The night deepened.
Stars twinkled in the velvety expanse above, their silver light casting a faint shimmer over the castle's towers.
The evening gathering had long since dispersed.
In the Ravenclaw common room, only the occasional rustle of turning pages broke the silence. As the clock on the wall chimed midnight, the last lingering students finally packed away their books and drifted off to their dormitories.
Only the flames in the fireplace remained, flickering merrily in their hearth, their warm glow and crackling embers standing watch over the hall that had nurtured generations of Ravenclaw intellects.
The firelight played across the stone walls, casting shifting shadows as a lone figure slipped through the common room. Holding a parchment he had painstakingly enchanted himself, he stepped quietly into the corridor of the eighth floor.
"Ian's Enchanted Atlas Navigation at your service," Ian smirked as he looked at the parchment in his hand. His creation was proving to be far more useful than he had expected.
Unlike ordinary enchanted maps, his version displayed not just the locations of people within the castle but even those at a distance, marking them with their names in precise detail.
More importantly, even if someone who had obtained his map tried to disguise themselves with an alias or nickname, Ian's version would still reveal their true name in parentheses.
It was a small privilege. One granted solely to the creator of the map.
"This thing is brilliant," Ian muttered.
Just as Muggle navigational charms kept one from getting lost in a sprawling city, his map ensured he could wander the castle without accidentally bumping into trouble— or rather, those who would make trouble for him.
Every presence was marked, including the usual mischief-makers— tonight, the Weasley twins were sneaking around near Snape's office, there was no doubt that they were up to their usual antics.
As for Snape himself, who ought to have been in his office brewing potions, he was instead in the headmaster's office with Dumbledore. The two moved about in confined patterns, meaning Ian didn't have to worry about either of them emerging to catch stray students.
"Are they playing wizard's chess up there?"
Ian was mildly curious about what was unfolding in the headmaster's office, but his attention quickly shifted to a more pressing matter— Filch, the ever-dedicated caretaker and sworn nemesis of all nighttime wanderers.
Tonight, however, Filch had abandoned his usual patrols, his dot overlapping with that of Madam Pince's.
"!!!"
Ian felt he had just uncovered a significant secret.
This was prime intelligence. Perhaps he ought to adjust the version of the map he planned to sell, ensuring that whenever two dots overlapped for a suspiciously long period, they would either disappear or become obscured.
"I'll tweak that when I get back."
Of course, his own map would retain all its unrestricted functions, but for commercially available versions, precautions were necessary. After all, the wizarding world wasn't exactly known for its discretion, and the last thing Ian wanted was for Hogwarts to become a den of wailing heartbreaks because of his handiwork.
He'd rather not be responsible for a sudden population decline among future witches and wizards.
"Lockhart is still in the library? At this hour?" Ian mused. "No wonder Madam Pince idolizes him. She gets to spend time with her favorite author while conveniently granting him overnight access."
Checking on the newest professor's movements, Ian saw that Gilderoy Lockhart's name was still fixed in the library. He wouldn't have put it past Lockhart to be swapping out books in the Restricted Section for his own far-fetched autobiographies, passing off others' experiences as his own. That seemed exactly like something Lockhart would do.
"I need a slaughterhouse." "I need a slaughterhouse." "I need a slaughterhouse."
Standing before the Room of Requirement, Ian focused his thoughts. A door materialized before him, appearing silently against the stone wall beneath the watchful gaze of Barnabas the Barmy's portrait, where the hapless wizard was once again being pummeled by trolls.
Ian's reason for staying up so late was simple— after finishing his study session earlier, he revisited 'Alchemy Unveiled' and, in doing so, stumbled upon an alternative solution to his current problem. This revelation had forced him to reconsider his opinion of Lockhart, if only slightly.
After all, if one could sift through Lockhart's books and extract actual useful knowledge, then perhaps his understanding of alchemy wasn't entirely superficial. Maybe he had simply... forgotten most of his magic?
Looking mildly intrigued, Ian applied what he had learned to complete his latest invention that night.
The Bone and Ash Box.
A self-proclaimed masterpiece unlike any seen before.
For any alchemist, the agony of creating something new and not immediately testing it was akin to holding a fully loaded wand with a newly mastered spell but being forbidden to cast it.
Who could resist?
No one!
Merlin knew Ian had stared at the dots on his map for what felt like hours after completing the Bone and Ash Box, their names practically burned into his mind. He had no doubt he'd be seeing them in his dreams tonight.
Luckily, there wasn't some tireless scholar burning the midnight oil tonight.
Feeling secretly relieved, Ian eagerly turned the doorknob and stepped into the Room of Requirement... What greeted him was the slaughterhouse he had envisioned.
And it was much larger than he had imagined.
A faint metallic tang lingered in the air, reminiscent of freshly sharpened blades. Rows of neatly arranged butchery tools and enchanted implements stood silently, their surfaces gleaming coldly under the dim light. Razor-sharp knives, sturdy iron hooks, enchanted ropes that could bind even the most unruly creatures, and precision-cutting charms etched into the workbenches— all were in place.
Yet, Ian's excitement quickly faded. His expectant expression froze almost instantly. What use was a slaughterhouse without anything to actually slaughter?
"It can't create living things? What about carcasses? A plucked pheasant! A gutted fish! Even a freshly dressed hare would do! Without anything to work on, this is just a glorified tool shed!"
"Don't mess with me like this. Alright, let's try again." Ian scolded the Room of Requirement as he stepped back outside and made his wish anew before turning the doorknob.
Everything was the same.
Nothing had changed.
Not only were there no animals, living or dead, but there wasn't even a single scrap of leftover meat. The spotless workspace lacked any real purpose, aside from the ever-present metallic tang in the air.
"This isn't funny at all. Reset, reset." Ian shut the door once more, adjusted his phrasing, but the miracle he was hoping for didn't happen.
The scene shifted.
But only in small details— the placement of the tools, the arrangement of the floor tiles, the angles of the drainage channels. The Room of Requirement seemed to be doing its best to fulfill Ian's request… just not quite getting it right.
"Liar! What happened to 'as required'?" Ian muttered, his frustration making the very walls of the room tremble slightly, as if it were protesting its own limitations.
"..."
Ian sighed, still unwilling to give up, and decided to try a different approach. "Alright then, let's start small. Give me some meat. Just meat, alright? I want to go somewhere with lots of meat."
It was a reasonable request.
When Ian opened the door again, it was no longer an empty slaughterhouse.
The air was thick with the rich aroma of roasting meats, and there was an unmistakable hum of activity. More than a dozen wide-eyed figures turned to look at him in unison.
"!!!"
Ian's eyes widened.
It seemed he had accidentally stumbled upon yet another function of the Room of Requirement.
(To Be Continued…)
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