Adam’s plan for the Room of Requirement tonight is different than before. He's done with searching aimlessly, combing through endless heaps of forgotten junk, because even with the same method, Professor Black was unable to find it. Tonight, he’s trying something different, something bold. If the room truly has a will of its own, capable of concealing something as masterfully as the hidden portrait, then perhaps the secret isn’t in the clutter but in the room itself. Its core. Its brain, even. Adam smirks at the thought. “Has no one really tried to outthink this place before?” he mutters under his breath. If the Room of Requirement has been protecting its secrets for centuries, then surely the answer lies in unraveling its very essence.

Determined, Adam weaves his way through the maze of discarded objects, his boots crunching over fragments of glass and ancient parchment. He scans the landscape with a critical eye, searching for something—anything—that might help him reach higher ground. His gaze halts on a broken broomstick, its once-smooth handle jagged and useless, half-buried under a rusted cauldron. He crouches and gently pulls it free, dusting off the cobwebs before pointing his wand at it. “Reparo,” he intones, his voice steady and firm. The broomstick shudders in his hand, the splintered wood knitting itself back together with a faint hum of magic.

Adam tests the handle with a firm grip, then swings a leg over it, feeling the familiar hum of power beneath him. He kicks off the ground, and the broom carries him upward in a smooth, controlled ascent. The air is thick, almost oppressive, a blend of ancient magic and years of settled dust. He wrinkles his nose but presses on, the towering mountains of forgotten relics growing smaller as he rises. From above, the scale of the room is overwhelming. The sprawling landscape of discarded memories stretches farther than he imagined—heaps of shattered trinkets, rusting tools, and unidentifiable artifacts forming a chaotic tapestry.

“How many years did it take to fill this place?” he wonders aloud, his voice barely audible over the soft whistle of air around him. “And it’s still not full.” The idea sends a shiver down his spine. The Room of Requirement seems infinite, eternal, a silent witness to countless generations of Hogwarts students and their secrets.

Adam steers the broom carefully, gliding toward the farthest edge of the room, opposite the door he’d entered. As he moves, the landscape below starts to shift. The towering piles grow smaller and less frequent, as if the chaos is thinning out. His heart quickens when he spots something unusual ahead. The clutter gives way entirely to a wide, open space—a perfectly circular clearing. From above, it looks pristine and deliberate, its emptiness jarring against the surrounding chaos. Adam hovers for a moment, studying the clearing, his brow furrowed in thought.

“That’s too perfect to be an accident,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening on the broom’s handle. “What are you hiding down there?”

Carefully, he begins his descent, his mind racing. From up here, the clearing is unmistakable. But on the ground… would it look like just another unremarkable patch of the room? The thought both excites and unnerves him. Whatever lies at the heart of this space, Adam is certain it isn’t random.

Descending carefully, Adam guides the broom downward, landing softly in the center of the clearing. The broom’s bristles brush against the smooth, dust-free surface, a stark contrast to the chaos he left behind. He dismounts and looks around, his eyes scanning every inch of the perfectly circular area. Its boundaries are clear, its symmetry precise, yet nothing about it seems particularly extraordinary. He frowns, stepping cautiously into the center. The air feels different here—heavy, expectant—but still, nothing happens. No sudden gust of magic, no concealed door swinging open. Just silence.

Adam mutters to himself, his voice tinged with frustration, “I guess finding the core isn’t as simple as walking into it.”

Pausing to gather his thoughts, he grips his wand tightly, the polished wood warm against his palm. He raises it and speaks clearly, his tone commanding, “Revelio!” The spell surges outward in rippling waves, and the stillness of the clearing abruptly shatters.

The ground beneath his feet shifts, shimmering like water disturbed by a stone. His breath catches as the surface transforms, revealing a massive, glowing structure beneath him. The intricate network of pulsing, golden lines resembles the folds of a giant brain. At its center, a luminous object begins to emerge, rising slowly from the ground. It gleams with a light both inviting and unnerving, its surface swirling with hues of silver and deep violet. Adam recognizes it immediately.

“A cluster of void stones,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart pounding in his chest. Void stones were once one of the foundational elements used to create the Room of Requirement itself—a magical conduit of unparalleled power. But to find them clustered together here, acting as the room’s sentient core, is almost too much to take in.

As Adam steps closer, the air seems to thrum with energy. A voice resonates inside his mind, low and resonant, its tone calm but commanding. “Young wizard, why do you seek me?”

Adam freezes, his eyes darting around the space, but the voice continues, filling his thoughts. “I have watched you for over a year. You have been obedient, respectful of the room’s rules. Why do you approach me now?”

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He takes a steadying breath, forcing himself to remain calm despite the voice’s unsettling presence in his mind. “You already know why I’m here,” he says firmly, his voice echoing faintly in the now-charged air. “Don’t treat me like some clueless kid. You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? So you already know what I want.”

The voice lets out a deep, rumbling chuckle, the sound vibrating through his skull. “Very well, young wizard. You are bold to speak so plainly. Tell me, what is your name?”

Adam straightens his back, meeting the glowing stone with a steady gaze. “Adam Morgan,” he replies, his tone unwavering.

The voice falls silent for a moment, as if considering his words. The tension in the room grows, the glow of the luster void stone intensifying slightly.

“Well, Adam Morgan,” the voice intones, its tone carrying a mix of amusement and challenge, “let us play a game. Answer my three riddles, and I shall grant you what you seek. Fail, and you must leave me be.”

Adam smirks, a spark of confidence lighting his eyes. He’s always been good with riddles, and the room seems eager to test him. “Fine. Let’s hear them,” he says, crossing his arms as if daring the voice to try him.

A low hum vibrates through the space, resonating deep in his chest. The voice begins, smooth and measured:

“I open without a key,

Yet close with no force.

Within me lies safety,

But only for the pure of source.

What am I?”

Adam tilts his head, the answer surfacing almost immediately in his mind. “Gringotts vault,” he says confidently.

“Correct,” the voice replies smoothly, with an approving note.

The air grows heavier, the magical energy in the clearing intensifying slightly. The voice continues:

“I am neither poison nor cure,

Yet I can bring fear or allure.

Some use me for wisdom,

Others for greed.

But misuse me once,

And your soul will concede.

What am I?”

This time, Adam furrows his brow, the answer not as immediate as before. He turns the riddle over in his mind, dissecting each line carefully. Not poison, not a cure… fear or allure… wisdom or greed… misuse could cost a soul…

Suddenly, it clicks. “Felix Felicis,” he says, his voice more subdued than before but no less certain.

The voice chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that seems to echo through the glowing folds of the brain-like structure. “Right again, Adam Morgan. You’re clever, I’ll give you that.”

Adam’s lips twitch into a faint grin. “You’re not bad at making riddles either,” he quips, his tone laced with dry humor.

The third riddle comes, and this one feels different—heavier, darker, carrying a weight that makes the air around him grow colder.

“I see all, though I am blind.

I soar above, but I am tied to the mind.

My gaze is feared by those who sin,

For my presence reveals what’s within.

What am I?”

Adam laughs, his confidence unshaken despite the ominous tone. “You’re making this too easy,” he says, his voice laced with mock impatience. “The answer is a Dementor.”

“Excellent, young wizard. You have passed my test,” the voice declares, its once-commanding presence softening slightly. “You seek that portrait, do you not? But heed this warning—it must not fall into wicked hands. Do you understand?”

Adam steps forward, his voice steady and resolute. “I only need answers,” he replies. “After that, I’ll ensure it’s placed in the Headmaster’s office, where it will be safe.”

The voice hums, its resonance carrying a note of approval. “Very well,” it says, the glowing luster void stone pulsing faintly as if acknowledging his intentions.

With a faint flicker of light, the room shifts again. The air seems to ripple, and a deep hum vibrates through the space as if the room itself is holding its breath. Before Adam, a massive pile of discarded objects shudders and parts like a wave, the clinking and scraping of metal and wood echoing around him. From the opening, a large, cloth-covered frame emerges, floating gently down as though carried by invisible hands. Adam steps forward, his arms outstretched, and the portrait settles into his grasp with surprising lightness.

“Don’t open it here,” the voice warns, its tone carrying a quiet but undeniable gravity.

Adam swallows hard, nodding. “I understand,” he says, his voice steady despite the thrill coursing through him. He’s done it. He’s found the portrait.

With a quick glance around the clearing, Adam mounts his broom once more, the covered frame tucked securely under his arm. He kicks off the ground and soars back the way he came, retracing his path through the towering piles of forgotten treasures. The weight of his discovery presses on him, and he grips the broom tightly, his heart pounding in anticipation.

When he lands at the meeting point, the trio is already there, their anxious expressions illuminated by the dim light of Hermione’s wand.

“I found it,” Adam announces, holding up the cloth-covered portrait.

Ron and Harry break into wide grins, their relief palpable. “That’s brilliant!” Ron exclaims, clapping Adam on the back. Harry nods in agreement, a rare smile spreading across his face.

Hermione, however, steps closer, her eyes fixed on the portrait with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “Are you going to open it?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Adam shakes his head. “Not here,” he replies firmly. “I’ll take it straight to the Headmaster’s office. But if any of you have questions, let me know now.”

Ron shrugs. “I’m good,” he says casually, though the tension in his shoulders suggests he’s just as eager to be done with this as Adam is.

Harry glances at the portrait, then back at Adam, shaking his head. “No questions,” he says. “Just… be careful, yeah?”

Hermione hesitates, her brow furrowed in thought. “I do have a few,” she says. “I’ll write them down for you to ask when you take it to the Headmaster’s office tomorrow.”

Adam nods and says, “You’ve got the whole night to make your list of questions.”

She gives him a tight smile, her eyes still lingering on the covered frame as though trying to see through the cloth.

With the portrait secured, the group huddles together, pulling the invisibility cloak over themselves. They move silently through the labyrinthine corridors, dodging patrolling prefects and the occasional shadow of a professor.

When they finally reach Gryffindor Tower and enter the common room, Adam exhales a quiet sigh of relief. He knows the hardest part is still to come, but for now, they’ve made it out of the Room of Requirement without being spotted.