dmims Chapter 16 Applying for a Practice Room
Chapter 16 Applying for a Practice Room
The air on the eighth floor seemed denser than on the other floors, and a musty smell of spices wafted from a classroom on the eighth floor. As Karen stepped onto the last spiral staircase, her grey-blue eyes immediately caught sight of the open classroom, its ceiling adorned with countless golden objects—sun globes, moon globes, and various oddly shaped divination tools—swaying slightly in the dim light.
"This is the divination classroom?" Wesley asked in a low voice, his reddish-brown curly hair gleaming bronze in the light streaming through the stained-glass windows. "It looks like... uh... my grandmother's attic, with lots of old stuff."
Fabian pushed up his glasses, a look of curiosity appearing on his bronze face: "The book says that divination is the least accurate branch of magic."
“My uncle says that Hogwarts’ Divination class is all a bunch of charlatans,” Ernesto said, arms crossed, his grey eyes filled with skepticism. “However, it’s said that centaurs can actually do astrology.”
Karen did not respond immediately, but instead slightly activated the power of the Eye of Truth. In his vision, the entire eighth floor was permeated with a peculiar magical fluctuation, not the clear structure of a spell, but an energy that drifted like a thin mist, completely different from the solid magic he had felt in the underground potions classroom.
"Professor Trelawney isn't here," Karen said, looking around and seeing only a few shelves piled high with crystal balls and a small round table. "She's probably... resting in her office."
In fact, he guessed the professor was probably hiding in some corner sipping sherry. According to the original story, Sybil Trelawney only displays her prophetic abilities when she truly prophesies; the rest of the time she's immersed in self-constructed tragic prophecies. But Karen couldn't help but wonder what she would see if her prophetic abilities were triggered now.
"I heard she made a real prophecy," Fabian whispered, "about...you know...that person whose name can't even be mentioned."
"Someone whose name can't be mentioned? Who is it?" Wesley asked curiously.
Ernesto's expression suddenly turned serious: "It's the Dark Lord. My father mentioned that at the height of the Dark Lord's power, there was a prophecy... that was the reason he died at the hands of that baby Harry Potter."
"Who is Harry Potter? Is he famous?" Wesley was bewildered by the sudden appearance of the unfamiliar name.
"He is a hero of the magical world, who defeated the evil Dark Lord!" Ernesto explained to Wesley, his eyes shining.
Karen's fingers unconsciously traced the shape of his wand. He knew the entire prophecy—about Harry and Voldemort, about their fates of "dying at each other's hands." And now, ten years had passed since that prophecy, and Harry Potter would be enrolling next year…
"Let's go," Karen finally said. "It seems we won't be seeing Professor Trelawney today."
After leaving the divination classroom, they continued their exploration along the eighth-floor corridor. The portraits here were older than those on other floors, and some of the figures in the paintings had been asleep for many years, showing no reaction to the students passing by.
Turning a corner, they suddenly found themselves in a familiar area—the Fat Lady's Corridor. A portrait of the Fat Lady, dressed in a pink silk dress, was humming a tune and raised an eyebrow when she saw them.
"Are the Ravenclaw kids lost?" she asked cheerfully. "The password is 'Dragon's Blood,' but that won't work on you!"
Wesley grinned. "We're just exploring the castle, madam. I heard the Gryffindor common room is behind your portrait?"
"Clever little fellows!" the fat lady said admiringly. "But you're not Gryffindor students, so don't even think about getting in with a toe." She added, feigning sternness, but a hint of mockery flashed in her eyes.
Karen smiled and nodded in acknowledgment, but her gaze was drawn to the scene on the other side of the corridor, where a huge tapestry hung, depicting several trolls beating a foolish wizard named Barnabas with clubs.
"Trolls beat Barnabas..." Cullen murmured, his heart racing slightly. He knew that behind the blank wall opposite this tapestry lay Hogwarts' most magical room—the Room of Requirement.
"What?" Fabian followed his gaze. "Oh, that tapestry. A strange theme, isn't it?"
"I guess Barnabas did something really stupid," Wesley commented, "like trying to comb a troll's hair?"
Ernesto scoffed, "It's more like trying to teach a troll to dance ballet."
Karen didn't participate in the joke, but instead carefully observed the blank wall opposite the tapestry. Under his True Sight, that area seemed more…active than the other walls? The flow of magic exhibited a peculiar ripple pattern, as if responding to the observer's needs. But now wasn't the time to try; he'd come back later when he had more time.
"We should go eat," Karen finally said. "We've explored the castle enough."
The four boys turned and walked downstairs. Karen silently memorized the location, planning to try it again when needed.
As they reached the top of the stairs, a familiar voice called out to them: "Mr. Hawthorne! Mr. Cruz! And Mr. Griffiths and Mr. Brian! It's a pleasure to meet you all!"
Professor Flitwick, the Dean of Ravenclaw, popped out from behind the door of the Dean's office, his pointed hat stained with ink, clearly having just stepped away from his work.
"Good afternoon, Professor!" the four greeted in unison.
Professor Flitwick's eyes lingered on Cullen for a moment, a gleam of admiration in them: "I've already heard from Professor McGonagall about your performance in Transfiguration, Mr. Hawthorne!"
Ernesto straightened his back, for the professor continued, "And you, Mr. Griffith, deserve praise for defending your classmate. For that, Ravenclaw gets ten points!"
"Thank you, Professor." Ernesto's voice held a sincerity and humility that Karen had never heard before.
"Are you going to the Great Hall? I'm going there too," Professor Flitwick said cheerfully. "Let's go together, we can talk. Mr. Hawthorne, I'm particularly interested in your progress in Charms."
"Of course, Professor, and you can just call me Karen," Karen replied.
The other three also requested that Professor Flitwick change his form of address.
On the way to the Great Hall, Professor Flitwick skipped along like a cheerful little bird, occasionally turning back to talk to Karen and the others. Karen cautiously shared the fact that she had already mastered all the first-year spells and expressed interest in more advanced spells.
"Fantastic!" Professor Flitwick clapped his hands and almost jumped up. "I knew you had extraordinary talent! You know, when I learned that you also performed exceptionally well in Transfiguration class, I knew that Ravenclaw had gained a true magical genius, just like Albus."
Karen quickly and humbly replied, "Thank you for your compliment, but I am far from being able to compare with the principal."
"Karen, I already know what happened between you and those Slytherin students in Transfiguration class."
“Remember, Cullen! Bloodline has never been a factor in determining a wizard’s ability,” Professor Flitwick suddenly became serious, his voice lower than usual. “Look at me, a half-elf wizard, yet Hogwarts considers me good enough to teach young wizards. And those pure-blood fools…” He shook his head.
Karen felt a surge of warmth. He knew that Professor Flitwick was responding to the Slytherin students' provocation, and also speaking out against racial discrimination more broadly.
"I completely agree, Professor," Karen said sincerely. "Magic is about knowledge and practice, and perhaps talent is also important, but bloodline obviously does not determine the quality of talent."
"Well said!" Professor Flitwick's eyes lit up again. "Speaking of practice... you might need a suitable place. Professor McGonagall told me about your talent in Transfiguration, and Charms also requires practice."
Upon hearing this, Karen and her three companions exchanged glances, clearly thinking of the place they had explored earlier. "Actually, Professor, we discovered an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor during our exploration. If the school allows, perhaps we could..."
"Turn it into a practice room?" Professor Flitwick chimed in, rubbing his hands excitedly. "A brilliant idea! By the way, do you know the Cleansing Charm? How about this, in the Charms class the day after tomorrow, I'll change the teaching of the Illumination Charm to the Cleansing Charm. You can learn the Cleansing Charm while tidying up the space. I'll ask McGonagall to help you get the right to use that classroom!"
When they entered the hall, dinner had already begun. The long table was laden with various delicacies, the ceiling reflected the darkening sky outside, and floating candles cast a warm glow.
"Come on, children," Professor Flitwick led them to the Ravenclaw table, "sit next to me. I have many more Charms tips to share!"
During the meal, Karen noticed that Ernesto was much quieter than usual. When Professor Flitwick was temporarily called away by other teachers, Ernesto suddenly whispered, "My father... he always said that half-blood and Muggle-born wizards are not as powerful as pure-bloods."
Karen did not respond immediately, allowing Ernesto to continue thinking.
“But Professor Flitwick… he is the dueling champion,” Ernesto said slowly, “and you… you are better than any pure-blood student my age that I have ever seen.”
"Magic doesn't discriminate based on bloodline," Karen said earnestly, looking at Ernesto. "Just as a wand chooses a wizard, magic itself chooses those who truly understand it."
Fabian smiled and joined in: "My dad's a Muggle dentist. But he can fix people's most painful dental problems with just a few small tools. Isn't that magic?"
With his mouth full of mashed potatoes, Wesley mumbled, "My uncle can't even change a light bulb, but he can recite the list of top scorers in the World Cup since 1960. Isn't that magic?"
Ernesto finally smiled, though he quickly reverted to his usual arrogant expression: "Hmph, your analogies are so Muggle... but... maybe there's some truth to them."
After Professor Flitwick returned, they discussed more plans regarding the abandoned classroom. Karen had already begun to plan how to utilize the space, not only for practicing spells but perhaps also for trying some simple alchemical experiments. After all, as a transmigrator, he had many ideas that needed a safe place to be put into practice, which hadn't been convenient at home before.
When dinner ended and the four boys returned to Ravenclaw Tower, Cullen felt a sense of belonging she had never felt before. The corridors of Hogwarts were no longer just descriptions in books, but a part of her real life; the theories of magic were no longer just words, but miracles she could witness and experience firsthand.
Before the blue fireplace in the common room, Karen took out her notebook and began recording her discoveries for the day: the eye on the eighth floor, clues from the Room of Requirement, Professor Flitwick's encouragement. With a year to go before Harry Potter's enrollment, Karen Hawthorne was preparing for herself—and perhaps one day for the entire wizarding world.