meet my eyes. He always walked to his own beat, with his head down. And by his appearance, it was noticeable how much weight he had lost over the year, and life had worn him down… and thin, almost invisible lines of scars could still be discerned.
And yet, I'm amazed at Madam Pomfrey's abilities and magical medicine in general. If he had been treated as a Muggle, the scars on his face would have been much worse and permanent, but here, they almost disappeared.
It's good that we dealt with the unpleasant prefects. As for the pleasant ones — we received help from our prefects in convincing other upperclassmen of the legitimacy of our interactions (recruitment), first-years, and in general, both prefects turned a blind eye to my obvious violations of written and unwritten rules and even helped in conflict situations.
Regarding other prefects… Well, Weasley as the Gryffindor prefect, though he didn't adore our house, at least didn't insult other houses and didn't interfere with younger Slytherin students, unlike Farmus. I'd even say he was a good and responsible prefect.
For some reason, the associative chain soon led me to the Hufflepuff prefect, Nymphadora Tonks, who, after the winter gift, at least stopped avoiding me. But I didn't immediately bring up the sore topic, understanding that the simple word "cousin" had scared the girl so much.
And one could even understand why. Most likely, she grew up absorbing what her mother went through when she followed her heart. And such an attitude towards the son of the one who abandoned her own sister and hadn't even been interested in her life for so many years… Well, yes, I acted foolishly then, but I was counting on her cheerful and lively character.
Now, fortunately, I managed to re-establish contact with her. We often talked in the Dueling Club and greeted each other when we met at school. But I wasn't in a hurry to bring up the topic of the Blacks. And with these exams, I even forgot about it. I think by the third year, it will already be possible to talk about this painful topic for her. Or maybe I'll just drop it with the girl.
And I'm afraid to stutter to Mother about the possibility of visiting their family and mending relations. If even the perpetually cheerful Tonks, daughter of Andromeda Black, reacted so strongly to all this, then what about Andromeda herself… Scary, very scary.
Alright, I don't want to think about it too much. I'm getting distracted; better to enjoy the silence and books. Honestly, today I spent most of my time in the Room of Requirement — I really liked sitting alone like this, and with access to books. All that was missing was tea, but by next year, I'll carry everything I need in my satchel so that tea is at hand, since the room can't create food or water.
I didn't want to leave this marvel for two months, but tomorrow I'd have to. I hope this year Father also hires some dueling tutor or at least an experienced former Auror, as I appreciated how valuable a professional's help was. But my mother's recent letters troubled me; she somehow left strange thoughts in them often. And my intuition senses — something at home will disappoint me. I hope it's nothing critical, as I invited Cassius, Blackwell, and Marcus to stay with me for a week in early August.
The next morning, we stood waiting for the main crowd of children to board the train so we could enter without the crush. At the same time, I considered that compartments might get taken, so I specifically sent two guys to secure two compartments: one for them, another for the Council members.
By the way, I was thinking of expanding the Council, adding Selwyn from the third year. But although he was one of the leaders of his year in Slytherin, it wasn't enough. And the third-years themselves definitely wouldn't blindly obey like our guys and the first-years. And I needed everyone to obey me. A player must be able to move any piece. Otherwise, what's the point of a pawn that might not even be your piece if you can't move it?
In short, for now, I'm hesitant to add anyone older to my Council. As for younger ones… we could think about it, but not even next year, but rather by their third year. With such a head start, we'd definitely understand a person's reliability and abilities in the long run. And then we could take the best, or the best ones, into the Council. But that's still very far off.
Ultimately, it should become a secret society that controls the entire house. And if it controls the entire house, then other, divided houses won't be able to do anything if it doesn't fit the Council's plan. But again — that's ideal, if everything works out as in my original idea.
Only, I need all this far beyond just school intrigues. This way, I'll gain unspoken power over others — the smartest and most cunning "snakes" from childhood. But there was an understanding that mere respect and fear of my figure wouldn't be enough for the younger ones.
And then I realized that I needed to create some kind of code or oath that everyone would learn before receiving, say, tie-pins or even becoming a Council member. In general, I needed to think very carefully about how to make everything concentrate on my person and the Council. That is, to bind them so that even in adult life, I could gather everyone, and they would obey me across generations.
Yes, not an easy task, but in potential, it's genius. I'll put all my effort into achieving such power, and then I'll have an extremely reliable foundation based not purely on fear but on a combination of respect, trust, and fear. It only remained to decide how much to let the current Council in on this plan.
I'll spend the summer thinking about all this. For now, we could head to the "reserved compartment," which we did. And after — as per tradition: lock the door, cast a dome of silence until the noise subsided.
And in such a wonderful mood, I headed home. Only two unresolved questions plagued me: first — why they hired a private detective as a professor, and second — why the Bloody Baron, who was well-disposed towards me, didn't want to talk about Peeves.