The days after our visit to Hagrid's hut passed in a blur.
Classes were as demanding as ever, and Professor McGonagall had ramped up the difficulty in Transfiguration—much to Hermione's delight and Ron's dismay.
"Why do we need to turn hedgehogs into pincushions anyway?" Ron grumbled, his wand slipping in his hand as he poked at the twitching hedgehog on the desk.
"Because it's part of the syllabus, Ronald," Hermione said matter-of-factly, her hedgehog already a perfect pincushion with neat, gleaming pins.
I stifled a grin as Ron glared at his half-transfigured creature, which looked like it was having an identity crisis. Its spines had turned into half-formed pins, and its little nose twitched nervously as if it wasn't sure whether it should squeak or stay silent.
"Honestly," Hermione huffed, adjusting her grip on her quill. "If you'd practice more, you wouldn't be struggling."
"I'm practicing!" Ron protested, waving his wand again with renewed determination. The hedgehog gave a startled squeak and sprouted a single, wobbly pin before rolling off the desk.
Rose giggled softly beside me, her own hedgehog halfway through the transformation. The little creature blinked up at her with one eye pin and one normal eye.
"Don't worry, Ron," she said brightly. "At least you're not turning them into soup."
Ron shot her a look. "Don't give me ideas."
I chuckled softly but stayed focused on my own work. My hedgehog was almost there, its spines shimmering as they solidified into slender pins. But even as I moved my wand with precision, my mind wasn't fully on the task.
Nicholas Flamel.
I knew exactly who he was. The creator of the Philosopher's Stone. Immortal. The only known maker of an object that could turn any metal into pure gold and produce the Elixir of Life.
I'd known it the moment Hagrid had let the name slip. The memory had been tucked away in the recesses of my mind, buried beneath everything I had read before coming to this world. But the moment I heard that name… it all came rushing back.
And yet—I wasn't about to tell the others.
Not yet.
I could use this time.
While they were caught up in unraveling the mystery, I could focus on my training. I needed to get stronger. I needed to understand my powers. Because sooner or later, things were going to escalate. And when that happened, I wouldn't be standing on the sidelines.
As the days passed, Hermione's obsession with finding Flamel only grew stronger.
"We're missing something," she muttered one evening in the library, her brow furrowed as she flipped through yet another thick tome. The table was cluttered with books—some so ancient they looked ready to crumble—and parchment filled with notes scribbled in Hermione's neat handwriting.
Ron, slouched beside her, looked half-asleep, his head resting on an open book. "Maybe he's not in here," he mumbled, barely lifting his head.
"Of course he's in here!" Hermione said sharply, her eyes flashing with frustration. "Dumbledore wouldn't trust anyone to guard something so dangerous unless it was incredibly important."
Ron's groan echoed through the nearly empty library as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. "I'm starting to think this Flamel guy's a myth. Maybe he never existed."
"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione snapped, her voice a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. She pushed another heavy book toward Ron. "Start looking."
Ron groaned but dutifully flipped through the pages, his eyes glazing over almost immediately.
Rose was slightly more enthusiastic, though even she was beginning to look worn out after days of fruitless searching. "We've been through half the library already," she murmured, her finger tracing down a list of magical inventors. "If he's not here, where else would he be?"
"Maybe we should ask Madam Pince," Hermione suggested, though her voice lacked its usual confidence.
"Or," Ron began, his tone hopeful, "we could take a break." He cast a longing glance toward the exit, where the faint sounds of students enjoying the last bits of free time before curfew echoed down the hall.
"You're not getting out of this, Ron," Hermione said firmly, flipping another page with a determined glint in her eye.
While they argued and scoured the shelves, I stayed quiet.
Playing along.
"Any luck?" I asked casually one afternoon as they returned from another round of research, my voice carefully neutral.
"Not yet," Hermione sighed, her face a mask of frustration. "There's nothing about Flamel in the books."
"Maybe we're looking in the wrong place," Rose murmured, her brow furrowed in thought.
Ron flopped onto the couch beside me, looking exhausted. "If I have to look at one more dusty old book…"
I chuckled softly, masking the satisfaction I felt. They were looking in the wrong place.
And that suited me just fine.
While they chased after clues, I had other plans.
Late at night, after everyone had gone to bed, I slipped out of the common room. The castle was quiet, the corridors bathed in moonlight that spilled through the tall windows. Shadows danced along the ancient stone walls as I made my way toward the seventh floor.
The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet greeted me when I arrived. I paused, my heart pounding just a little faster. This was it.
I paced back and forth in front of the blank stretch of wall, focusing on what I needed most.
A place to train. A place where I can push my limits without hurting anyone. A place that will give me what I need to grow stronger.
Once.
Twice.
On the third pass, the wall shimmered.
My breath caught as a door materialized out of nowhere. Large, ancient, and intricately carved, it stood before me as though it had always been there.
I reached out, my fingers brushing against the cool surface.
The door swung open silently.
The space beyond was… breathtaking.
The Room of Requirement.
It was vast—larger than I had imagined. The walls were lined with weapons, enchanted artifacts, and shelves filled with books that radiated power. In the center of the room stood a wide, open space—perfect for training. Dummies stood off to the side, enchanted to move and react like real opponents.
My eyes lingered on a section where the spellbooks were kept. Thick, ancient tomes filled with knowledge beyond what was taught in our classes. They seemed to hum with power, calling out to me.
The air was charged, as though the room itself was alive, waiting for me to begin.
A grin tugged at the corners of my lips.
I wasn't wasting any more time.
Night after night, I returned.
Each time, the room provided exactly what I needed. Targets that moved unpredictably. Magical barriers that absorbed energy and pushed back. Books that explored advanced magical theories—some even beyond what Hogwarts dared to teach.
I practiced summoning and manipulating heat, learning to shape it with precision. I worked on controlling fire, refining my techniques until it responded like an extension of my own will. Sparks danced between my fingers, growing stronger with each passing session.
But I was still holding back.
Afraid of what might happen if I pushed too far.
Karna's power was vast—limitless, even—but I was only scratching the surface. I needed more control. More understanding.
Because if I lost control…
There was no telling what might happen.
During the day, I played the part. I studied, laughed, and searched for Flamel with my friends. But at night, I prepared for the challenges that lay ahead.
And when the time came…
I would be ready.
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For every 10 power stones 1 bonus chapter will be available.