Week 4 Trope: 8th Year
Rating: G
Word Count: 500
Warnings: N/A
Result: 4th Place
Necessary Repairs
The Room of Requirement was not built.
It was, in fact, the result of a miscommunication: a dead space that each Founder mistakenly assumed another had claimed. Magic, like nature, abhors a vacuum, and thus the room appeared, a product and place of spontaneous creation.
But the room had its own requirements, universal laws it had to follow. Foremost among these was the maintenance of the void from which it was formed.
On May 2, Fiendfyre replaced the room's infinity with ash.
On May 3, the room required repair.
The students it called to the task had a hand in its destruction. That September, only two of the surviving five arrived. It wasn't ideal, but the room had been valiantly resisting entropic collapse for four months.
It took what it could get.
Hermione resisted the call for a week, until the nagging feeling of an assignment left undone tugged her from her bed. Instinct took her to the seventh floor.
Draco stood staring at where the Room of Requirement used to be, a black scar burned into the castle wall.
"What are you doing here?"
It was the first time they'd spoken since his trial.
He shrugged. "Not sure."
The scar split open with the skin-crawling sound of grinding stone. The gap was wide enough for a single body.
They exchanged a look.
"Wait…"
He didn't. Draco sidled into the crevice.
Hermione swore but followed.
It felt like the right choice.
Progress was slow. The pair worked together or not at all, and they fought as often as they fixed.
Still, the requisite space was made. The room's magic returned and, with that, its original function. It knew what the two students required: their own space, their own time, their own renovations.
Yet the room changed nothing.
The work was neither easy nor quick.
But then, necessary repairs rarely were.
"What will you do after Hogwarts?"
Six months ago, Draco would have sneered at the question, at the hope implicit in its asking. But the end of their eighth year approached, and his future felt less far-fetched.
"I'd like to stay. Slughorn's open to a Potions apprenticeship, provided I earn a N.E.W.T."
Hermione nodded, as if his dream were not only logical, but achievable.
"You?"
"The Ministry, I suppose." Her nose crinkled, like her answer wasn't quite right.
Draco said nothing. It was foolish to hope that she might stay, too.
He did anyway.
One year after its destruction, the Room of Requirement was fully repaired. It released its hold on the two students, but their habit remained.
The room broke itself a little every day just for them.
At last, it arrived: their final night in the room that had brought them together. An evening of amateur masonry followed by cold champagne on a plush loveseat.
"I'll miss you," Draco admitted.
"No, you won't. I've taken an apprenticeship with McGonagall." Hermione took his hand and mended his heart. "I'm staying."
And with that, the room's work was finally complete.