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HP412- Morning Tort- Training Returns
🕑 Added 2025-04-18 22:46:20 +0000 UTCLuna blinked like it was glowing. “Wow.”
The rest weren’t as quick to react.
“Do you see anything, Luna?” Ginny asked.
Luna tilted her head. “No, but I didn’t want Harry to feel bad.”
Tracey snorted. Daphne muttered, “That’s generous of you.” Pansy laughed into her hand.
Harry ruffled Luna’s hair once and shook his head. “Appreciated.”
He walked past the painting three times, back and forth without saying a word. On the third pass, the wall shifted. A door formed, simple and solid, and creaked open just enough to let the candlelight spill into the corridor.
Inside, the space stretched out—stone floors, wide dueling mats, weapon racks, and even a few moving dummies loitering around like bored guards. The lighting was soft, not dim, with high windows that showed nothing but sky. At the far end, a blackboard floated in midair beside a shelf stacked with books and a bucket of chalk.
Rest of the group watched wide-eyed.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” Ginny said, stepping inside like she was expecting the ceiling to collapse.
“A room that gives you what you need,” Harry said, walking to the center. “We need space. We get this.”
Fred whistled low. “Wish this showed up before our OWLs.”
George elbowed him. “Could’ve failed in luxury.”
Tracey wandered over to the blackboard, tapped it with a knuckle, and turned. “So, how long do we have this?”
“Whenever we need it,” Harry said. “Room responds to intent. Just walk past the wall and want it.”
Hermione had already drifted toward the shelf of books, scanning titles. “These aren’t props,” she said, pulling one out and flipping through. “Actual theory. Some of these I haven’t even seen in the library.”
“Good,” Harry said. “Then you’ll stop complaining I never study.”
“Lies,” she muttered, still reading.
Pansy crouched near one of the moving dummies. It twitched when she got too close, raising a wooden wand. She backed up.
“Alright, it’s watching me,” she said. “Why is it watching me?”
“Because it wants to duel,” Astoria said, already picking up a padded practice wand from the rack. “Or maybe it’s judging your outfit.”
Susan poked a mat with her foot. “So this is your secret project?”
Harry shook his head. “This is Rowena Ravenclaw’s masterpiece. Room of Requirement. If you walk past the painting like I did, three times with a clear idea of what you need, the door appears. It can make nearly anything. I told you—this year we’re training properly.”
Susan raised an eyebrow. “So it just… gives us a private training arena because you thought about it?”
“Not just me,” Harry said. “It listens to intent. You want a dueling room, you get a dueling room. Want a library, it gives you books. Want a swimming pool…” He shrugged. “Try it yourself.”
Tracey looked around, unimpressed. “Would’ve been nice if it came with snacks.”
“It can,” He said. “It pulls food from the Kitchen."
Fred was already rolling on mats. “This place’ll do. You could throw someone clean across the room and they’d bounce.”
“Volunteers?” George asked, eyeing Theo.
Theo shook his head. “Not today.”
Pansy had picked up one of the practice wands from the rack and pointed it at a dummy. “These enchanted?”
Harry nodded. “They respond to offensive magic. The more accurate the spell, the more they push back.”
“Fun,” she said, taking a few steps back. “Don’t blame me if I break one.”
“No one’s blaming you,” Astoria said. “We’re blaming Tracey.”
Tracey held up her hands. “Always me. I haven’t even started yet.”
“Exactly,” Daphne said.
Hermione moved past them, book still in hand. “So what’s the structure here? Actual lessons or chaos?”
“Bit of both,” Harry said. “This isn’t a classroom. We don’t waste time on theory you can read yourself. I’ll run drills, we’ll rotate partners, and I’ll correct what needs correcting. If you want to study, fine. If you want to actually improve, even better.”
“Is this mandatory?” Ginny asked.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “You can skip if you want. Just don’t expect me to pair you up with anyone who won’t wipe the floor with you after.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Obviously.”
Hannah reached for one of the spare robes on the side shelf. “We doing this now?”
“Not tonight,” Harry said. “Tonight’s for getting a feel for the place. Tomorrow, we start.”
“Morning?” Daphne asked.
“Before breakfast.”
Tracey groaned immediately. “That’s illegal.”
“Bring coffee,” Astoria said. “That’s my strategy.”
George was inspecting the moving dummies. One of them twitched when he got too close and flicked a small spark at him.
“Oi,” he said, jumping back. “This thing’s cheeky.”
“Matches your energy,” Blaise muttered.
Fred turned to Harry. “So how’d you find this? Room like this doesn’t exactly have a sign.”
He raised his hands. “Coincidence.”
Nobody bought that. A few gave him looks, but no one pressed.
“Alright,” Harry said, brushing past the chalkboard. “Time to clear out. Tomorrow, we’re running laps around the lake before breakfast. Physical training first. Once class schedules are out, we’ll plan the rest.”
Tracey groaned. “You said training, not punishment.”
“Same thing,” Daphne said, already heading for the door.
“Lake’s huge,” Hannah pointed out.
“Exactly,” Harry said. “Plenty of space for you to collapse halfway through.”
“You’re the worst,” Pansy muttered, pushing open the door with one hand and tucking her wand away with the other.
Astoria skipped ahead, wand twirling between her fingers. “I’m bringing breakfast on the run.”
“Don’t trip on your toast,” Ginny said behind her.
The group filed out of the Room of Requirement, most of them still mumbling about early mornings and sadistic prefects. The hallway was quiet now, torches humming along the stone walls, and a breeze rolled in from a high window, carrying the faint scent of old parchment and something burning—likely Filch setting a confiscated item on fire again.
Fred and George walked a bit behind the others, whispering to each other in low voices that promised trouble. Luna lingered near the back, spinning slowly as she followed, like she was watching invisible butterflies. Susan and Hannah peeled off near the staircase down to Hufflepuff, throwing lazy waves over their shoulders.
“Wake me up tomorrow morning,” Susan said.
“Me too,” Hannah added.
“Can’t make promises,” Tracey called after them.
The rest headed for the dungeons. The next morning came early.
Too early.
Suddenly, all of Harry's friends jolted awake to a loud, echoing shout.
"Get up!"
The voice wasn’t coming from outside or the dorm—it was coming from the Metal Card. Harry’s voice, sharp and unmistakably amused, echoed through their rooms. The cards lit up, vibrating slightly.
“What the hell—” Blaise shot up, grabbed his card off the nightstand, and hurled it against the wall. It thunked against the wall and skidded under the bed like it was mocking him.
Across the castle, in a half-dozen rooms and dorms, similar chaos broke out.
Tracey flailed and rolled straight off her bed. “Ow! Bloody—”
Astoria sat up with a groan, rubbing her face. “Is it the apocalypse?”
In the Gryffindor tower, Ginny stared blearily at the glowing card on her desk.
“Potter,” she muttered. “I will hex you into next week.”
Back in the Slytherin dorm, Harry chuckled, flicking a switch on the control rune etched into his own card.
“Added a new function,” he said, his voice now echoing from all the others. “I can talk through them now.”
Tracey let out something between a groan and a curse. “You couldn’t just knock? Or send a message like a sane person?”
“I tried that,” Harry said. “No one read them. So, plan B.”
Hermione had already sat up in bed, squinting at her card like it might explode. “You built a voice command override into a messaging system?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Motivation,” Harry said.
“Insanity,” she muttered.
In the Hufflepuff dorm, Susan glared at her card. “He’s worse than an alarm charm.”
“Effective, though,” Hannah said, already brushing her hair.
Pansy’s voice came in muffled through her pillow. “If I destroy this thing, does that mean I’m free from the madness?”
“Nope,” Harry replied. “They’re linked. You break it, I’ll know. And then I’ll show up in person.”
“Worse,” Blaise muttered from under his covers.
Across the castle, footsteps and groans began to echo. Students shuffled out of their dorms in varying states of half-awake annoyance. In Gryffindor, Fred and George were already dressed, cards dangling from strings around their necks like badges of shame.
“This is your fault,” George said.
“I regret nothing,” Fred answered.
