Chapter 109: Treasure Room

After herbology class ended, Silven handed Professor Sprout the scissors and the wrapped, shriveled figs, then returned to the castle with the others.

"I'm a bit hungry," Harry said, patting his stomach. "I hope there's still pumpkin pie for dinner—it was delicious."

"That's only for Halloween," Hermione said. "Today should be beef pie."

"That's fine too," Harry said.

After crossing the grounds, the group soon reached the stone steps of the castle.

"Hurry up, Harry, we're waiting for you!"

Oliver Wood stood at the castle door, clad in red Quidditch robes, waving vigorously at Harry. "I was just about to go look for you in the greenhouse."

"Oliver, what's up?" Harry asked.

"Of course it's training."

Oliver Wood said, pulling out his broom from behind him. "Professor McGonagall said we can use the Quidditch pitch after Halloween. I posted the notice in the common room yesterday morning—surely you didn't miss it?"

Harry suddenly remembered—he had joined the Quidditch team.

"Let's get moving," Oliver didn't dwell on it, pulling him toward the pitch. "We're two months behind—we need to make up all that lost time before our first match!"

"My broom…" Harry struggled. "My broom's still in the common room—I need to go back and get it."

"Don't worry, the Weasley twins already brought it over."

Harry didn't even have time to eat dinner before being dragged off for training.

From Oliver's tone, it seemed he wanted to make up every missed practice before next month's match.

Hopefully Harry would still be standing when he came back.

Silven returned to the castle but didn't go to the common room with Ron and Hermione—he went to the library instead.

But he didn't stay to read today; instead, he waited until most others had left, then went alone to the eighth floor and wandered aimlessly.

"This must be it," Silven stopped in the middle of a rarely-used corridor, staring thoughtfully at a tapestry on the wall.

The tapestry depicted the story of a troll beating up a fool named Barnabas; opposite it was a clean wall—no portraits, no armored decorations.

Alright, let's try.

Silven began pacing in front of the wall, focusing his mind on what he needed…

A place to hide things, a place to hide things…

On his third pass, the previously blank wall suddenly changed… a door appeared.

A brand-new, gleaming door, with a golden handle.

The Room of Requirement, Hogwarts' most magical chamber, said to transform into the perfect room for whoever needed it.

Someone wanting to hide from Filch during nighttime wanderings? The room becomes a broom cupboard. Someone wanting to practice magic? The room fills with spellbooks, charm dummies, and defensive enchantment devices.

Silven needed a place to hide things.

He reached out, gripped the handle, and pushed down—the door opened.

When Silven saw what was inside, he sucked in a sharp breath.

It was like a vast, labyrinthine warehouse—a room larger than the Great Hall, yet with no path to walk on.

Tall, crooked shelves crammed together, cauldrons piled like mountains, books, candlesticks, bed frames scattered everywhere—as if centuries of junk had been dumped here.

Silven stood at the doorway, hesitating for a long moment before turning sharply and walking out, slamming the door shut, then resuming his pacing.

A place to hide things… preferably one where the Ravenclaw Diadem, turned into a Horcrux, is visible the moment you open the door…

After three more attempts, Silven opened the door again… the same familiar scene.

Silven tried once more, this time describing his need in greater detail—but the Room of Requirement still didn't fulfill his request.

Maybe the room can change, but the entrance stays fixed.

Silven had no choice but to step inside the cluttered mess that resembled a city.

He wanted to find the diadem, but had no idea where to start.

The room was too large, and walls made of junk teetered precariously; Silven accidentally kicked an umbrella, causing a mountain of trunks, kettles, and brooms to collapse, toppling hundreds of shelves and four-poster beds nearby.

Silven became even more cautious, tiptoeing along the narrow path—half an hour passed, yet the road ahead seemed endless.

Afraid of getting lost, Silven turned back. Along the way, he saw several diadems—but they were all ordinary decorative pieces, not the one he sought.

Returning took another half-hour—and this was only one tiny path in the "maze."

In Silven's view, finding the Ravenclaw Diadem in a short time was impossible unless he skipped his holiday and lived here for two months.

Even if he were willing, the school would never allow it.

Silven suspected that Harry had found the diadem on his first visit because of the resonance between Horcruxes.

Should he ask Harry to come take a look?

Silven rubbed his chin.

Getting Harry here wouldn't be hard, and asking him to help would be easy—the only problem was Harry's boundless curiosity and his inability to keep secrets, which would inevitably lead to new trouble.

After all, using Voldemort's soul fragment to make a wand core wasn't exactly legal under Wizarding Law—it was better if no one else found out.

Forget it—for now. Besides, Harry probably doesn't have time to help him anyway.

Silven shook his head and left the Room of Requirement.

…

Harry really didn't have time—Oliver Wood trained the team like a madman, practically applying for the pitch eight times a week.

Marcus Flint of Slytherin was just as bad; the two teams clashed often over pitch usage, but the conflicts were always minor, with no one sent to the hospital wing.

Mostly because they feared Professor McGonagall would ban them from using the pitch entirely, so they held back.

Still, the seven brand-new Firebolt 2001s owned by Slytherin made Oliver feel insecure, so in the end he simply shifted his training to mornings, avoiding Slytherin entirely.

Slytherin and the other three houses all trained at night—after dinner until curfew.

If he trained in the morning, he could get the pitch every day without anyone rushing him to finish.

Of course, he didn't miss Gryffindor's three-times-a-week evening training sessions either.

But that made things miserable for the rest of the team.

Every morning at five sharp, Oliver Wood would shake Harry awake, and Harry would stumble off to the pitch in a daze, broom over his shoulder.

These past few days he always looked half-asleep, the dark circles under his eyes growing more and more obvious, and that evening at dinner he nearly plunged headfirst into his porridge bowl.

"How about I go to Professor McGonagall and get her to find some excuse to put Oliver in detention for two days?" Silven said. He was genuinely worried Harry would fall asleep on his broom one of these days, and if Wood got two days of detention, the rest of them could get some proper rest too.

Besides, with Harry looking like that every day, he couldn't bring himself to ask the other boy for help.

"No, please don't do that." Harry snapped awake at once, waving his hands at Silven repeatedly. "I'm afraid once his detention's over, we'll be getting up at four."

He yawned. "What day is it today?"

"Tuesday," Hermione said.

"Good." Harry let out a breath of relief. No training on Tuesday evenings, so he could finally finish his homework early and get to sleep.

Watching Harry's utterly listless state, Hermione felt a pang of pity. "How about I lend you my homework?"

"Thanks, Hermione." Harry said gratefully. "You've done me a huge favor."

That way, he could sleep another hour.

"Right, right, thanks." Ron nodded beside him.

"No Quidditch training, write it yourself." Hermione said bluntly.

Ron was a little put out, turned his head away and stopped talking to her.

Usually at a moment like this, Harry, caught in the middle, would step in to smooth things over, but right now he didn't have the energy at all.

Silven was thinking about something else too.

After dinner ended, he went once more to the Room of Requirement.

He'd been coming here quite a lot lately. At first it was to look for the diadem, but later he noticed the place was simply a vast treasure trove.

He even found a fourteenth-century seven-branch broom here. Of course, a broom over six hundred years old definitely couldn't be used now, but thanks to its unique magical craftsmanship, the broomstick itself was still perfectly preserved.

Moreover, flying in the twelfth century was a noble sport, so the broom's materials were naturally of the finest quality.

When Silven took it apart, the grain inside was still clearly visible.

Two-hundred-year-old ash wood from Sweden's magical forest, made into a broom and then preserved for over six hundred years through unique magical craftsmanship.

After removing the rough outer surface, the grain and texture this fine ash wood revealed was simply like a work of art.

Besides that, there was a sixteenth-century Silver Arrow that wasn't bad either. As for last century's Moon Dream, and the Comet from fifty years ago, Silven thought they weren't old enough and tossed them back.

Apart from that, Silven also found some strange eggshells and gemstones, except the magical reactions inside the eggshells had completely faded, and the gemstones weren't worth much either — they even concealed danger.

Thinking about it, it made sense: apart from old furniture, this place was full of things successive generations of Hogwarts students had hidden away and then forgotten to take back.

Whatever made them hide it was probably nothing good either — Silven had seen a great axe still stained with blood, and several stoppered bottles still gleaming with an evil light.

Silven searched around once more as usual, still didn't find the Ravenclaw diadem, and only then left again.

Looks like he'd still have to get Harry to help, Silven thought, heading back to the common room.

……

(End of chapter)