Dinner was lively, as usual, the Great Hall buzzing with chatter and the clinking of goblets. Ron was deep in another one of his food-related theories, poking suspiciously at his treacle tart.
"I'm telling you," Ron said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, "this treacle tart is cursed."
I raised an eyebrow. "Cursed?"
"Yeah," Ron muttered, eyeing the dessert warily. "It's too good. No way it's normal."
"Maybe it's enchanted to make you eat more," Rose suggested, her lips twitching with amusement.
"If that's the case," I smirked, "Ron's doomed."
The table erupted in laughter. Even Hermione, though her nose was buried in Intermediate Transfiguration, let out a quiet chuckle.
"Ha, ha. Very funny," Ron grumbled, but his mouth was already full again.
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione muttered without looking up, "the only thing cursed around here is your eating habits."
I shook my head, a grin tugging at my lips as I returned to my meal. But while my friends were caught up in their banter, my mind was elsewhere.
I can't waste time.
My thoughts kept circling back to what I'd realized in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Quirrell wasn't just some bumbling professor—he was a vessel. A shell hiding something far more dangerous.
Voldemort is here.
The knowledge gnawed at me like a persistent ache, making every moment of normalcy feel… fragile. Temporary.
Later, after dinner, I made my way to the library. Hermione tagged along, her arms weighed down with a small mountain of books. We found a quiet corner, far from the usual crowd of chattering students.
"Transfiguration essay?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I saw her scribbling furiously.
"Double-checking," Hermione murmured without looking up.
"Of course," I muttered with a grin before turning my attention to the pile of books in front of me.
But my focus was different. While Hermione was buried in theoretical magic, I was searching for something… practical. Defense. Strategy. Anything that would prepare me for what I knew was coming.
I can't rely on Hogwarts alone to protect me.
My fingers traced the spines of the books until I pulled down one about magical concealment. I flipped through the pages, my eyes skimming quickly.
"Not yet," I murmured, setting the book aside. I needed more.
The castle was shrouded in silence by the time I slipped out of bed. The moonlight filtered through the high windows as I navigated the hallways, careful not to make a sound.
Every creak of the floor felt louder in the stillness. But I moved with purpose, my steps light as I made my way to an unused classroom near the Charms corridor.
The room was dusty and forgotten—desks overturned, cobwebs clinging to the corners.
"Perfect," I murmured, my eyes gleaming.
I wasted no time. Drawing my wand, I started with the basics.
Expelliarmus. Protego. Lumos.
The familiar spells felt natural in my hands now, but that wasn't enough. I needed more.
"Alright… let's push it."
I took a steadying breath and moved onto more advanced spells.
Stupefy. Shield Charms. Silent casting.
My wand movements became faster, sharper. I practiced disarming spells with imaginary opponents, visualizing duels where I had to outmaneuver enemies. My focus was razor-sharp, my body moving with fluid precision.
But that wasn't all I was here for.
I lowered my wand, a different kind of focus settling over me.
Let's see if this works…
I stretched out my hand, palm facing the broken piece of wood I had used earlier.
Accio.
The wood wobbled… and didn't move.
My brow furrowed. I could feel the magic, the connection, but it was weak—like trying to grab hold of mist.
"Focus," I murmured, narrowing my eyes.
I tried again.
Accio.
This time, the wood jerked… slightly. It didn't fly to me, but it moved. Barely.
My heart pounded.
I did it. Not fully… but I did it.
A flicker of excitement surged through me.
"Again," I whispered, determination flaring in my chest.
I repeated the motion, trying to channel my magic without the wand. It was harder—like pushing through thick mud—but I could feel it.
The wood twitched again, this time moving an inch closer.
"Not bad," I murmured, but sweat beaded on my forehead.
This… is going to take time.
My wandless magic was nowhere near ready, but I was making progress. It was a start.
But I wasn't done.
Now… my other power.
I closed my eyes, letting my breathing steady. My focus shifted inward, tapping into the warmth that simmered beneath my skin—the divine power I'd been gifted.
The power of Karna.
I stretched out my hand, summoning that warmth. It was different from wand magic—raw, ancient, and potent.
"Just a little…"
A small glow ignited in my palm—a flicker of golden fire. It danced along my fingertips, warm but harmless.
Better.
I guided the energy with my thoughts, shaping it, controlling it.
But it wasn't easy. The power surged like a living thing, wild and untamed. It wanted to break free, to burst out in a blaze of uncontrollable fire.
"Not yet," I murmured, gritting my teeth.
Control it. Shape it.
The flame wavered but held steady. My heart pounded, beads of sweat rolling down my face as I maintained the delicate balance.
I need to refine it. Hone it.
The power inside me was immense, but it was still raw. I needed precision, not just strength.
"Again," I whispered, pushing myself harder.
This time, the flame coiled tighter, compact and controlled—a small ember of raw power resting in my palm.
I stared at it, a mixture of pride and frustration simmering in my chest.
It's not enough.
I was making progress, but I was still too slow. Too unrefined.
"Faster," I murmured, extinguishing the flame and starting again.
Time slipped away as I pushed myself beyond my limits.
But then…
Creak.
My heart skipped a beat.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Slow. Measured.
Filch.
"Bloody hell," I breathed, extinguishing my magic and pressing myself against the wall. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I strained to listen.
A low meow echoed, and my blood ran cold.
Mrs. Norris.
"I know you're here…" Filch's gruff voice muttered, his footsteps growing louder.
My mind raced. Think. Move now, or get caught.
My body moved on instinct. Silently, I slipped between the overturned desks, inching toward the opposite door. Mrs. Norris's glowing eyes swept the room, and I ducked just in time.
Almost there.
Filch's footsteps paused near the entrance. I froze.
"Come on, come on…" I mentally urged, barely daring to breathe.
After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps faded down the corridor.
I didn't move until I was sure they were gone.
"Too close," I whispered, exhaling a shaky breath.
But despite the close call, a determined fire burned in my chest. This wasn't going to stop me. I needed to be ready.
Back in the dormitory, I lay in bed, staring at the canopy above me. Sleep refused to come.
I need a place where I can practice without worrying about getting caught.
And then… the answer hit me.
The Room of Requirement.
A slow grin spread across my face.
Of course. How could I have forgotten? I'd read the Harry Potter books in my past life. I knew about the Room—an enchanted space that would give me exactly what I needed.
"A room that only appears when someone truly needs it… a place that adapts to your desires."
My eyes gleamed with excitement.
That… could work.
If I could find the Room of Requirement, I wouldn't have to sneak around at night. I could train. Prepare.
Because if Voldemort was already this close…
The real battle was coming.
And I intended to be ready.