Ravenclaw Tower was quieter than the rest of Hogwarts at night.
The common room stayed lit by soft blue lanterns long after curfew, but the students here tended to read rather than talk. Pages turned. Quills scratched. Occasionally someone murmured a spell under their breath, testing a theory before bed. The domed ceiling showed the real sky—stars sharp and cold above the Scottish moors.
Lookon sat in one of the high-backed armchairs near a window, knees drawn up, a borrowed copy of *Advanced Rune Translation* open on his lap. He hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.
He was listening.
Not to the room.
To the castle.
The hum of magic never stopped. It rose and fell like distant breathing—stronger near ancient wards, softer in forgotten corners. Tonight it felt… uneven. A faint stutter, like a heartbeat skipping once every few minutes.
The System had flagged it earlier, during dinner.
**Anomaly Update: Entropy bleed increment +0.004% (localized to third-floor corridor, north wing)**
**Source Signature: Consistent with Fragment #1 proximity (scar-linked horcrux)**
**Secondary Echo: Residual dark magic residue (Quirrell/Voldemort possession vector)**
**Bleed Vector: Stable but accelerating slightly**
**Recommendation: Passive monitoring. Proximity observation advised within 72 hours.**
He closed the book.
The other boys in the dormitory were asleep—five soft, even breaths filling the circular room. Moonlight slanted through the curtains, turning silver on the floor.
Lookon stood.
He moved without sound. The cloak the System had woven into his robes shifted color subtly in low light—deep blue fading to near-black. No dramatic invisibility. Just enough to make eyes slide past him.
He slipped out of the dormitory, down the spiral stairs, through the common room (the eagle knocker silent, no riddle at this hour), and into the main corridor.
The castle at night was different.
Shadows pooled deeper. Portraits slept, heads nodding against painted frames. Suits of armor stood sentinel, metal faintly gleaming. A ghost drifted past once—Nearly Headless Nick, humming tunelessly—without noticing him.
Lookon walked toward the third floor.
He didn't rush.
He took detours—past a tapestry of dancing trolls, down a staircase that shifted midway and deposited him two floors lower, back up another that cooperated. Each wrong turn felt deliberate, like the castle testing him.
He arrived at the forbidden corridor shortly after one in the morning.
The door was plain oak, no handle visible, sealed with a simple locking charm that glowed faintly purple under moonlight.
Lookon stood in front of it for a long minute.
He knew what lay beyond.
Fluffy. The three-headed dog. The trapdoor. The trials below—plants, keys, chess, potions, mirror.
And Quirrell.
Or what was left of Voldemort inside him.
The System pinged softly.
**Proximity Alert: Dark entity signature detected (possession level 78%).**
**Host: Quirinus Quirrell**
**Current Location: Staff quarters (asleep)**
**Horcrux Fragment #1 (Harry Potter) – Dormant interaction**
**Risk of Immediate Cascade: 0.012%**
**Observation Window: Open. Do not engage.**
He didn't.
He simply stood.
And felt.
The bleed was subtle—a thin thread of cold, oily magic seeping through the door's seams like smoke. It didn't scream danger. It whispered. Persistent. Patient.
Lookon reached out—not to touch the door, but to let his palm hover an inch away.
The air between his skin and the wood prickled.
He closed his eyes.
The System fed him data in clean lines.
**Bleed Composition: 62% necrotic soul energy, 31% parasitic intent, 7% ambient fear residue**
**Directionality: Outward diffusion (slow leak toward main castle wards)**
**Projected Timeline to Critical Threshold: 8–14 months (assuming no acceleration)**
Eight to fourteen months.
Harry's first year.
The Philosopher's Stone attempt.
The troll.
The mirror.
All of it still ahead.
Lookon opened his eyes.
He stepped back.
No dramatic decision. No vow to stop it single-handed.
Just the quiet acceptance that he was here to watch the crack widen—and decide, when the moment came, whether to seal it or let the story play out as it must.
He turned away.
The corridor behind him felt longer on the return journey. Shadows stretched. A suit of armor creaked as he passed, helm turning slightly as if following his movement.
He ignored it.
Back in Ravenclaw Tower, he slipped into the dormitory without waking anyone.
He sat on his bed again.
The moonlight had shifted; now it fell across his pillow like spilled mercury.
He lay down fully this time.
Stared at the canopy.
Thought about the door.
About the dog sleeping behind it.
About the boy in Gryffindor Tower who carried a piece of the same darkness in his scar.
About how small the distance was between safety and catastrophe.
The System appeared one last time before dawn.
**Night Observation Complete**
**Data Recorded**
**Emotional State: Stable (resignation + analytical detachment)**
**Rest Recommended (non-essential, but beneficial for baseline calibration)**
Lookon let his eyelids close.
Not sleep.
Just stillness.
The castle breathed around him.
Somewhere far below, in the third-floor corridor, the door remained sealed.
The crack remained small.
For now.
Morning would come soon enough—breakfast, classes, another day of watching.
Another day of waiting.
He let the quiet stretch.
And in the silence between one breath and the next, he felt the first faint thread of something new settle into place.
Not purpose.
Not yet.
But patience.
Deep, unhurried patience.
The kind only someone who could never truly die could afford to have.