The next morning, just after dawn, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves wandering along the seventh-floor corridor, squinting at the walls as though expecting a sign to leap out and guide them.
"Harry," Hermione said, frowning as she looked around. "Did Professor Caesar tell us where exactly we were supposed to et him on the seventh floor?"
Harry winced. "I… might've forgotten to ask," he admitted, shooting his friends a sheepish look.
He had been far too excited last night to rember little details like that. Now, with the morning sun slanting through the high windows and no sign of their mysterious eting spot, he was beginning to panic.
"Brilliant start to our top-secret training, eh?" Ron muttered. "Lost before lesson one."
They wandered a few more steps in awkward silence, passing a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach ballet to a group of highly uncooperative trolls. Then, a calm voice spoke from just behind them.
"Good. Right on ti."
The trio turned sharply to see Professor Caesar leaning against the wall, dressed in sleek black Muggle sportswear—sothing that caught Hermione's attention, made Harry smirk, and left Ron eyeing him with curiosity.
"Cool robes," he said.
Hermione jumped in quickly. "Professor, we weren't sure where to et, so we thought—"
"You're exactly where you should be," Maverick said raising a hand to gently stop her mid-rant. Then, without another word, he turned toward the stretch of wall beside the tapestry.
"This spot right here…" Maverick said, tapping the wall with a knuckle. "It's one of Hogwarts' best-kept secrets. The kind of place you don't find unless the castle lets you. Most people find it by accident... either because they're very lucky… or very desperate."
The trio exchanged confused glances as they watched their professor gesture at what appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary stone wall.
"You, however, get to see it simply because it's convenient." He turned back to them, smiling faintly. "That's the benefit of knowing the right people, I suppose."
He gestured to the blank stretch of wall once more.
"This is the Room of Requirent," he said. "A magical space that turns into whatever you need most, right when you need it... hence the na."
"You walk past this wall three tis, focusing on what you require, and the room will provide—within reason, of course. It's not a genie in a lamp."
"A genie in a what?" Ron asked.
Maverick gave him a strange look, but Hermione spoke up quickly. "It's from a Muggle story, Ron. A genie grants wishes. Don't wizards have Aladdin tales?"
"Aladdin?" Ron repeated, frowning. "Sounds like a sneeze."
Harry stifled a laugh, and even Maverick looked faintly amused.
"Well, think of this place as sort of wish-granter. Not perfect, but pretty close. If you need a place to nap, it gives you a bed. Need a toilet? Done. A library? Sure. And right now, I need a space for training."
"Watch closely," he said, gesturing. "Here's how it works... walk past it three tis while thinking clearly about what you need..."
He began pacing in front of the wall, muttering as he went, "I need a place to train… A place to train…"
"You don't need to speak aloud," he added, pausing in his steps. "Thinking about what you need is enough."
The three watched in awe as, with a soft rumble, the stone wall changed. A door appeared—tall, dark wood with a brass handle.
"Wicked," Ron breathed.
Maverick opened the door and stepped inside. The trio followed—and stopped short.
The room was huge. Smooth stone floor, high arched ceiling, and enough space for a small army to train. Racks of training dummies stood at the sides, mats and benches lined the walls, and there was even a row of mirrored panels, like in a Muggle gym. A warm, golden light filled the room, making it feel almost welcoming.
"Professor…" Hermione stared, wide-eyed. "Is this really magic? Did the room just... build all of this?"
Maverick nodded. "It responds to what you need... but not out of thin air. It can't create things beyond reason. It's not going to spit out a dragon just because you imagine one. But within limits? Yeah—it's powerful. You'll figure out more yourself as you use it."
He gave them a mont to take it all in, then clapped his hands.
"Right then... first things first... appropriate clothing."
Before any of them could respond, Maverick flicked a finger their way. With a startled yelp from Ron and a surprised squeak from Hermione, their school robes vanished in a shimr of silver. In their place were sleek, comfortable workout outfits—black sleeveless shirts and loose training trousers for Harry and Ron, while Hermione wore fitted leggings and a high-collared athletic top that looked both practical and stylish.
Ron looked down at himself, grinning. "Now this is cool."
Hermione turned to Harry and blinked, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "Harry… you... you seed to have grown taller."
Ron gave her a blank look. "You're just noticing now?" He poked Harry's arm. "Look at that... he's properly buff now."
Harry scratched the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "Er—just trained a lot with the Professor over sumr."
Up until now, the school robes had done a decent job hiding the transformation. But seeing him in fitted gear, it was impossible to miss—Harry Potter had levelled up.
Before the teasing could go any further, Maverick stepped in with a half-smile. "Alright, enough admiring. We've got work to do."
The next two hours passed in a blur of stretches, laps, and carefully designed drills. No spellwork... just exercise. Maverick led them through everything with sharp commands and clear demonstrations, never raising his voice, but sohow always getting results.
By the end, they were drenched in sweat and out of breath. Even Hermione was too tired to ask questions.
After about two hours, once he decided they'd had enough, Maverick handed each of them a small glass bottle filled with a shimring light-blue liquid.
"Drink up," he said. "It's a stamina-restoration potion—mild, but it'll stop your legs from turning to jelly."
They drank without hesitation. The effect was almost instant—muscles loosened, the burning in their lungs eased, and the heavy tension drained from their limbs like lting ice.
No one seed the least bit disappointed by the lack of spellwork in today's practice. Ron was grinning, Hermione looked thoughtful but clearly pleased, and Harry seed more energized than ever. After all, the rush of endorphins, coupled with a stamina potion, can leave one feeling satisfied and exhilarated.
"I won't be here tomorrow," Maverick said as they cooled down. "Harry will oversee your practice. And next ti, I'll be testing your Charms... squeeze in so actual spellwork too. Until then, stick to the movent exercises."
He turned to Harry. "Share the books I gave you with your friends. And don't neglect your schoolwork. Everything's ant to be done at your own pace."
The three nodded earnestly.
With a wave of his wand, Maverick transford their clothes back into their school robes, crisp and neat.
"One last thing... about this room—"
"You don't need to worry, Professor," Hermione interjected before he could finish. "We won't tell anyone. Promise."
Maverick chuckled. "It's not a secret I'm asking you to guard. But this room… it's ant to be found. It's part of the castle's magic. Students and teachers have used it before... so probably still do. But you lot? You're getting a shortcut. Just… rember that."
They nodded, though Maverick wasn't entirely sure they understood. Well, it was close enough.
He watched them leave, chatting cheerfully among themselves. After they had gone, he lingered for a mont, glancing around the empty room. Then, he too turned and headed back to his office.
---
Thanks to his quiet intervention—naly, destroying Riddle's Horcrux diary—the chaos ant for this year never got a chance to breathe. Everything just… carried on. Calm. Ordinary.
Ti drifted by like a lazy river—steady, uneventful. Even Halloween slipped past without the usual catastrophe. And for so, especially one Headmaster and one Headmistress, that was a welco relief.
That evening, Lockhart was positively glowing and hadn't spared a single Galleon on his outfit. Draped in shimring orange robes and a matching pointed hat studded with tiny golden bats, he took centre stage at dinner to reenact the "Pumpkin Troll Purge of Piedmont."
With floating props and theatrical wand flourishes, he put on a one-man show. Most of the students spent the evening ducking rogue squash and trying not to get hit in the face by flying vegetables.
For Maverick, who had been feeling a bit bored lately, watching the spectacle was almost entertaining. Almost.
And just like that, November rolled in. The biggest event on the calendar this month was the long-anticipated Inter-School Quidditch Tournant. This ti, however, Hogwarts wouldn't be hosting.
No. This year, they were the guests.
On Friday evening, just before the first weekend of November, a eting was underway in the staff room. The topic wasn't the tournant itself, but sothing they all seed to find far more pressing—the manner of arrival.
After all, the other schools had shown off when they arrived last year, so Dumbledore figured it was only fair to showoff a little on their entrance to Beauxbatons. But it wasn't just him—Professor McGonagall, or rather, it was probably McGonagall who really wanted to flex. She was determined to make an entrance no one would forget.
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