The castle was cloaked in shadows, the torches along the corridors dimmed to a soft, flickering glow. The moonlight filtering through the tall, narrow windows painted silvery patterns on the cold stone floors. The air was thick with a silence that only came at this hour, a stillness that blanketed the ancient halls of Hogwarts when most students were deep in sleep.
Ethan stood in the darkness of his dormitory, wand in hand, his breath steady and measured. His roommates were all asleep, their quiet breathing a steady rhythm. He raised his wand, drawing upon the spells he had spent so many evenings perfecting.
"Silencio," he whispered, directing the charm over his shoes. His footsteps became utterly soundless. He followed it with a gentle flick of his wand. "Disillusionment." The air shimmered around him, bending and warping before settling, his body becoming a hazy, barely noticeable outline in the darkness. Only people who knew what to look for could now notice him.
Slowly, carefully, he moved towards the door, each step light as a whisper. He slipped out without a sound, easing the door shut behind him. His heart quickened, a thrill bubbling in his chest.
Cloaked in near-invisibility and with his steps silenced, Ethan began his journey. The Ravenclaw Tower was high, and the path to the seventh-floor corridor, where the Room of Requirement lay, wound through the castle like a twisting maze. He moved cautiously, his senses alert for the slightest sound, a creaking floorboard, the distant echo of Filch's grumbling, or the slinking shadow of Mrs. Norris.
The winding staircases shifted with a slow, eerie creak, but he had memorized their patterns quite well. He slipped past the library doors, where the faint smell of aged parchment and ink lingered even at night. The long, narrow windows along the corridors cast silvery beams of moonlight that he avoided, walking in the shadowed edges instead.
His heart raced whenever he reached an intersection, but his preparations served him well. The Silencing Charm on his feet meant even the trickiest floorboards betrayed nothing of his passing. It wasn't long before he reached the seventh floor. The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy danced gently, trolls swinging clubs with their usual clumsy enthusiasm.
Ethan moved to the familiar stretch of blank stone wall opposite the tapestry. He focused, walking past the wall three times, his thoughts clear and precise.
I need a place to practice magic. A place where I can test spells freely. A place where I will not be disturbed.
On his third pass, the smooth stone shimmered, and a grand, ornate door melted into existence. He wasted no time, stepping forward and pushing it open. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and canceled his spells with a whispered "Finite Incantatem." A rush of cool air greeted him as the Disillusionment Charm faded, and his form became solid once more.
The Room of Requirement had once again adapted to his needs. The chamber stretched wide, a vast open space lit by the warm glow of floating sconces. The polished stone floor gleamed, and at the far end stood a row of training dummies, sturdy, enchanted, their wooden limbs creaking slightly as they shifted.
Ethan grinned, a surge of excitement rushing through him. It had been too long since he'd been here, and the thrill of having a place entirely his own, where he could practice without fear, was intoxicating. His wand felt warm in his hand, a comforting presence. He stepped forward, already ready to begin.
He began with the Severing Charm.
"Diffindo!"
A thin, shimmering blade of light shot from his wand, striking one of the dummies. A faint line appeared on the thick wood, a shallow cut. It wasn't enough. He raised his wand again.
"Diffindo!"
This time, he spoke with more force, his wand movement sharper, a clean, slicing gesture. The light was brighter, and the cut deeper. He moved closer, examining the mark. It was a clean slice, but not enough to do serious damage to anything stronger than wood.
He experimented further, adjusting his technique. A more fluid motion gave a wider slash, but less depth. A sharp, downward thrust seemed to focus the energy, making it cut deeper. He tested again and again, the practice becoming a rhythm, cast, observe, adjust.
Satisfied for the moment, he moved on.
"Incendio!"
A small jet of flame burst from his wand, licking at the dummy's chest. The enchanted wood resisted the fire, smoldering but not catching fully. He pushed himself further, focusing on the intent. He didn't just want a simple flame, he wanted a burst, a powerful surge of fire that could overwhelm. A modern flamethrower perhaps?
"Incendio!"
This time, the flames roared slightly more, a brief, brilliant blaze that singed the surface. His breathing quickened, and his pulse raced with excitement. The heat washed over him, and he could feel the energy thrumming through his wand, an extension of his will.
Time slipped away as he practiced. The dummies bore the marks of his efforts, scorched surfaces, deep slashes, a few still smoldering faintly. His magical reserves slowly dwindled, each spell taking a bit more effort than the last. Sweat slicked his brow, and his arm ached slightly from constant casting, but he didn't stop.
This was freedom.
But as he prepared to cast another spell, a thought whispered at the edge of his mind. Why was he measuring his spells by their lethality? By how much damage they could cause? He paused, lowering his wand. Was that really the measure of mastery? Was that why he was here, testing his magic in secret, because he wanted to know how dangerous he could become?
The question lingered, uncomfortable but undeniable. He pushed it aside for now, unwilling to dwell on it.
By the time he finally stopped, he was breathing hard, his magic drained to a dull, aching thrum in a place he couldn't describe. But his mind was sharp, a satisfied clarity filling him. He had grown stronger. He had refined his spells, made them sharper, more precise. He wasn't just following the textbook instructions, he was making the magic his own.
A quiet laugh escaped his lips. He would position himself at a top of the end first year. No one else could have this freedom to try his spellwork without any prying eyes and safety precautions set by the school.
He left the Room of Requirement, the door vanishing behind him as if it had never been there. Right before leaving, he recast Silencio and Disillusionment. His legs ached slightly, his head felt light, but he was in high spirits. The castle was still silent, the night air cool against his flushed skin.
Ethan climbed the spiral stairs, having to get rid of his disillusionment for the knocker to acknowledge his presence. Once in, he noticed some other students which were up. They all had turned when the common room entrance opened, but no one said anything. A mutual understanding between all of them had been make quickly, and both parties nodded at each other as he slipped quietly into his dormitory, and sank onto his bed, the exhaustion of his magical efforts settling in. But even as he lay there, his body heavy with fatigue, his mind refused to rest. He replayed the spells he had cast, the results, the adjustments he had made. Each successful spell felt like a step forward, another rung climbed on the ladder of mastery.
What should he do tomorrow? Perhaps get a little better at transfiguration spells. He hadn't practiced some of them in a bit.
Eventually, the exhaustion won. His eyes closed, and sleep claimed him.