Chapter 300: The Real Room of Requirent
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If Draco Malfoy had a hate ter, Tom figured he’d have maxed it out ages ago.
It wasn’t just Harry who loathed him enough to grind his teeth—half of Slytherin couldn’t stand his arrogance either. For Blaise Zabini to go so far just to one Draco... that was a surprise even to Tom.
Tom could even guide him to be 2 or 3 Dracos.
It was really a good surprise. After all, the best kind of employee is a free one.
And all for his notebook? That was nothing. He could make a copy in minutes.
Tom’s smile lit up his whole face, bright as the sun. "Why didn’t you say so earlier? If I’d known, I’d have given you one ages ago!"
"Just a notebook, right? No problem. Give
a few days to polish it up a bit. I’ll make it easier to learn from—you’ll be catching up to one Draco in no ti."
Then Tom lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Actually... I’ve got another notebook."
Blaise blinked. "Another one?"
Tom leaned in, expression serious. "The Half-Blood Prince Notes. Written by a Potions Master when he was still a student. It’s got all kinds of improved potion formulas—and so seriously nasty curses. I think it suits you."
Blaise’s breath hitched. His eyes practically spelled out "I want it."
"Work hard," Tom said, patting his shoulder. "Once business picks up—say, in about a week—I’ll give you part of it. Can’t hand over the whole book, but it’ll be enough to learn from."
"Tom, where are the ingredients? I’ll start right now!"
Blaise looked like he’d just downed a gallon of espresso. If he could, he’d have filled Tom’s whole shop with potions by sundown.
Too bad Tom didn’t have any materials yet. The earliest shipnt wouldn’t arrive until the weekend, leaving Blaise with energy and nowhere to spend it.
So on Friday, he threw himself into studying the three potion recipes, morizing every ingredient, every stirring technique, every timing detail by heart.
By Saturday morning, when the ingredients finally arrived, he marched into the Potions classroom with his cauldron under his arm, ready to go. Tom had even asked Snape to oversee him for the day, just to make sure he mastered the brewing process properly.
Tom himself didn’t stay idle either.
That morning, he watched a hand-cranked Wizard of Oz film with Penelope—an idea inspired by Laos’ earlier demonstration of Muggle weapons. Hogwarts couldn’t handle anything electric, but old chanical tech like this worked just fine.
At noon, he slipped away with Astoria to Mada Puddifoot’s for an almost dangerously sweet lunch.
Then he hurried back, gave Hermione a tutoring session, and spent the rest of the afternoon entertaining Daphne and the two pandas.
He’d even planned to spend the evening with Ginny, but then he rembered sothing else—sothing he’d been aning to test.
...
In front of the Room of Requirent, Tom paced back and forth three tis, concentrating hard on entering Ravenclaw’s bedroom.
Nothing. The wall stayed smooth, no door appeared.
"Huh?" He frowned and touched the wall. Then he tried again, this ti thinking only of an empty room—and sure enough, the door appeared instantly.
Inside, Ravenclaw was smiling faintly. "My bedroom isn’t that easy to get into."
"But I’m in, aren’t I?" Tom said, looking around the shadowy space. "Not much of a room, though—no windows, no furniture."
Ravenclaw chuckled. "Here, I’ll teach you the spell that opens the true entrance."
Under her guidance, Tom quickly learned the incantation that "woke" the room.
He flicked his wand, tracing a blue arc of light through the air. The glow broke into starlike motes that faded into the darkness.
A soft white light appeared deep within the space, spreading outward until it filled everything. The world seed to ripple, shifting and stretching, as if reality itself was rearranging around him.
He heard the faint sound of running water. When the white glow thinned like mist and cleared away, Tom found himself sowhere completely different—so different, he doubted he was still inside Hogwarts at all.
He was standing on a grassy adow, lush and bright. A clear stream wound its way through the field, crossed by a small wooden bridge.
On the far side stood a three-story cottage built from white stone, nestled lazily among blooming flowers and vines. The whole place radiated a quiet, peaceful beauty. And above, the sky shimred with sothing surreal—like a reflection of Hogwarts grounds, with the Black Lake and lawns inverted high above the clouds.
He even saw a few familiar classmates near the lake, tossing breadcrumbs to the fish.
"Welco to my room, Tom."
Through his eyes, Ravenclaw took in her "bedroom" as if rediscovering it after a thousand-year nap. She had no mory of the passing centuries, but seeing it again brought a quiet lancholy to her tone.
Tom looked around, speechless. "You call this a bedroom?"
"Only Helena and I can enter," Ravenclaw replied smoothly. "That makes it my bedroom, doesn’t it?"
Tom wanted to curse for a mont.
He then crossed the little bridge and approached the house.
The door swung open automatically, revealing a cozy interior. The decor leaned heavily on shades of blue—her favorite color—but each hue carried a different mood, giving the space depth rather than monotony.
Even a quick glance told him Ravenclaw’s artistic talent ran deep. You could see it in Hogwarts itself—the balance of intellect and beauty woven into its design.
But what really stood out here wasn’t the architecture—it was the paper.
Parchnt everywhere. On tables, on the couch, on the wardrobe, even scattered across the floor and piled beside the trash bin.
For once, Ravenclaw looked a little embarrassed. "Ah... I’ve always been a bit spontaneous. When inspiration strikes, I just grab a quill and write, no matter where I am. Most of it’s probably nonsense, so I never bother to organize it."
The room was just as she described. Aside from Helena and herself, not even the other Founders had ever stepped foot in here. Since no one else entered, she saw no reason to clean.
Tom smiled and nodded, amused.
"Won’s rooms," he thought, "were often ssier than n’s."
Take Daphne, for instance—if it weren’t for the house-elf tidying up, her clothes would’ve ford a mountain at the end of her bed by now.
What was even more amazing, though, was how so girls could find exactly what they were looking for in the middle of all that chaos. Maybe that was a gift of its own.
Tom crouched down and began picking up the papers one by one.
He didn’t dare use magic. After a thousand years, the parchnt might look intact, but it had beco incredibly fragile. One wrong move, and it would crumble into dust.
And this wasn’t just any old paper—these were Ravenclaw’s original notes. Every single sheet held priceless research value.
Ravenclaw wanted to help, to save him from this awkward task, but she could only stand by and watch helplessly.
"So, your soul was waiting here, right?" Tom asked as he stacked another pile neatly.
"That’s right." Ravenclaw’s smile softened. "I wanted to see my daughter one last ti, but my body was failing. The only option was to separate my soul and mories and seal them away."
Her expression dimd. "Who could’ve guessed she’d go and..." She sighed. "It was just a diadem. I didn’t let her use it because I didn’t want her to beco dependent on it. But she stole it anyway—then ran off and felt so guilty she never ca back."
Tom smirked. "The question is, why did she take it so hard?"
He lifted a pen holder, revealing another stack of parchnt underneath. "You should probably read a few books on parenting," he said casually. "Adults and children don’t see the world the sa way. You can’t expect them to feel the sa, either."
He glanced over his shoulder. "You’re Rowena Ravenclaw—the smartest witch who ever lived. Imagine the pressure Helena must’ve felt being your daughter."
Ravenclaw frowned slightly. "Other people’s opinions can create pressure, I know that. But I told her many tis not to worry about what others think—she just needed to take care of herself first."
Tom chuckled. "If lectures worked, there wouldn’t be rebellious teenagers in the world. You didn’t step into her shoes, so you couldn’t really empathize. Once that emotional gap widens, it doesn’t matter what triggers it—a fight like yours was inevitable, diadem or not."
Ravenclaw fell silent. It wasn’t her area of expertise, and she had no argunts left.
"Don’t worry," Tom said with a grin. "I’ll help you talk so sense into your daughter next ti."
Ravenclaw gave him a sidelong look, half amused. "By age, Helena’s centuries older than you. By generation, the two of you are technically equals."
"There’s an old saying," Tom replied, smug, "that he who knows most teaches best. When it cos to dealing with emotions and people, I’ve got her beat."
Ravenclaw laughed softly. "I suppose that’s true."
They’d reached the third floor by now.
It was divided into two areas: Ravenclaw’s living quarters—smaller and cozy—and her study, which took up most of the space.
They weren’t close enough yet for Tom to wander into her bedroom (sleep room), so he headed into the study instead.
Books filled the walls. Unlike the fragile parchnt, these volus had been protected by powerful enchantnts. Even after a millennium, they were as good as new.
Tom’s eyes lit up.
Every single book was unfamiliar—so bore titles written by hand, in Ravenclaw’s elegant script. They weren’t just tos of knowledge; they were her works.
He felt like a fly stumbling into a spider’s lair, surrounded by seductive books whispering "Read , investigate , uncover my secrets."
There was no resisting that.
Tom grabbed the nearest one and dove in.
He had co in during the afternoon. When he finally looked up again, it was already Sunday morning.
Because of the archaic English grammar, his reading was slow. Even so, he’d skimd through three books overnight.
And strangely enough, every single one of them dealt with mory—theories, research notes, and even a few spells related to it.
"Noticed the pattern, have you?" Ravenclaw asked with a lazy yawn. "You’re right. mory was one of my main fields of study."
She tilted her head slightly, her tone suddenly thoughtful. "Tell , Tom... what do you think makes a person human?"
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