Support me on patreon.com/c/Striker2025
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Darius found himself in an unusual predicament. After weeks buried in his new research, he'd finally reached the point where he needed to begin planning his surveillance device. But one main problem stopped him before he could even start: he had no secure location to actually build the thing. His dormitory offered zero privacy, the library had Madam Pince's omniscient surveillance, and the abandoned classrooms were frequently patrolled by Filch and his demonic cat.
"I need a space that's completely private," he muttered, pacing the seventh-floor corridor near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. "Somewhere I can work without interruption, without oversight, without anyone stumbling across—"
[Alert: Anomalous magical signature detected. Wall segment ahead displaying unusual spatial properties.]
Darius stopped mid-stride. "What do you mean, unusual spatial properties?"
[Analysis: Section of wall between tapestry and window shows dimensional inconsistency. External measurements don't match internal castle dimensions. Magical concealment detected but unstable—as if responding to proximity.]
He approached the blank wall carefully, extending his magical senses. There was something there—a presence, a possibility, a space that existed and didn't exist simultaneously.
"The Room of Requirement," Darius breathed. "I can't believe I forgot about it. I knew it existed, I just... never thought about where exactly it was located."
[Query: Room of Requirement? Please specify.]
"It's a magical room that appears only when someone needs it. It transforms into whatever space the person requires—training room, hiding place, storage area, anything." Darius felt excitement building. "And it's supposed to be undetectable and perfectly private."
[Fascinating. Adaptive spatial magic responding to user requirements. Request: How does one access this space?]
"You walk past this section three times while concentrating on what you need," Darius explained, already beginning to pace. "I need a secure workshop. A place to build and test sensitive equipment without detection. A space that's completely private and protected."
He walked back and forth three times, focusing intently on his requirements. On the third pass, a door materialized in the previously blank wall—polished oak with brass fittings that gleamed invitingly.
[Remarkable. Spatial anomaly has resolved into functional doorway. Magical signature suggests pocket dimension with adaptive properties.]
Darius pushed the door open and stepped into exactly what he'd needed. The room was perhaps thirty feet square, with sturdy workbenches along two walls, excellent lighting from floating magical orbs, storage cabinets that seemed to already contain basic tools and materials, and most importantly, an atmosphere of complete privacy and security.
"This is perfect," he said, running his hand along one of the workbenches. "Nano, can you scan the room's properties? I need to know its limitations before I start relying on it."
[Comprehensive scan initiating... Room demonstrates adaptive spatial magic of extraordinary sophistication. Key properties detected:
- Pocket dimension partially outside normal space-time
- Magical detection from outside: impossible
- Physical access: requires knowledge of room's existence and proper summoning procedure
- Content persistence: items left in room remain when room is dismissed, though room may reorganize them
- Limitations: Cannot create food, cannot perfectly replicate living beings, cannot circumvent fundamental magical laws
- Security: Effectively impenetrable except to room's authorized users]
"Can it create the electronic components I need for the surveillance device?"
[Negative. Room can create items that exist within its knowledge base—primarily magical objects and tools. Muggle technology requires physical acquisition from Muggle world. However, room can provide workspace and tools for assembly.]
Darius nodded, already planning. "Then I still need to make that trip to acquire components. But at least now I have somewhere to work on the device once I have the materials." He paused thoughtfully. "Nano, I don't have the technical expertise to build surveillance equipment myself. Do you have the necessary knowledge?"
[Affirmative. Complete electronics engineering database available within core systems. Specifications include: miniature camera systems, wireless transmission protocols, power supply optimization, data storage solutions, and circuit board assembly procedures. I can provide step-by-step construction guidance once components are acquired.]
"Perfect. So I'm the hands, you're the brain for the technical aspects." Darius felt relief wash over him. "I was worried I'd need to somehow learn electrical engineering on top of everything else."
[Clarification: My function includes bridging technological and magical knowledge systems. Electronics expertise is fundamental to that purpose. I will guide assembly process with precision sufficient for professional-grade results.]
He spent the next hour exploring the room's capabilities, discovering that it could reconfigure itself on command, provide reference materials on request, and even create specialized tools for particular tasks. It was, quite literally, the perfect secret laboratory.
[Strategic assessment: Room of Requirement provides optimal solution for sensitive operations. Recommend establishing multiple "configurations" for different activities—surveillance device construction, combat training, alchemical experiments, strategic planning.]
"Agreed. Let's document this location carefully. I don't want to forget where it is again."
---
Meanwhile, in Gryffindor Tower, Harry Potter was discovering that life at Hogwarts involved considerably more conflict than he'd anticipated—particularly involving one Draco Malfoy.
"Did you see his face?" Ron laughed as they climbed through the portrait hole, still riding the high of the flying lesson two days earlier. "When you caught that Remembrall? Malfoy looked like he'd swallowed a lemon!"
Harry grinned despite himself. The memory of that first lesson lingered vividly—the terror of leaving the ground, the exhilaration of the dive, the rush of wind as he'd caught Neville's Remembrall. It had felt more natural than anything he'd done since arriving at Hogwarts.
"Fifty feet in the air on your first time on a broom," Ron continued with admiration. "My brothers still can't believe it. Though I suppose being a natural at flying runs in your family—your dad was a brilliant Chaser."
The mention of his father created the usual complicated swirl of emotions—pride in the connection, sadness at never knowing him, and a desperate hunger for any scrap of memory about the parents he'd lost.
"Potter! Weasley!" Hermione Granger's voice cut through their conversation as she approached with her usual expression of determined helpfulness. "I couldn't help overhearing—you're not seriously planning to sneak out after hours for that ridiculous duel with Malfoy, are you?"
Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Malfoy had challenged Harry to a wizard's duel at midnight, and despite suspecting it might be a trap, Harry's pride wouldn't let him back down.
"It's none of your business, Hermione," Ron said with the particular tone of annoyance he seemed to reserve specifically for her.
"None of my business? You'll lose Gryffindor points, get in trouble, and for what? Because Malfoy insulted you?" Her voice carried the exasperation of someone who couldn't understand why people didn't simply follow the rules.
"Look," Harry said, trying to be diplomatic, "I appreciate the concern, but this is between me and Malfoy."
"You're going to get expelled on your first week, and then where will you be?" Hermione's voice rose slightly. "Honestly, you two never think about consequences!"
"And you never think about anything except rules and grades," Ron shot back. "Maybe if you stopped being such a know-it-all, people would actually want to be around you!"
Hermione's face flushed, her eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. "Fine! Get expelled! See if I care!" She turned and hurried toward the girls' dormitory, her bushy hair bouncing with each angry step.
"Honestly," Ron muttered as she disappeared. "She's a nightmare. Imagine being stuck in a class with her for seven years."
Harry felt a twinge of guilt about the exchange, but he pushed it aside. They had more immediate concerns like figuring out how to handle the upcoming duel with Malfoy and his goons.
---
From his position in the library several floors away, Darius observed the social dynamics of the first-years with analytical interest. He'd positioned himself to have a clear view of the common areas, ostensibly studying but actually monitoring the development of key relationships.
[Social dynamics observation: Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley forming close friendship bond. Hermione Granger isolated due to social awkwardness and excessive rule-following. Draco Malfoy establishing antagonistic relationship with Potter. All canonical relationship patterns developing as expected.]
"The troll incident should unite Harry, Ron, and Hermione," Darius murmured quietly. "But that's still a few weeks away. Until then, Hermione's going to be pretty lonely."
[Query: Should intervention be considered to accelerate friendship formation?]
"No. They need to develop naturally. Forced relationships don't create the same depth of loyalty and trust." Darius closed his book thoughtfully. "Besides, the troll incident will work precisely because Hermione is isolated when it happens. Ron's comment about her being a nightmare—that's what sends her to the bathroom where she encounters the troll."
[Understood. Minimal interference approach maintains timeline integrity while allowing natural relationship development.]
Darius's attention shifted as he noticed another commotion in the entrance hall. Draco Malfoy had cornered Neville Longbottom near the marble staircase, with Crabbe and Goyle forming their usual intimidating wall.
"Still haven't learned any proper spells, Longbottom?" Malfoy sneered. "Even Potter managed to make himself useful—became Gryffindor's Seeker after showing off with your Remembrall. What have you done besides melt cauldrons and forget things?"
Neville's face flushed red, his fists clenched at his sides. "I—I'm trying my best."
"Your best is pathetic," Malfoy continued, clearly enjoying the audience of younger students. "My father says your parents were powerful wizards once. Shame you didn't inherit any of their talent."
Several students shifted uncomfortably, but no one intervened. The mention of Neville's parents—lifelong residents of St. Mungo's after being tortured into insanity by Death Eaters—was a particularly cruel low blow, even for Malfoy.
Darius found himself standing before consciously deciding to intervene. This wasn't about timeline preservation—this was about basic human decency.
"Malfoy," he said calmly, approaching the group. "That's enough."
Draco turned, his expression shifting from cruel amusement to calculating assessment as he recognized the second-year. "Kael. This doesn't concern you."
"It concerns me when I hear someone mocking a student's family tragedy for entertainment." Darius's voice remained level, but there was steel beneath it. "Especially when that someone's own father has a rather questionable reputation regarding Dark wizards."
Malfoy's face went white, then red. "How dare you—"
"I dare because bullying is unacceptable regardless of house rivalry or family status," Darius interrupted. "Now, I suggest you find somewhere else to be. Perhaps the dungeons, where Snape can appreciate your particular brand of wit."
For several seconds, the tension held. Then Malfoy's pride warred with his practical assessment of odds and lost. He couldn't challenge a second-year with Darius's reputation, especially not with such a clear audience.
"Come on," he muttered to Crabbe and Goyle. "This isn't worth our time." He swept past, but not before shooting a venomous glare at Darius.
Neville stood there looking both grateful and embarrassed. "Th-thanks. You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did," Darius said firmly. "What Malfoy said about your parents was completely out of line." He studied the younger boy thoughtfully. "And for what it's worth, you're more capable than you think, Neville. Don't let people like Malfoy convince you otherwise. I heard you stood up to him during flying lessons—that took courage."
Neville gave a small, uncertain shrug. "It didn't feel brave. My spells never work properly anyway. Gran says I probably just don't have enough talent."
Darius tilted his head. "Or maybe it's not you."
Neville blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Your wand," Darius said, extending a hand. "May I see it for a moment?"
Neville hesitated, then handed it over with a nervous, "Be careful—it's my dad's old wand."
That explained it before Darius even tried a spell. He felt the faint mismatch in resonance the moment his fingers touched the polished wood—a subtle dissonance between wand and would-be master. He murmured a few quiet testing charms; the wand responded sluggishly, its magic pulling slightly against him, like a loyal hound unwilling to answer a stranger's call.
"I thought so," Darius said, returning it gently. "This wand isn't truly yours, Neville. It's loyal to your father. You can cast spells with it, yes, but never at full strength—it's like trying to write with someone else's hand."
Neville stared at the wand, wide-eyed. "So… it's not that I'm bad at magic?"
Darius smiled faintly. "No. It's that your wand is remembering someone else. When you get your own, you'll feel the difference immediately." He paused, lowering his voice. "And if you can already manage spells with a wand that doesn't suit you, imagine what you'll do once you have one that does."
Neville's fingers tightened around the handle. "Gran said it was my father's. She thought… maybe if I used it, I'd be more like him." His voice trembled, the words barely above a whisper. "He was brave. Everyone says so."
Darius's expression softened. "And you are too, Neville. You're just brave in your own way." He let the silence linger before continuing. "You don't have to borrow his wand to carry his courage. It's already in you—just waiting for the right moment to show."
Neville looked down, blinking quickly as he ran a thumb along the scratches in the old wood. The wand had once belonged to a hero—and he had been trying, all this time, to live up to it.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"Don't thank me," Darius replied. "Just remember this conversation when you finally get a wand that's yours. You'll understand then."
As Neville walked away, Darius lingered for a moment, thinking of the boy's quiet strength. A wand mismatch… and yet he still tries every day. That kind of persistence, Darius thought, might one day change far more than Neville himself realized.
As he walked away, Darius reflected on the intervention. It hadn't been strategically necessary, but it had felt right. And more importantly, it had established a relationship with Neville Longbottom—someone who would eventually prove crucial in the broader conflict against Voldemort.
[Observation: Host demonstrates consistent moral framework despite strategic mission parameters. Interventions based on ethical principles rather than purely tactical considerations.]
"Is that a problem?"
[Negative. Analysis suggests moral consistency increases long-term strategic effectiveness by building genuine trust and loyalty networks. Short-term tactical efficiency matters less than long-term relationship foundation.]
The rest of the evening passed quietly. Darius returned to the Room of Requirement, continuing his study of its adaptive properties and preparing his notes for the eventual trip to London. The work was methodical, calming—a welcome contrast to the social complexities of the day.