That Saturday, the Ravenclaw common room was bathed in the gentle morning light filtering through tall windows. Unlike the more raucous common rooms—if the House tables at lunch were anything to judge by—Ravenclaw's felt like a sanctuary of quiet focus, with small groups of students gathered around tables, absorbed in their work or deep in murmured discussions. For Harry, this environment was a comfortable one. People here were serious about their pursuits, and that suited him.
But he had a purpose other than studying this morning—one that had been on his mind for a few days now. Luna Lovegood had been the subject of sneers and whispers among the younger students since her first week at Hogwarts, and though Luna seemed to take it in stride, Harry knew it would only worsen if unchecked. She had a certain resilience, a way of brushing off insults with a soft smile, but he doubted that meant she didn't feel the sting of their words. This morning, he hoped to see more of the dynamics of the situation.
Harry observed quietly as a group of first years lingered by the Ravenclaw Library—a section of bookshelves against one wall, unobtrusive at first glance. However, on closer inspection, it had a small brass lever built into the side, polished from years of use. One of the first years, Laurel Lufkin, reached over and pulled it, and the shelves began to scroll with a faint whir, row upon row shifting seamlessly to reveal new books hidden from view. She selected a book and went to sit down next to Clara Switch.
The library was a living collection, filled with personal journals, original spell manuscripts, and odd volumes left by generations of Ravenclaws, expanding upward as though conjuring new space out of thin air. Watching its magic unfold, Harry was reminded of the Room of Requirement and had a nagging suspicion this, too, might be Rowena Ravenclaw's enchantment.
"Look who's off in her world again," muttered Laurel, nodding pointedly toward Luna, who sat curled up in an armchair with The Quibbler in hands, upside-down of course. Beside Laurel, Clara smirked, whispering something that made Laurel titter. Harry thought he caught the word "Snorkacks."
Luna looked up, smiling as if they'd asked her a friendly question. "Oh, yes. Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are fascinating creatures," she replied serenely. "I could teach you all about their nesting habits if you're interested."
Felix Viridian, lounging nearby, snickered and flicked his wand, making a small scrap of parchment hover just in front of Luna's face. "Didn't know they let Snorkacks into Hogwarts," he quipped, grinning. "Maybe they're hiding in the Divination Tower with Trelawney."
Harry narrowed his eyes, considering. There were easier ways to handle bullies, as he'd done with the Dursleys or Draco Malfoy and his two goons, whose names Harry didn't bother trying to remember. However, Luna called for a more subtle approach. He noted the way Violet Strout, seated nearby with her Potions notes, shot Felix a quiet but pointed look.
"Felix," she said softly, her tone measured. "If you're that interested in Snorkacks, maybe you should ask Luna about them properly."
Felix laughed it off, waving a hand dismissively, though he let the parchment flutter to the floor. As the first years drifted away, whispering and laughing, Harry turned his attention back to Luna, who had returned to her magazine as if nothing had happened. Her calm, unruffled nature was admirable, but Harry knew it wouldn't shield her entirely. Sooner or later, he thought, a few Ravenclaws might find themselves the target of their own game. He would make sure of that.
The morning wore on, with more students gradually making their way out, though the common room was still dotted with small groups studying for upcoming assignments. Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein drifted over to where Harry sat, and the four of them exchanged easy greetings, the latest Charms assignment quickly turning into the topic of conversation.
Just then, Phineas Mohr appeared, his arms loaded with small enchanted objects that glinted in the morning light. The fifth year had a reputation as a tireless experimenter, and his expression was bright with excitement.
"Potter," he began, his voice low and eager. "I've been working on a modified Lumos charm. If I did it right, it'll temporarily blind someone. Care to test it out?"
Harry glanced at him, chuckling as he leaned back casually and lifted his wand. "Sure. Show me the incantation, and then stand still."
Phineas faltered, visibly surprised by Harry's response. After a beat, he managed a shaky grin and stammered, "Maybe… maybe some other time, Potter," before making a quick retreat, his confidence suddenly shaken.
The other boys burst into laughter as Phineas shuffled off, casting wary glances over his shoulder.
"Guess he didn't expect you to turn the tables on him," Anthony said, grinning.
"Brave enough to play with spells, but not brave enough to be the target," Terry added with a smirk. Harry chuckled along with them, the exchange a light relief from his earlier thoughts.
"Lunch?" Michael suggested, catching Harry's eye. They could hear the distant chime of the clock, and the prospect of the Great Hall's spread was enough to get the others moving.
"Definitely," Harry agreed, gathering his things.
They made their way toward the door, but as they passed the enchanted library, Harry glanced back at the high shelves, now still and ordinary-looking in the absence of a searching hand on the lever. He felt a renewed sense of pride in this corner of Ravenclaw's legacy—a hidden masterpiece of Rowena's magic that had kept knowledge alive and protected. And as they left the common room, Harry found himself mentally cataloging a few books he could donate to the collection one day.
—
Harry leaned back in his chair, glancing around the secluded corner of the library where he, Hermione, Terry, and Michael had gathered. After lunch, Anthony had gone back to Ravenclaw Tower to work on an essay, while Terry and Michael had accompanied Harry to the library for some reading. There, they'd run into Hermione, and Harry proposed they do some planning for the salon. They were settled at a table tucked between high shelves of dusty volumes. Harry hoped to foster a deeper friendship between Hermione and the two Ravenclaw boys. They were all bookish and academically curious, and Harry needed a trusted team of researchers for everything he had planned.
His mind briefly ran over why it would be better to keep the others out of this initial planning. Not for any personal reasons, just out of consideration for them. Neville, though loyal and dedicated, was already struggling to keep up with his studies; he didn't need extra work on the side, but would feel obligated to help if approached. The twins, though enthusiastic about anything that involved sneaking around, tended to get distracted when it came to the more boring details like discussing rules and procedures for society. Besides, they had their hands full keeping an eye on Ginny and searching for that diary with the help of the Map. And Penelope and Robert were buried in sixth-year pre-NEWT work—they wouldn't have the time or focus he needed right now.
This smaller group would work well for the task at hand, he thought, glancing at Hermione, Terry, and Michael as they settled in, ready to get started. Today, it would be about the basics: secrecy, logistics, and, most importantly, setting a solid foundation before presenting the plan to the full group.
Harry leaned forward, lowering his voice to ensure no one else could hear. "First rule: complete secrecy. Anyone who joins has to agree that what we discuss, who's involved, and where we meet stays within the group. If they can't handle that, they're out."
Hermione nodded, her gaze serious. "Absolutely. And I think we need a rule about new members. We should require a unanimous vote, so everyone's comfortable."
Harry's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, considering the practical benefit of that approach. "Good idea. We don't need conflict over new members. If even one person doesn't trust them, it could cause problems for everyone."
Terry leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "All right, but don't you think that's a bit strict? We might be holding back people who'd be fine in the group."
Harry shook his head, keeping his tone firm. "We need to be strict. We're dealing with topics that go beyond the standard curriculum, and if we're all in agreement about someone, it's a good sign. If there's even one doubt, we hold off."
Michael shrugged, agreeing with a glance at the others. "Fair enough. So, we've got secrecy and a membership rule. But what about the rest of the group? Penelope, the twins, everyone who was there on the train—they're already in?"
"Of course," Harry confirmed. He hesitated, then decided it was time to bring up a thought that had been simmering since he'd started putting this together. "But I also have someone else in mind: Luna Lovegood."
The reaction was immediate, and Harry read the skepticism in their faces. He'd known this would be a hard sell.
"Luna?" Hermione's voice was careful but incredulous. "Are you sure?"
Terry raised an eyebrow, echoing her hesitation. "She's… well, she's Luna. I mean, no offense, but we're talking about starting a serious society here, and Luna's…" He trailed off, searching for a tactful way to say it.
Harry had known there would be resistance to his idea, and pressed on resolutely. "Look, I know Luna can be eccentric. But that's not a bad thing. If there's anyone who's going to think differently about magic, it's her."
Michael leaned forward, eyebrows knit together. "Yeah, but she goes on about things like Nargles and Wrackspurts half the time. Are we sure she'd be serious about this? I think Anthony would be better. I know he mostly keeps to himself but he's a decent bloke."
Harry nodded at Michael, choosing his words carefully. "I'm not opposed to Anthony joining, and Luna—that's exactly why she'd be valuable. She sees the world from a different angle, and that's rare. More importantly, she doesn't care about social norms. She's been an outsider her whole life, and people like that, who've dealt with the isolation, are usually loyal to anyone who treats them decently."
Hermione studied him for a moment, clearly weighing his argument. "I suppose you have a point. She might be… unconventional, at least."
Terry sighed, and Harry caught the slight shrug in his posture as he relented. "All right, if you're sure. Not my first choice, I'm with Michael—but we can give her a shot."
Michael exhaled, looking unconvinced but ultimately deferring to Harry. "Fine. But if she starts talking about invisible creatures in the middle of a discussion, I'll steer her back. Just fair warning."
Harry allowed himself a small smile. "Deal." He felt a quiet satisfaction in knowing he'd gotten their tentative approval for Luna. She'd need to prove herself, but he felt confident in her potential.
Hermione took out her notes, clearly moving on to the next order of business. "All right, so we have our secrecy rule, unanimous voting for new members, and we're starting small. What about how we run the meetings?"
Harry watched her, glad for her meticulous approach. He knew her attention to detail would serve them well. "I've been thinking about that too. Every meeting should have a topic—a focus that guides what we're discussing."
"That makes sense," Hermione replied, jotting it down. "Otherwise, we'd be all over the place. Who decides the topic?"
"We'll rotate that responsibility," Harry said. "Everyone should have a chance to propose something they're interested in exploring. Since it's our first meeting, I'll take the first turn."
He noted the way Terry's eyes brightened at the idea, glad to have someone as enthusiastic as Terry in on this. "So, I was thinking… let's start with myths and legends. Our History of Magic class is useless, but there are stories out there with roots in actual magical history. Maybe we can uncover something real."
Terry's face lit up, his voice breaking the usual library hush. "I'm in. I've read a ton of folklore. A lot of it ties back to real events, if you know what to look for."
Harry felt a sense of satisfaction; this was exactly the reaction he'd hoped for. "Right. And I think if we each find something in myth or legend that we're interested in, we can bring it to the group. Maybe there are some patterns we haven't seen yet."
Hermione's interest was clear as well. "It's a perfect way to start—going deeper than what we're taught. I'll start researching tonight."
Michael grinned, clearly on board. "Count me in. I can take some of the Greek myths, or maybe the old Norse ones. We'll split up the research and bring back our findings."
With the topic set, they ironed out the last of the logistics. Meetings would be held every two weeks, to give everyone time to prepare something worthwhile, and Harry assured them he'd have a private meeting place ready before they officially gathered. When everything felt finalized, Harry glanced at each of them, satisfied with the foundations they'd set.
"All right," Harry said, standing as the others followed suit. "We've taken the first step, but we still have work to do. We'll need to meet regularly to refine the plans. For example, how we'll enforce our rules."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "We can't just assume everyone will follow them. There have to be real consequences if someone breaks them."
Terry crossed his arms, frowning slightly. "Right. But what kind of consequences? We're not dealing with typical school infractions. If this is going to be taken seriously, the consequences need to be… meaningful."
Michael's eyes narrowed as he considered this. "But we're not looking to punish people for minor things either. We'll need something that emphasizes loyalty—something that shows the importance of trust."
Harry met each of their gazes, feeling a weight to their words. This was the part that would make or break the society: setting rules everyone respected, with enough weight behind them to keep members committed. "Let's think it over," he said finally. "Come prepared next time with ideas. For this to work, the rules—and any consequences—have to be clear, agreed upon by all of us, and fair."
They all nodded, and with a renewed sense of purpose, they left the library together, already planning their next steps. Harry felt a thrill of anticipation; this was only the beginning, but with each meeting, they were creating something that would be greater than any of them alone.
—
The seventh-floor corridor lay quiet in the fading afternoon light, shadows stretching along the stone walls as the castle settled into an uncharacteristic stillness. Beneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry waited, alert, one hand gripping a compact but weighty box—the magical freezer he'd had owl-delivered the night before. This was his first opportunity to slip away with it undetected, and he intended to make the most of it.
Satisfied that he was alone, he whispered, "Dobby."
A soft pop sounded beside him as the House Elf appeared, his wide eyes scanning for Harry's hidden form.
"Let's head in," Harry murmured. "Stay close and out of sight. If anything goes wrong, you know what to do."
"Of course, Master Harry," Dobby replied, his voice solemn.
A door emerged on the stone wall, summoned by his thoughts, and they slipped inside. The Room of Hidden Things sprawled before them, dim and labyrinthine—a vast, dusty vault filled with relics and clutter from generations past. The air was dense, layered with the faint, earthy scents of dust, parchment, and the cold dampness of forgotten spaces. Harry moved forward in silence, carrying the freezer with care, heading to the far corner where he'd last seen the Diadem.
"Stay back, keep hidden," he instructed Dobby, who nodded and slipped behind a stack of worn spell books, his watchful gaze fixed on Harry.
Harry approached the Diadem, lying as he'd last seen it, beneath the shadow of a cracked portrait frame and an abandoned suit of armor. He set the freezer down beside him. Unassuming and compact, the box was designed for the mundane purpose of preserving food with its Stasis and Expansion Charms. But Harry had reasoned it might suffice to contain a Dark artifact, at least temporarily.
Remaining under his cloak, he scanned the cluttered space and spotted a discarded Hogwarts robe half-buried in a pile of scrolls—ideal for bundling the artifact without direct contact. Extending his telekinetic focus, he guided the robe through the air, draping it carefully over the Diadem. Even through the layers of cloth, he sensed the faint pulse of dark magic—a quiet, watchful presence pressing against the edges of his awareness.
Maintaining his control, he levitated the bundled artifact into the open freezer, guiding it smoothly inside, flipping his Invisibility Cloak out of the way with a telekinetic flick. The lid clicked shut, and the feeling of silent malevolence vanished from Harry's senses, its dark energy suppressed by the freezer's enchantments. Only then did Harry remove the Cloak, revealing himself to Dobby.
"It's safe now, more so anyway," he said quietly. "The Diadem is secured in a small pocket dimension where time is frozen. Nowhere near the protections a Goblin-made safe for cursed objects would provide, but they do not sell those to wizards. This should at least keep the Dark magic of the Diadem contained, unable to interact with anything outside the freezer."
Dobby, peeking out from behind the books, let out a small breath. "Master Harry is very wise, sir," he murmured with quiet admiration.
Harry gave a brief nod, leaving the freezer in place. "This isn't its final hiding place," he said. "But I need to test something."
They exited the Room, and once outside, Harry turned to Dobby. "I'll try a different setup," he said, thoughtful. He visualized his Ravenclaw dorm room down to its last detail, adding one precise request: a doorway connecting back to the Room of Hidden Things.
When he opened the door, his recreated dorm room stretched before him, every detail accurate and familiar. Beside his bed lay the items he'd left on a previous visit—a spare quill, a few Knuts, and a crumpled parchment. They were all undisturbed, in precisely the arrangement he'd left them, confirming the Room's ability to retain items in its stored configurations.
He looked inside his trunk, and noticed that there was no trapdoor or Expanded room beneath, it was just a plain oak trunk. Harry frowned. It seemed there were limits to what the Room could achieve, and placing Expansion Charms on conjured objects like this trunk was beyond those limits. Harry wasn't even sure if conjured objects could be enchanted at all, he'd have to ask Professor Flitwick at their next session.
Bringing his focus back to the task at hand, he turned his gaze to the new doorway positioned on the far wall. Opening it, he saw the cluttered expanse of the Room of Hidden Things beyond. He wondered if there were limits on how many configurations of the Room could be connected in this manner, or if they could all exist simultaneously.
"Stay here," he instructed Dobby, then stepped through to retrieve the freezer. He brought it into the duplicate dorm room and carefully placed it inside the trunk at the foot of his bed.
It wasn't perfect, but it was safer. The Room of Hidden Things, though hidden, had seen centuries of students use it for stowing their own secrets. Here, at least, the Diadem lay concealed in a configuration only he knew to summon. He thought it a suitably obscure choice—why would he use the Room's vast power to create something as mundane as a copy of his simple dormitory room?
Harry gave the room one last look, already considering the possibilities of configuring a network of connected, hidden spaces within the Room. He nodded toward the inconspicuous doorway that led back to the Room of Hidden Things.
"Well, that's sorted for now. Dobby, I could use your help sorting through this place," he said, gesturing for Dobby to follow.
They stepped through the doorway, re-entering the dim sprawl of the Room of Hidden Things, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. Harry's eyes swept over the cluttered rows and stacks of discarded artifacts, books, and trinkets, wondering how best to sift through it all.
"There's bound to be useful items hidden here, but it's impossible to tell what's valuable just by looking," he said.
Dobby's eyes sparkled with eagerness. "Oh, Dobby can help, Master Harry! House Elves are very good at sorting, sir."
Harry watched as Dobby moved through the room with surprising precision, pausing here and there to hover his hand over an object. Occasionally, Dobby would frown or nod, setting items aside based on a method that, to Harry, appeared instinctive but highly deliberate. His movements seemed to convey some sense that Harry couldn't quite interpret.
"Tell me," Harry asked, curious, "how do you tell if something's worth setting aside?"
The elf paused, looking thoughtful as he picked up a small metal bracelet and turned it in his hands. "Some things feel… heavier to Dobby, sir. Even when they're small, they pull on Dobby's magic."
"A pull?" Harry asked, intrigued.
Dobby nodded, setting the bracelet aside with a small shake of his head. "Yes, Master Harry. Not heavy in my hands, but heavy to Dobby's magic."
Harry's mind sparked as he pieced together what Dobby was describing. It wasn't enchantment that Dobby sensed directly—it was magical capacity. Looking at the objects that his elf had set aside as "heavy," Harry could see they were made of materials with a higher capacity to hold magic, while those that felt "light" were too mundane or insubstantial to bear much enchantment. House Elves, it seemed, had an instinctive sense for this—something Harry immediately realized would prove immensely valuable.
"Dobby," Harry said, his tone more purposeful, "do you think you could help me find all the intact trunks and chests in here? Let's line them up along this aisle."
Dobby's face brightened at the instruction. "Yes, sir, Master Harry! Dobby will find every chest and trunk right away!"
With a snap of his fingers, Dobby moved swiftly through the Room of Hidden Things, weaving through the clutter with practiced ease. Occasionally, he'd pause to inspect a trunk or chest, ensuring it was intact before sending it neatly to line up in the aisle beside Harry. Within minutes, he'd gathered a row of trunks, some dusty and old but sturdy enough for storing the objects they'd collect.
Harry nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now, I want you to go through the room again, Dobby, and find objects that feel 'heavy' to you. Sort them by how heavy they feel and place them in the trunks here, with the heaviest things toward the left."
Dobby looked up, beaming with pride. "Dobby understands, sir! Dobby will sort them very carefully."
Harry gave him a quick nod but raised a hand in caution. "One more thing, Dobby. If you come across anything that feels… strange or dangerous—like it has a very active magic—don't touch it. Just leave it where it is."
"Yes, Master Harry," Dobby replied with a solemn nod, "Dobby will only pick up plain objects. Anything with dangerous magic, Dobby will stay away from."
"Good," Harry said, reassured. "You can pile anything that feels too 'light' to save over here," he pointed to a nearby section of empty floor. "Even general scrap may provide useful salvage."
Dobby set to work immediately, his small form darting through the stacks, carefully selecting objects that felt "heavy" to his sense of magic and arranging them in the trunks. Occasionally, he'd set aside an item with a shake of his head, placing it in the scrap pile for anything too "light" to hold much value. As Harry watched, he couldn't help but marvel at the efficiency and instinct guiding Dobby's sorting. He would have to study his elf's magic in as much depth as the Room. Clearly, Harry thought, most wizards underestimated these beings.
—
Draco was still fuming. The term had barely started, and he already felt the weight of his father's expectations pressing down on him like an invisible giant's hand. It was bad enough that Harry Potter had managed to eclipse him last year—Potter, who had somehow, impossibly, succeeded in class, be it casting spells or brewing potions, every time Draco had stumbled. Draco's failures had been small, even trivial in the grand scheme of things, but they had left him stewing over the summer, determined that this year would be different. He'd sworn he wouldn't let Potter outshine him again.
He'd poured his frustrations into practice over the summer, begging his parents to teach him advanced spells, and spending hours reading ahead for his classes. He had drilled his casting until his wand hand ached. If he could outpace Potter academically and show the teachers he was just as capable—more capable—then he could finally erase the sting of those losses. He would make his father proud, no matter what.
But only days into the term, another obstacle had surfaced: Dobby, their family's house-elf, had vanished. His father had questioned Draco directly in a Floo call. Draco normally valued the privilege of the Slytherin dormitories having hearths connected to the Floo network, but not this time. His father's eyes had been cold and calculating as he'd asked if Draco knew anything about the elf's disappearance, as though he suspected his own son of somehow plotting behind his back. Draco had denied everything, of course, with fitting indignation. How could he possibly know what had happened to Dobby? He had been at school, preparing for the new year.
Yet his father's suspicion lingered, and so did Draco's sense of guilt, misplaced as it was. That quiet, questioning look had left Draco feeling as though he'd already failed at something critical, even though he knew he hadn't. He hated that feeling—the idea that he'd disappointed his father before even having a chance to prove himself. It was almost as infuriating as the knowledge that somewhere in the castle, Potter was carrying on with his usual smugness, blissfully unaware of the weight Draco had to carry.
And then there was the matter of Potter himself. Draco had always disliked him, but this year, his dislike had sharpened into something more focused. He'd been instructed by his father to keep an even closer eye on Potter this year, to watch for anything unusual. He hadn't said why, but Draco knew his father's unspoken implication—that perhaps Potter might somehow be linked to Dobby's disappearance. Draco didn't know how that could be possible, but the thought of Potter being at the root of his troubles was enough to further fuel his resentment.
Potter, who was somehow always the center of everything. Potter, who seemed to have a confidence Draco could never quite emulate. If Harry Potter was behind Dobby's vanishing act, then Draco would expose him. He'd make sure his father knew he was the one to uncover it.
Draco's summer of reading ahead and practicing spells had turned into a quiet obsession with outdoing Potter in every way. He watched Potter in the corridors, noting his every move, who he spoke to, where he went. He caught himself trailing behind Potter and his friends in the Great Hall, hoping to overhear anything useful. His curiosity had become a compulsion, and though he told himself he was simply following his father's instructions, there was more to it. He needed to know that he was finally one step ahead.
But Potter was frustratingly adept at avoiding scrutiny, always slipping away before Draco could catch him doing anything out of place. That infuriating coolness he carried, as if nothing fazed him, only deepened Draco's obsession. And as his father's subtle distrust weighed on him, Draco's rivalry with Potter grew sharper, more urgent.
He couldn't afford to let anything slip through his fingers. Every time he saw Potter surrounded by his little group of admirers, that determination hardened. He'd find out what Potter was hiding, and he'd make sure his father saw the lengths he was willing to go to uncover it.
Draco hadn't spent his whole summer preparing just to let Harry Potter coast by unchallenged. This year, he'd make his presence felt—and, if he could manage it, he'd make Potter regret ever getting in his way.
