As time passed, the atmosphere across the entire Hogwarts campus suddenly grew tense—the end-of-term exams were fast approaching.
In the Hogwarts library and even along the corridors, students could be seen everywhere, busy reviewing their coursework.
That evening, in the Gryffindor common room, Ron and Harry sat before a wizard chessboard. With Ron's decisive declaration of "Checkmate," Harry once again found himself defeated.
As he began tidying up the pieces, Ron remarked,
"Harry, you seem a bit distracted today. You don't usually lose this fast."
Hearing Ron's observation, Harry's hands paused mid-motion as he let out a deep sigh.
"Ron, just look around."
Ron instinctively glanced around the common room. Unlike himself and Harry, most of the Gryffindor students were huddled in small groups, engaged in deep discussion. Others had found quiet corners to sit alone, engrossed in their textbooks.
Seeing this, Ron's hands stilled as well. Harry continued,
"I don't know why, but watching them makes me lose all interest in wizard chess. In fact, I even feel… I feel…"
Harry hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Before he could continue, Ron interjected,
"Guilty?"
Harry immediately nodded in agreement.
Seeing Harry's reaction, Ron lost his enthusiasm for the game as well.
"Same here, Harry. Honestly, you're better off than me. How about we hit the books too?"
After a brief moment of contemplation, Harry gave a firm nod.
The two of them returned to their dormitory to grab their textbooks, intending to study in the common room. Just as they were heading out, however, the Gryffindor prefect's voice rang through the corridor:
"Curfew is in effect! Everyone, return to your dormitories immediately!"
In an instant, Harry and Ron's expressions fell.
"I was just getting into the mood to study," Harry lamented.
Ron pouted. "At least you can read in bed. I wanted to practice some spells—I still can't get the Levitation Charm right."
As the two trudged dejectedly back to their dormitory, Ron suddenly let out a loud exclamation.
"I've got an idea, Harry!"
Startled by Ron's sudden outburst, Harry shot him a glare.
"Ron, could you not scare me like that? What idea?"
Ron pointed to a piece of clothing draped over Harry's bed.
"Harry, this is the perfect time for your Invisibility Cloak to shine!"
At Ron's words, Harry's gaze shifted toward the shimmering cloak. After a moment's realization, his eyes lit up.
"You mean… the Room of Requirement?"
Ron nodded enthusiastically.
"Maybe we can find a study room there. If the Room of Requirement really provides whatever we need, it could have everything to help us ace the exams!"
But Harry still hesitated, thinking for a long moment before speaking hesitantly.
"But the Room of Requirement… that's Wentworth's favorite place to go at night. What if we run into him?"
Instead of being deterred, Ron's eyes brightened.
"That would be even better! If Wentworth is there, he might be willing to help us. We'd learn way faster with his guidance!"
Hearing Ron's reasoning, Harry nodded in agreement.
Just as the two were gathering their things, preparing to sneak to the Room of Requirement under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, an unnoticed tower at Hogwarts suddenly had its magically sealed door unlocked from the outside.
A cautious figure stepped inside—it was Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and the temporary vessel of the Dark Lord, Voldemort.
The dimly lit tower room was coated in dust, as though it had been untouched for years. In the center of the room stood an ancient desk, and atop it lay two peculiar objects.
The voice from the back of Quirrell's head urged impatiently,
"You fool! Hurry up! It's on the desk—the very thing we've been searching for!"
Quirrell stepped forward, his eyes landing on the two items. One was an ancient tome, its cover worn and cracked. As his fingers brushed its surface, he realized with certainty—the cover was made from Black Dragon hide.
The very fact that such a rare and durable material had fallen into disrepair spoke volumes. Time, the sharpest blade of all, had weathered even this resilient hide. This book could very well predate even Hogwarts itself.
Beside the ancient tome sat a silver inkwell, its surface gleaming like liquid unicorn blood. A faded quill stood erect within it, seemingly untouched by time.
As Quirrell stared at the desk, he could sense the entity within him growing even more excited than he was.
"There they are! The Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance! I have never laid eyes on them before."
In the presence of artifacts older than time itself, even death seemed to fade into insignificance. Some things transcended time and mortality, persisting through the ages—these were among them.
At that moment, the Quill of Acceptance suddenly lifted itself from the inkwell, and the Book of Admittance let out a soft rustling sound as it flipped open on its own.
Quirrell stood frozen, watching in awe as the faded quill trembled slightly before floating toward the book, positioning itself at the top of the latest page.
Just as the quill was about to touch the parchment—
Snap!
The Book of Admittance slammed shut.
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