Late 1938, Hogwarts
Leonard jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding against his ribs. The air in the dormitory felt thick and oppressive, as if the shadows themselves were closing in, ready to swallow him whole. He closed his eyes and forced a slow breath, trying to calm his racing mind. Meditation—that's what he needed. He sat up, crossed his legs, and focused on his breathing.
In. Out.
But the laughter—high, cold, and maniacal—echoed in his head, growing louder with each attempt to quiet it. His chest tightened. The memory of that room clawed its way back: the crushing walls, the sinister presence that clung to his every breath.
In. Out. It wasn’t working.
His pulse quickened again, his thoughts spiralling. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet as he stumbled toward the washroom. The room spun, his vision blurred at the edges, and dizziness washed over him. He gripped the doorframe, steadying himself.
A splash of cold water might help. He fumbled with the tap, splashing his face repeatedly, willing the coolness to calm the panic rising in his chest. For a moment, he stood there, gripping the sink, trying to shake the feeling that the walls were still closing in.
Leonard looked up, catching his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, his eyes wide with panic. He hadn’t had an attack like this since… well, not since before. He gripped the edge of the sink harder, his knuckles turning white.
Thoughts of his first life crept back, like an old wound reopening. Normally, he could push them down, lock them away in the darkest corners of his mind. But not this time. This time, they surged up, unstoppable.
Before he knew it, his stomach lurched. He barely made it to the toilet before he was sick, the nausea hitting him hard, leaving him weak and trembling.
Leonard stayed crouched by the sink for a while, his body still shaking. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, staring at the cold tiles, before he finally found the strength to stand. His legs felt weak, but he pushed himself upright and splashed his face again. The nausea had passed, though his nerves still buzzed with unease.
Slowly, he made his way out of the washroom and into the common room. The quiet stillness of the early morning had a calming effect, though his thoughts remained tangled. He sank into one of the armchairs by the window, staring out at the misty grounds beyond.
“Leonard?” a voice interrupted the silence. He turned to see Cassandra standing nearby, her brow furrowed with concern. She approached slowly, as if unsure whether to intrude. “Are you alright? You look pale.”
“I’m fine. Just a bad dream,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Cassandra’s gaze lingered on him, her concern evident, but she didn’t press further. She was just about to move on when Leonard spoke again.
“You can sit here if you want,” he said, gesturing to the chair next to him.
She paused, then nodded, taking the seat. Leonard glanced at the book in her hand. “What are you reading?”
Magical Defence: Theory and Practice by Perseus Thorne.
Leonard smiled faintly, his mind wandering for a moment before he asked, “Have you seen Jonathan? How’s he doing?”
Cassandra brightened visibly. “He’s much better,” she said, her voice lighter. “Madam Hawthorne just wants to keep him a little longer to be sure, but he’ll be fine.”
“Glad to hear that,” Leonard replied, feeling some of the tension in his chest ease. He had meant to visit Jonathan again, but with everything that had happened—the strange room, the book—he had completely forgotten.
“You two knew each other before Hogwarts?” he asked.
Cassandra nodded. “Yeah, we grew up together. Our mothers were friends, so we saw each other a lot.” She leaned back in her chair. “It’s nice to have a familiar face here, even if it’s just one.”
Her smile lingered as she spoke about Jonathan, but her tone shifted slightly. “Hogwarts… it’s not what I expected,” she admitted, almost offhandedly. “My mother was in Slytherin. She always said it was the only house that understood the world.” She shrugged. “But I guess… things change.” Her expression darkened briefly before she waved it off. “Anyway, here we are.”
Leonard glanced at her, sensing there was more behind her words, but he chose not to press. The conversation was calming, a welcome distraction from the tension that had gripped him since the strange room. They shifted to lighter topics—Hogwarts, the Muggle world—and as the exchange went on, Leonard felt his earlier anxiety melting away, replaced by a sense of normalcy. After a while, he glanced at the clock. Curfew had lifted.
“I think I’m going to go for a run,” he said, standing up and stretching his legs.
Cassandra gave him a curious look, as if to say, “At this hour?” but she didn’t comment further. She just raised an eyebrow and said, “Enjoy, I suppose.”
Leonard muttered a quick “Thank you” as he made his way to the door, unsure if she had heard him.
The cool morning air hit Leonard’s face as he stepped outside. The grounds were quiet, still bathed in the soft, dim light of dawn. His feet moved automatically, lightly pounding against the gravel path as he ran. His breath found a steady rhythm, and with every step, the tangled thoughts in his mind began to unravel. The unease that had gripped him slowly loosened its hold.
His thoughts drifted from the strange events of the last few days to something else—Tom Riddle. That boy had invaded his mind somehow, back on the train. The memory still unsettled him, the way his thoughts had felt exposed, vulnerable. How had Riddle done it? And more importantly, how could Leonard stop it from happening again?
The path curved, and Leonard slowed as he approached the lake. The surface was calm, almost eerily still, except for a single ripple breaking the water. It spread out in quiet waves, the source hidden beneath. Leonard paused, staring out over the water. Mermaids, perhaps? The thought was enough to distract him from his brooding.
After a quick shower, Leonard skimmed through a book on beginner wand movements, his thoughts still on the morning run. When hunger struck, he made his way to the nearly empty Great Hall. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of the house-elves, but the food appeared as usual—by magic, of course, though he had expected to see something more.
At least the ghosts left him alone, more interested in the older students. That was a relief. The last thing Leonard needed was an overenthusiastic ghost wanting to chat.
After breakfast, he turned his mind to Tom Riddle. He needed answers.
***
In the library, towering shelves stretched into the shadows, ladders propped against them to reach the higher books. Some volumes were locked behind glass, their worn spines hinting at secrets ready to be uncovered.
To the side, a wrought-iron gate caught his eye. It probably led to the restricted section, where books too dangerous or powerful for most students were kept. He approached the librarian’s desk.
An elderly man sat behind it, his long white beard cascading over the desk like a waterfall. His bald head gleamed under the library’s dim light, and his face bore countless lines. As Leonard neared, the man glanced up, his eyes filled with curiosity.
“Good morning,” Leonard began politely. “I was wondering if you could help me find some books. I’m looking for volumes on magical creatures, anything about mind-reading or mind-arts, and maybe some general trivia about Hogwarts and the castle itself.”
The librarian nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, quite the selection you’re after,” he said, his voice smooth despite his age. With a flick of his wand, a quill beside him sprang to life, scribbling notes on a small sheet of parchment.
Leonard took the parchment and noted the somewhat haphazard organization of the library. Books seemed scattered across different shelves, with little rhyme or reason.
“The name’s Alden Pince,” the librarian added with a faint smile. “If you need anything else, just ask.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it, sir,” Leonard said, nodding in gratitude before heading into the maze of bookshelves.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” came a warm, apologetic voice.
Leonard looked up and found himself face-to-face with Tom Riddle, who was already bending down to pick up the fallen book. For a brief moment, Tom’s expression was open and friendly, but when his eyes caught the title of the book—The Subtle Mind: Defences Against Mental Intrusion—his smile faltered, just slightly.
“Ah,” Tom murmured, his tone shifting from warmth to something cooler, more deliberate. “Interesting choice of reading material, Harrington.”
He wasn’t in the mood for pretence. “You tried to read my mind—not once, but twice,” Leonard said flatly. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
For a split second, surprise flashed across Tom’s face. “Who pretends to sleep for hours?” Tom shot back, his voice carrying a subtle edge.
Leonard snatched the book from Tom’s hand with more force than necessary, his gaze cold. “I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to try again after your first failed attempt.”
Tom’s jaw tightened. “Most people don’t even have the presence of mind to notice,” he countered coolly.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Leonard replied dryly, turning his back on Tom and walking to the desk where his other books lay.
The chapters on Occlumency described mental defences in detail, emphasizing the need to clear one’s mind and build walls against intrusion. Leonard read further about Legilimency. According to the book, Legilimency was rare, difficult to master, and even harder to detect. He scribbled notes in his notebook—exercises for both defending and attacking the mind, methods for mental clarity, and strategies to shield his thoughts.
Afterward, he skimmed through trivia about Hogwarts, noting with some surprise that the school was indeed home to mermaids. Moving on to his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework, Leonard focused on drafting his essay before finally turning to a section on house-elves. The tone of the material felt skewed, written with little empathy for the creatures, but it was useful nonetheless.
By lunchtime, Leonard joined Artie, Philip, and Alistair at the Ravenclaw table. Roger was nowhere to be seen. They talked about their morning routines, making light conversation until Alistair leaned in, his voice lowering.
“There’s something I need to show you.”
As they prepared to leave the Great Hall, Roger appeared with two other Ravenclaws, chatting animatedly. Leonard exchanged a glance with Artie before Roger spotted them and walked over.
“Hey,” Roger greeted, a little stiffly. “What are you all up to?”
“Just heading out,” Leonard replied, glancing at Alistair, who nodded in confirmation. They made small talk about classes before Roger turned back to his companions, and Leonard and the others followed Alistair out of the castle.
They found a secluded bench outside, away from the bustling students. Alistair sat down and reached into his bag, pulling out the strange book they had found. He flipped it open to a specific page, pointing to a picture of a plant.
Next, he pulled out A Compendium of Plants and Herbs Around Hogwarts and opened it to a similar image. “Look at this,” he said, his voice low with excitement. “Both plants… almost identical.”
Artie leaned closer, examining the page. “Where did you find this?”
Philip stepped in, briefly explaining to Artie how, after the flying lesson, they had explored the castle, found the book, and narrowly avoided being crushed to death.
Artie’s eyes widened in shock. “And you’re just… carrying it around like it’s nothing?” He looked at Alistair, still processing the story.
“I know—my words exactly,” Leonard added, sharing Artie’s concern.
“We’re learning from it, aren’t we?”
Artie glanced back at Leonard before eyeing the books again. “Where’d you get the other one?”
Alistair tapped the cover of A Compendium of Plants and Herbs Around Hogwarts. “This? I owled my grandmother for it. She has a collection of older texts about the plants that used to grow here before the 1800s.”
Leonard raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t want to show Professor Merrythought the book, but you’re fine involving your grandmother?”
Alistair ignored the remark, pointing out the publication date—1720. “This plant is called Sanguinaria Arcana. It describes where it grew and how it was cultivated.”
Leonard leaned forward, his expression tightening as he read. The plant required magical creatures’ blood to thrive, couldn’t be grown in greenhouses, and was used in blood magic rituals.
Alistair flipped to another page in The Herbologist’s Guide to Arcane Flora, published in 1780. “By this time, it was thought to be extinct or no longer found on Hogwarts grounds.”
Leonard frowned. “So, it was wiped out by then?”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Good riddance,” Artie muttered.
“That’s what makes this strange,” Alistair continued, pulling out a third book. “In 1810, another source describes a plant growing in two locations around the castle. It doesn’t name the Sanguinaria Arcana, but the description is nearly identical.”
Leonard’s thoughts raced. “Someone must have kept it alive—maybe even recultivated it.”
Alistair nodded. “That’s what I think. Whoever it was, they preserved it long after it was believed extinct.”
Philip glanced between them. “So… what now? We can’t exactly go looking for it.”
Alistair sighed. “Not yet. The locations are off-limits. We’d be caught.”
Leonard blinked, startled by Alistair’s nonchalance. After everything—nearly being crushed to death—he was still considering further exploration?
“Still,” Alistair added slowly, “there’s that room. We barely scratched the surface, and who knows what else is hidden there. There might be more clues.”
Leonard crossed his arms. “Scratching the surface is what got us into this mess. No more scratching, please,” he added dryly. “That room was trying to kill us, remember?”
Alistair’s gaze lingered on the strange book. “There’s more to this place,” he said quietly. “My grandfather used to tell me stories about Hogwarts—secrets buried deep, forgotten magic. He always thought there was something worth finding. And I think this room might be part of it.”
After much convincing, Leonard reluctantly agreed to tag along, but only if he stayed outside, ready to call for help if anything went wrong.
They made their way up to the fifth floor, tension settling over them. When they reached the tapestry of the three witches, Alistair cautiously lifted it. Behind it, the wall was smooth—no hidden corridor.
“Hold on..?” Alistair muttered, lowering the tapestry and staring at the blank wall. “It’s gone. How is it just… gone?”
The group lingered, checking nearby tapestries and retracing their steps. But no matter how many times they looked; the hidden corridor had disappeared.
Leonard felt a quiet sense of relief. For now, at least, this strange mystery had reached an end. As they turned to leave, Philip spoke up.
“Gryffindor’s got Quidditch practice. If we hurry, we can catch it.”
Leonard considered but quickly dismissed the idea. His mind was elsewhere—on practicing Occlumency and Legilimency. Those skills seemed far more pressing after recent events.
Alistair, still clutching the strange book, decided to join Philip and Artie. Leonard, content to let them go, returned to the dormitory.
He sat cross-legged on the floor and began working on the Occlumency exercises from the book. His breath steadied as he focused.
At first, he let his thoughts wander, then began pushing distractions away. He imagined his mind as a void—closed off, with nothing entering or leaving. But he couldn’t maintain it for long. Memories slipped through, emotions flooded in. Undeterred, Leonard tried again and again, each attempt yielding a subtle shift. What had once been a continuous stream of thoughts now felt disjointed, fragmented.
Afterward, Leonard scribbled down his thoughts. Fear and frustration seemed impossible to suppress, slipping past his defences every time.
Later, he headed to the library to review books on wand movements. Most texts offered vague generalizations, which didn’t match his experiences. Frustrated by the lack of practical advice, he returned to the dormitory to practice Lumos.
This time, Leonard let his emotions flow freely. Anger made the spell surge, but as it ebbed, the light dimmed. Happiness brought a similar burst, followed by a quick fade. After experimenting with different emotions, he concluded that neutrality—a steady, calm mind—produced the most consistent results.
Finally, on one attempt, the spell shone brighter than ever before. Leonard watched the light flicker from his wand, a surge of pride rising in his chest. For a brief moment, everything clicked. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the light dimmed, fading back to its usual level.
Frowning, Leonard tried again, keeping his emotions neutral. This time, the brightness barely flickered before dying out completely. He repeated the spell a few more times, but each attempt yielded weaker results. The earlier success had been fleeting—just a glimpse of what he could achieve.
Needing to clear his head, Leonard stepped outside for some fresh air, wandering aimlessly around the castle grounds. The quiet, cool breeze and rustling leaves helped calm his mind. Gradually, the frustration from earlier faded, and he felt more centred.
The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully in the Ravenclaw common room. Leonard joined a few card games and spent some time reading ahead for next week’s lessons.
By dinner, he sat with the others. Roger joined them, though his mood was noticeably reserved. As they settled in, Leonard tried to bring Roger into the conversation. “So, what did you get up to today?” he asked, but Roger only offered a curt, “Not much,” before turning his attention back to his food.
Leonard pressed on with a genuine smile. “What do you think of Quidditch? Are you planning to try out next year? You looked comfortable on the broom—more than myself, that’s for sure.”
“Doubt it. I’m not much into it.” His tone remained flat.
Artie, however, kept the energy light. “We watched Gryffindor practice. They’re strong, but I’ll be stronger when I try out for the team next year,” he said with a chuckle.
Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but Artie cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, we know—Slytherin’s the better team. You’ve only told us a hundred times about how your cousins won the House Cup four years running.”
“Leonard and Roger don’t know that yet.” The boy said a little more defensively.
“So, your whole family’s Slytherin?”
“Mostly,” Alistair replied. “Except my uncle. He and I are the outliers.”
Philip looked up, surprised. “Professor Burke wasn’t in Slytherin?”
Alistair shook his head. “Yeah, he was a proud Gryffindor. Caused a stir back then, or so my grandmother says.”
As they talked, Leonard glanced over at Roger, who remained distant, offering only the occasional nod.
***
Sunday came around quietly. Leonard slept in, missing breakfast, which was rare for him. It felt like the first good sleep he’d had in years. As he stretched out lazily, Alistair was still in the room, that strange book in his hand.
Alistair rushed over to Leonard, panic in his voice. “The colours—they’re fading. I’m sure of it! I looked at it last night, and now the ink’s disappearing.” He thrust the book into Leonard’s face.
Leonard, still groggy, lazily blew on the pages, seeing no change. Alistair stared at him, bewildered. “What was that supposed to do?”
Leonard rolled his eyes. “What did you expect me to do? It’s not like I’m a scribe, and I can’t even read what’s written in the book.”
Alistair, exasperated, shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.” He stormed out.
Leonard yawned loudly and turned back into his sheets, letting the warmth of the blanket pull him back into his drowsy state.
Leonard stepped outside, the cool air sharp against his skin as he began his run. Running had always been a way to clear his head, but today, it served another purpose: practicing Occlumency. His feet hit the gravel with a steady rhythm, and he focused on his breathing—In. Out. Each step, each breath, aligned with the mental stillness he sought.
To his surprise, it felt easier than before. The usual distractions—the flickers of his old life and the overwhelming emotions of this new one—began to fade. He pictured smooth walls in his mind, holding back the memories and emotions that had often threatened to break through. Occasionally, images surfaced, but they were faint, easily pushed back behind those mental barriers.
For the first time, Leonard felt a sense of control, even though cracks formed now and then, letting through bursts of stronger emotions. Compared to the day before, it was progress. Maybe it was the rhythm of the run, or maybe repetition was truly the key. "Repetition truly is the mother of learning," he mused with a small smile.
He wasn’t completely there yet—fear, anger, and flashes of panic still broke through easily—but something new happened. Briefly, he experienced a moment of total stillness. His mind had gone completely blank, free from thoughts, emotions, and memories. It was fleeting but profound, leaving a lasting impression.
By the time he returned to the castle, muscles pleasantly aching, Leonard felt a sense of accomplishment. His mind was calmer, and he dared to hope he was beginning to understand Occlumency.
At lunch, the Great Hall was busy, but Leonard quickly noticed that Alistair, Artie, and Philip were missing. Roger sat with other Ravenclaws, glancing briefly at Leonard before turning away. Leonard shrugged it off—everyone had their own plans.
He found a seat and helped himself to roast chicken and potatoes. The warmth of the food was comforting, but his mind kept drifting back to the moment of mental clarity during his run.
After lunch, Leonard went to the library, determined to deepen his understanding. He searched for more books on Occlumency, hoping to find something to explain the fleeting sensation he'd experienced earlier. However, nothing concrete turned up. The books were filled with techniques and theories, but none addressed the exact sensation he'd felt.
Frustrated but not discouraged, Leonard turned to the other books he had gathered. One in particular caught his eye—a German volume on precise wand movements, complete with detailed illustrations and in-depth explanations. The precision fascinated him, each diagram showing subtle variations in wand handling for different spells. There was even a mention of wandless magic, a topic that piqued his curiosity.
Intrigued, Leonard searched for more on wandless magic, but the information he found was vague and anecdotal. It seemed a poorly researched area, with most wizards unable to control it effectively. The texts suggested that while possible, wandless magic was imprecise and difficult, making it impractical for most.
After returning the books, Leonard turned a corner and spotted Alistair, Artie, and Philip sitting together. Philip and Artie were engrossed in what looked like a Quidditch magazine, while Alistair studied a thick tome. Leonard hesitated, about to leave and practice Lumos—maybe even attempt wandless magic—when Artie saw him and waved him over.
Artie grinned as Leonard approached. "Look who finally decided to join us—Sleeping Beauty awakens," he teased.
Leonard smirked as he slid into the seat. "Even greatness takes its time, Artie. You can’t rush perfection."
He glanced at the Quidditch magazine on the table, where an animated image of a Bulgarian player performed a series of daring mid-air flips on his broom before scoring a perfect goal. The image reset, repeating the move over and over again.
“Bulgarian Seeker,” Artie said, noticing Leonard’s interest. “Reckless, but he’s got style.”
Leonard nodded and turned to Alistair, who was still engrossed in his book. “What are you reading?”
Alistair didn’t respond, too absorbed in the text. Philip glanced up and answered instead. "He’s trying to reverse the fading ink in that book he found. He also wants to know what spell caused it in the first place. So far..." Philip leaned in, lowering his voice, "he's been unlucky."
Leonard raised an eyebrow. "Why’s he so obsessed with that book? We’re going to hand it over anyway, aren’t we?"
Philip shrugged, then returned to his magazine. "Who knows? Maybe he just likes a challenge."
Leonard stayed a bit longer, asking a few questions about the Quidditch manoeuvres in the magazine, trying to keep the conversation going. Once the chatter drifted back to game strategies, he excused himself and headed to his room, ready to practice magic.
He tried Lumos again, hoping for better results than the previous day. But as before, the results were inconsistent—sometimes the wand lit brightly, other times it barely flickered. Leonard even attempted it wandlessly, though he suspected it would be futile. He focused, pushing his energy into the spell, but nothing happened. Was it his lack of skill, or was Lumos simply not suited for wandless magic? Frustration crept in, but he shook it off, reminding himself that progress took time.
Later, after dinner, Leonard settled in with a simple adventure story, hoping to relax. Just as he was getting lost in the tale, a loud bell rang three times, echoing through the common room. Startled, Leonard looked up, as did the other first-years. They exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of the sudden noise.
"What was that?" someone muttered, confusion spreading through the group.
The prefect with the stubble strode to the centre of the Ravenclaw common room, his purple robe adorned with shimmering stars and ravens that seemed to move as he walked. The room quieted as all eyes turned toward him. His expression was playful as he raised a simple yet intricately designed mask and placed it over his face.
"Welcome, fellow Ravenclaws, to the Raven's Recondite Revelry!" he announced grandly, his arms sweeping wide in a dramatic flourish.
His voice rang with confidence, and the first-years exchanged curious glances. The prefect paused for effect, then offered a slight bow. “I am Crispin Fawley, your Mystery Master for the evening. This will be my last Recondite Revelry, so… expect a little extra flair tonight.”
He began to move as if summoning something from the air, performing an exaggerated dance. The other prefects looked on, amused—especially Penelope, who watched him with a twitching eye before finally speaking.
“Crispin,” she said softly, sighing.
“Let a man have some fun, Penelope,” he quipped, stopping his dance with a mischievous grin. “Now, let's begin.”
Crispin clapped his hands once, and the room shifted. Soft blue lanterns floated into the air, casting a serene glow over the Ravenclaw common room. As the lanterns ascended, large posters unfurled across the walls, each displaying a prominent figure from Ravenclaw’s past. Most of the faces were unfamiliar to Leonard, though two stood out. One was the house ghost from the Sorting, and the other was unmistakably Rowena Ravenclaw herself, her sharp eyes watching them with quiet intelligence.
In the centre of the room, a glowing blue orb rose slowly from the floor, casting an ethereal light. The orb dimmed the rest of the room, making it feel more intimate, as though they had stepped into a private gathering of minds. The orb focused its light on Crispin, like a spotlight, drawing every gaze toward the seventh-year prefect.
The first years stared in awe, their earlier confusion turning to wonder. The older students exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying the spectacle Crispin was orchestrating.
"What does it mean to be a Ravenclaw?" he asked, his voice softer now, filled with meaning. "What do these traits—wisdom, wit, and creativity—mean to you?"
A few hesitant first-years raised their hands, but Crispin laughed and waved them off. “No need for hand-raising. This isn’t class. Shout it out!”
One brave first-year spoke up, "It means being smart and always seeking knowledge."
Another added, "Using our brains to solve problems."
Crispin nodded appreciatively. “Good answers. But there’s more to it than just knowing things. Ravenclaws don’t just memorize facts—we think creatively, outside the box. Sometimes, it’s more about asking the right questions than finding the right answers.”
He paced slowly around the room, the floating orb casting a gentle light on him. "We are seekers, yes, but not for curiosity’s sake alone. We seek wisdom and innovation, and we challenge ourselves to use knowledge in ways others might not. Now," he paused dramatically, "who here thinks wit can be as powerful as a wand?"
A few murmurs rippled through the group, and some older students exchanged knowing smiles.
“Exactly,” Crispin continued. “A quick mind is often the best defence in tough situations. But enough philosophy—let’s put those quick minds to the test.”
He introduced the next part of the evening: the Riddle Circle. The first riddle was simple, easing the first-years into the challenge:
“I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?”
"An echo!" one of the older students called out, and Crispin grinned.
"Too easy, wasn't it?" he joked, as the next riddle appeared in the air before them.
“I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?”
The first-years hesitated, brows furrowed. An older Ravenclaw whispered something to a first-year beside him. The boy’s face lit up, and he called out, “A map!”
Crispin nodded approvingly. “Correct!”
As the riddles grew more complex, laughter and debate filled the room. Leonard and his friends listened closely, occasionally throwing in their own answers. At one point, Artie confidently solved a tricky one:
“The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?”
“Footsteps,” Artie said, earning a grin from Crispin.
Throughout the Riddle Circle, a floating tray passed around Blue Moon Puffs, muffins glowing softly with a faint blueberry scent. Cold drinks were also served. Leonard eyed the glowing muffins suspiciously and decided to skip them, opting instead for a glass of white juice. It tasted like pineapple, with a hint of something unfamiliar yet delicious.
“Well done,” Crispin said, clapping his hands. “Now, one last task before we wrap up. Let’s turn our attention to the Knowledge Tree.”
He led them to a corner of the room where a small, glowing plant stood. Its branches were sparse, but a faint magical light shimmered around it. Crispin explained, “This tree grows with your ambitions. Tonight, I want each of you first-years to write down something you hope to learn or improve during your time at Hogwarts. Pin your note to the tree, and let’s see it grow.”
One by one, they stepped forward, placing their ambitions before the small plant. Each note was consumed by a flicker of green flame, and with every offering, the tree grew. As more notes were added, the branches stretched higher, sprouting glowing leaves that illuminated the room.
When it was Leonard’s turn, he hesitated before writing: 'Safety for those near me and strength to control my own life.' He folded the paper, placed it before the tree, and watched as it burned up, causing the tree to grow taller and more vibrant.
Once the final leaf appeared, Crispin looked around at the group, his tone more reflective. “This is what it means to be a Ravenclaw. Not just knowledge for its own sake, but growth—personal, intellectual, and communal. We are here to learn, to challenge ourselves, and to help one another along the way.”
He smiled warmly; his dramatic flair replaced with sincerity. “Never stop learning, and always let your curiosity guide you. The Ravenclaw library is yours to explore, and trust me—there’s more to discover than you can imagine. The next Recondite Revelry will be upon us before you know it.”
With that, the event came to an official close. Leonard hovered at the edges of a few conversations, listening to the older students, occasionally joining in with a question or comment.