In the Great Hall, magically conjured snow drifted down onto the Christmas trees.
Beneath the ceiling where a few cottony white clouds floated, colorful ribbons hung high overhead.
Sean passed by the fireplace in the Great Hall and headed for the eighth floor, where the Room of Requirement was said to be.
At the four House tables, conversation rolled on without end.
Justin was quietly reading The American Wizard Weekly. Beside him, Harry and Ron were sighing nonstop.
They were holding a newspaper too—The Daily Prophet, published in London.
It read:
[Arthur Weasley, Head of the Ministry's Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was fined fifty Galleons today for bewitching a Muggle automobile.
The enchanted car was discovered earlier this year after it flew away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A school governor, Mr. Lucius Malfoy, has recently demanded Mr. Weasley's resignation.
"Weasley has disgraced the Ministry," Malfoy told this reporter. "He is clearly unfit to help draft our laws, and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be repealed immediately."
Mr. Weasley declined to comment, but his wife told reporters to leave—or she would let their family ghoul out to bite them.]
"Honestly, a ghoul would do that," Ron said with a strained grin.
"I'm really sorry," Harry said, as if something were stuck in his throat; his voice came out rough.
Off to the side of the Great Hall, where there were fewer people, Sean paused for a few seconds—because he saw Malfoy walking toward Harry and the others.
And the group walking together would block Sean's path.
"Arthur Weasley likes Muggles too much," Malfoy said scornfully to Pansy beside him. "Look at the way the Weasleys act—does it really look like they're pure-blood wizards?
"Of course, my father always says making Dumbledore Headmaster was the worst luck this school ever had.
"He likes Muggles. A respectable Headmaster would never have let an idiot like Creevey into the school."
Malfoy pretended to lift an imaginary camera and began taking pictures, mimicking Colin in a viciously accurate voice: "Potter, can I take a photo of you? Potter, can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes? Please, Potter."
He lowered his hands and stared at Harry and Ron as if surprised.
Harry and Ron immediately stood up.
Justin frowned, set down The American Wizard Weekly, and stepped halfway out between Harry and Ron.
Neville pressed close behind him, his wand at his waist practically twitching to be drawn.
With Hermione shaking with anger as well, the kids on this side didn't look any less imposing than Malfoy's group.
"Hah—" Malfoy feigned calm. He'd only noticed Harry—he hadn't actually realized the other side had everyone present and accounted for. "Saint Potter won't understand: some people are simply stupid… and some people are born nobles—destined for greatness."
With that, he took his people and walked away.
"He's like a mosquito!" Hermione snapped. "Immature and stupid!"
"If we beat him up, what do you think he'd say—'I'm telling my father!'—and he'd expel you all—" Ron started theatrically mimicking.
Then Ron suddenly shouted, "But I swear Hogwarts would expel a hundred Malfoys before it expelled us—because we've got Sean!"
Ron's sudden shout confused the others.
"Ron, you didn't have to yell that loud…" Harry whispered.
Hermione and Justin had already turned sharply to look behind them.
There was… seemingly nothing there.
Ron rubbed his eyes hard, half-convinced he'd imagined it.
Eighth floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls.
Sean's figure slowly appeared at the far end of the corridor. With a tap of his wand, it was as if an invisibility cloak slid off him.
He looked at the wall. There, Barnabas was still trying to teach the trolls ballet, while the trolls "taught" him with their clubs.
After a long moment, one of the moth-eaten trolls finally stopped beating the ballet instructor and turned to stare at Sean.
It burbled something unintelligible.
This was Sean's second time walking past the blank wall. As he was about to pass it a third time, the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy was suddenly obscured, and an owl oil painting appeared in front of it.
"Mr. Owl."
Sean stared at it.
"Clever little wizard, clever little wizard," Mr. Owl repeated, claws gripping parchment tightly as his gold-rimmed pince-nez threatened to slide off again.
"Why did you cast a Confundus Charm?" Sean asked softly, clearing his mind and reinforcing his defenses.
If the owl portrait tried anything else, Sean's Transfiguration would be faster than Confundus by more than a step.
But Sean suspected it wouldn't come to that. The portrait had used Confundus, not Legilimency. His memories hadn't been invaded—he'd simply forgotten Ravenclaw's diadem.
And that was exactly why Sean had never noticed.
"Annoying Occlumency—annoying! Annoying!" Mr. Owl spat out "annoying" several times before slumping and glaring at Sean.
"Mr. Owl?" Sean tilted his head slightly.
"A wrong room—one with nothing to do with wisdom! A room for piling junk! A room that's just a rest stop for house-elves—how could a wizard ever go there?!"
Mr. Owl chattered furiously, his white-feathered chest thrust high. "Little wizard—clever little wizard—Ravenclaw chosen by Gryffindor's hat after ten centuries!
"When you discover the secret of Ravenclaw's room, you'll truly witness Ravenclaw's wisdom—an eagle soaring the distant skies, unbound by any petty clutter."
From Mr. Owl's words, Sean pieced it all together.
So the Room of Requirement was only a transitional product of Ravenclaw's creation—while the Hope Nook might be the Room of Requirement's final form.
After all, the Room of Requirement couldn't identify wizards, but the Hope Nook could.
The Room of Requirement couldn't connect to the Floo Network, but the Hope Nook could—
So had they really been sitting on a mountain of gold without realizing it?
"The Hope Nook—of course. You have the right to name it, but only when you truly understand knowledge will wisdom belong to you.
"Clever little wizard, clever Ravenclaw—mediocrity is a choice.
"Human emotion, rising at random, is a choice.
"But a true wizard chooses the harder road."
Mr. Owl's wings trembled as he spoke.
~~~
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