Jake pushed the door open, his heart thrumming with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and a profound sense of accomplishment. The heavy wooden door swung inward without a sound, revealing not a dusty, forgotten classroom, but a space that was the perfect, physical manifestation of his needs.
He stepped inside, and the door swung shut behind him with a soft, final click, the sound sealing him away from the rest of the castle, a world away from the familiar corridor and the tapestry of the dancing trolls.
The room was vast and airy, with a ceiling so high it was lost in deep shadows far above. The floor was made of polished, dark wood that seemed to absorb the light from the enchanted torches flickering in sconces along the walls, casting a steady, warm glow with no smoke or heat. The air smelled of beeswax, old stone, and a faint, clean scent of ozone, the smell of contained power.
Along the right-hand wall stood tall racks holding not swords and axes, but dozens of simple, unadorned practice wands made of plain, light-coloured wood. At the far end of the hall, standing silent and motionless, were three humanoid training dummies. They were crafted from a tough, densely woven material, their forms simple and featureless, yet they seemed to hold an air of readiness, of patient potential. It was exactly as Professor Flitwick had described. It was perfect.
He walked to the centre of the room, his footsteps echoing slightly in the vast, quiet space. A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face, the pure, unadulterated joy of a puzzle solved. This was it. A private, safe, and purpose-built environment for him to truly begin honing the art of duelling.
But as he took another slow look around, his analytical mind, now fully recovered from the initial shock, immediately began to work. This was perfect for duelling practice, yes. But it was only one piece of his carefully constructed routine. His physical conditioning still required him to brave the elements for his pre-dawn runs, and his theoretical research was still confined to whatever quiet corner he could find in the common room. This was a perfect duelling hall, but it wasn't the perfect workshop.
The thought was a spark of pure, scientific curiosity. He had summoned this room with a specific need. What if he presented the castle with a more complex, more optimised request? What were the rules? What were the limits?
He turned and left the room, pulling the door shut. As soon as it clicked, the polished wood melted back into the rough stone of the corridor wall, leaving no trace. He began to pace again, his mind now a whirlwind of possibilities. His first attempt was simple. I need a room with a duelling hall and a study.
The door reappeared. He pushed it open. The room was the same vast hall, but now, a single, lonely-looking desk and chair had been unceremoniously shoved into a corner. It was a literal, clumsy interpretation of his request. He sighed. The Room wasn't a mind reader; it was a machine that responded to specific parameters. It needed a more precise blueprint.
He exited again and refined the request, visualising not just the objects, but the space itself. I need a room with a duel hall for dynamic spell practice, a separate, adjoining space for my physical conditioning, and a quiet, private study for my research and note-taking.
The door solidified once more. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly with anticipation, and pushed it open.
The sight that met his eyes made him gasp. It was no longer just a duelling hall. It was his entire methodology made manifest, a perfect tripartite workshop that was beyond anything he could have imagined.
The duelling hall was still the central, largest area, the polished floors and waiting dummies exactly as they had been. But now, two new, grand archways stood in the left and right-hand walls.
He walked through the archway on the right first and found himself in a magically enhanced gymnasium. The floor was a springy, cushioned material. The air itself felt different here—cooler, crisper, like the pre-dawn air by the lake. The main feature was the enchanted running track that circled the room. It was made of a strange, dark material that seemed to shift and ripple. As he stepped onto it, glowing runes appeared at his feet, displaying: 5km. Terrain: Lakeside Path. Pacer: Off.
Curious, he tapped the "Pacer" rune. A ghostly, shimmering figure of himself appeared on the track ahead, running at a steady, consistent pace. It was a perfect tool for pushing his own limits.
He backed out, stunned, and crossed the duelling hall to the archway on the left. This led to a space that felt like a perfect extension of the Ravenclaw common room. It was a cosy, circular study, lined with empty but beautifully crafted mahogany bookshelves. A large, sturdy desk stood in the centre, a comfortable, high-backed armchair tucked neatly into it. A fire was already crackling merrily in a small, stone hearth, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room and giving off a faint scent of burning cedar. It was a perfect, quiet, and entirely private space for his research.
His workshop was complete. But his mind, ever pushing the boundaries, was already on his next great project: The Alchemical Advancement Project. He exited again, his request now even more complex. "I need a room with a duelling hall, a gymnasium, a study, AND a state-of-the-art but EMPTY potions laboratory."
The door solidified. He pushed it open and strode into his study. A new, third archway now stood in the far wall. He walked through it and gasped. He was standing in the most perfect potions lab he could ever have imagined.
Gleaming copper cauldrons of every size stood on reinforced stone workbenches, precise brass scales waited to be used, and the walls were lined with racks of empty, stoppered glass phials, all gleaming in the bright, clean light provided by enchanted, floating crystals. The ingredient cupboards that lined one wall were, as he had predicted, completely bare. The Room provided the tools, not the valuable, consumable ingredients. His theory was proven.
One final test. "I need all of the above, plus a greenhouse where I can grow my own ingredients."
The door appeared. He walked through the study, through the potions lab, and came to a new door at the back. He opened it and stepped into a beautiful, glass-domed conservatory. The air was warm and humid, and rows of empty pots and fertile soil waited under the magically perfect, year-round sunlight.
He had done it. He stood in the centre of his sprawling, multi-room complex, a perfect, private sanctuary that catered to every single one of his training and research needs.
And it was at that moment of ultimate triumph that the intoxicating, dangerous thought arose. I could add a bedroom. A bathroom. A passageway to the kitchens. I could live here. I would never have to leave. The temptation was immense, a siren song of perfect solitude and efficiency.
But as the thought arose, the memory of the last few weeks pushed it back down. He thought of the sheer, unadulterated joy of the Quidditch match, the roar of the crowd a physical, wonderful thing. He thought of the simple, human warmth he'd felt after seeing the look of understanding on Penelope's face when he'd helped her with her potions. He thought of his own resolution, made in the quiet of his dormitory: that true learning, true mastery, required a balance between theory and experience.
He made a conscious, strategic decision, right then and there. This room was a tool, not a home. To isolate himself, to become a hermit in this perfect, custom-made world, would be to return to the flawed, one-dimensional methodology he had just fought so hard to escape. The world outside this room, with its classes, its challenges, and its people, was just as important a training ground.
He walked into his new study and ran a hand over the smooth, cool surface of the desk. He felt a profound sense of clarity. This room was not a place to hide from the world. By consolidating his training and making his private work more efficient and effective, he found a tool that gave him back the most valuable resource of all: time.
Time to be a part of the world. Time to observe, to interact, and to continue the most important parts of his education—the parts that happened outside a training hall and couldn't be measured in a notebook.
With his new sanctuary established and its rules understood, Jake's next step was obvious. His old training plan, scribbled hastily in his notebook, was now obsolete. He needed a new one, a master plan that would incorporate all his new resources and reflect his new, more balanced philosophy.
He stood in the centre of his new study. "I need a large chalkboard and some chalk," he said to the empty room.
For a moment, nothing happened. He frowned. He had assumed the room would adapt on the fly. He tried again, focusing his intent. "I need this study to have a large chalkboard on that wall."
With a faint grinding sound, the mahogany bookshelves on the wall opposite the fireplace shimmered and retracted into the stone, which then smoothed over and darkened into a perfect, vast slate chalkboard. A small wooden ledge appeared at the bottom, holding several sticks of white chalk and a felt eraser.
Jake grinned. The Room didn't just provide; it adapted.
He picked up a piece of chalk, the cool, dusty feel of it a familiar sensation from his old life. He drew a line down the centre of the board, then divided it into sections, his mind already working, deconstructing his life into a series of logical, manageable projects. After an hour of intense, focused work, the board was complete. It was a detailed, ambitious, and, for the first time, truly balanced blueprint for his future.
THE MARATHON: A HOLISTIC TRAINING SCHEDULE
PHYSICAL FOUNDATION (4x Weekly: Mon / Tues / Thurs / Sat, 05:30 - 06:30)
Cardio: 5km run on enchanted track (Sim: Lakeside Path). Increase pacer speed by 0.1 kph weekly.
Core & Flexibility: 20 minutes of bodyweight exercises (planks, squats, lunges) and stretching. Focus on core strength for duelling stance stability.
MAGICAL CAPACITY (Mon / Wed / Fri, 16:00 - 17:00)
Protocol: Maintenance and incremental growth.
Focus Training:Wingardium Leviosa on progressively heavier objects (books, then stones). 3 sets to 80% of max capacity.
Stamina Training:Protego practice. 3 sets of sustained shields. Goal: Increase sustained time by 1 second weekly. Reduce initial cast cost.
III. APPLIED MAGIC: DUELLING (Tues / Thurs / Sat, 16:00 - 17:30)
Source Text:A Duellist's Primer
Current Focus: Stance work (Guardia Media, Guardia Alta). Practice footwork patterns on gym floor.
Dynamic Practice: Program Dummy 1 to cast slow, telegraphed Stinging Hexes. Practice simple parries. DO NOT ATTEMPT COUNTER-ATTACKS UNTIL STANCES ARE PERFECTED.
THE ALCHEMICAL ADVANCEMENT PROJECT (THE LONG GAME)Practical (Potions Class): Treat each lesson as a focused lab. This week's focus: Perfecting heat distribution for simmering.
Theoretical (Library Time): Mon/Wed evenings. Current reading: The Alchemical Properties of Common Stones. Cross-reference with Magical Drafts and Potions.
Resource Acquisition:ON HOLD. Awaiting follow-up discussion with the Headmaster. Do not proceed independently. Focus on the theoretical groundwork only.
ACADEMIC OBLIGATIONSHomework & Study: Tues/Thurs/Sun evenings in the main library or common room.Priority: Maintain "Exceeds Expectations" in all core subjects. Do not let personal projects compromise academic standing again.
RECREATION & SOCIAL INTEGRATION (MANDATORY)Objective: Actively participate in the life of the school.Activities: Attend all Quidditch matches. Spend at least two evenings a week studying with Penelope/other Ravenclaws in the common room. Explore the castle on Sundays. REMEMBER TO HAVE FUN.
He stepped back from the board, a faint coating of chalk dust on his fingers. He looked at the detailed, demanding schedule, a roadmap for his life for the foreseeable future. It was daunting. It was ambitious. But it was balanced. It was a plan that accounted not just for the wizard he wanted to become, but the person he was learning to be.
A surge of restless, excited energy coursed through him. The plan was perfect, but it was just theory. The students wouldn't return until tomorrow evening. He had one last, perfect night of solitude. There was no time like the present.
He walked out of the study, across the polished floor of the duelling hall, and picked up one of the plain, sturdy practice wands from the rack. It felt solid and real in his hand, a tool waiting for a purpose. He faced the central training dummy, his heart beating with a nervous, electric excitement. He consulted his own chalkboard for the parameters.
"Alright," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, empty hall. "Dummy One. Program: cast Stinging Hex. Interval: ten seconds. Speed: twenty per cent. Target: centre mass. Begin."
He barely had time to get into the clumsy approximation of the Guardia Media stance he'd been practicing before the dummy whirred to life. Its woven arm snapped up, the practice wand it held glowing with a faint, angry red light. A thin, visible bolt of scarlet energy shot across the room, buzzing like an insect.
Jake reacted on instinct, performing the simple parrying motion from the book. His wand met the hex. It wasn't a clean deflection. The impact was a jarring, clumsy block that sent a painful, numbing vibration all the way up to his shoulder, forcing him to stumble back a step. The hex dissipated, but his arm throbbed with the aftershock. He got back into his stance, a determined grin on his face. The pain was real. It was feedback.
The dummy's wand glowed again. Ten seconds. Another scarlet bolt. He met this one better, his parry a little smoother, the impact less jarring. He was learning. The third and fourth hexes were the same, a steady rhythm of cast and parry. He was starting to feel the flow of it, the awkward stance becoming a little more natural.
Confidence, his old enemy, began to whisper in his ear. This is too easy. You're ready for more.
"Dummy One," he called out, his voice sharp with a new command. "Decrease interval to five seconds. Increase speed to forty per cent."
The change was instantaneous and brutal. The dummy's arm snapped up, the hex flying twice as fast, twice as soon. He managed to parry it, but his form was sloppy, the impact rattling his teeth. Before he could fully recover his stance, the next hex was already coming. He blocked it, but was forced back another step. Another came, and another. He was no longer practicing; he was scrambling, his footwork a mess, his parries becoming desperate, flailing motions.
He blocked a hex aimed at his left, but it left his right side completely open. He realised his mistake a fraction of a second too late. He had left an opening, and the dummy, with its cold, magical logic, was programmed not just to fire at intervals, but to ruthlessly exploit any defensive gap. It didn't wait the full five seconds. It fired again instantly.
He tried to bring his wand back across his body, but he was far too slow.
The bolt of scarlet light slammed into his ribs.
The impact was a sharp, numbing jolt, like being struck by a dozen angry wasps all at once. It wasn't an agony that threatened to tear him apart, but a deep, shocking sting that stole the air from his lungs and sent a wave of pins and needles across his entire side. His muscles seized, and his legs gave out from under him. He hit the polished wooden floor with a heavy thud, his practice wand skittering away into the darkness.
He lay there on his back, the great, shadowed ceiling spinning slowly above him. He gasped, trying to pull air back into his protesting lungs, the spot on his chest a deep, throbbing ache. The dummy, its task complete, had powered down, standing silent and victorious at the far end of the hall.
He groaned, a low, pained sound in the quiet room. He had been overconfident. He had been stupid. He had pushed too far, too fast, and the room had taught him a harsh, immediate lesson.
And then, through the stinging pain, a slow, wide, contented smile spread across his face. He was right. Theory was one thing, but this—this was a real lesson.