Harry Potter: The Idle Wizard Chapter 114 114: The Whispers and the Chains

The three invisibility-cloaked figures moved quickly through the high, silent corridors. Utilizing the secret shortcuts they had recently explored, it took them less ti than expected to reach the familiar stretch of wall on the seventh floor, opposite the ridiculous tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

"So, Professor Bardbrod really let you off scot-free?" Fred asked again, slightly breathless as they stopped. "That's unprecedented. Snape would have had us in detention for a year."

"It's not 'scot-free.' It was a calculated move," Albert corrected, focusing his gaze on the wall. "He ensured Filch was diverted, eliminating the imdiate threat, and then he made it perfectly clear he saw . He created a debt, or perhaps established a silent, unsettling understanding. It confirms he is not just a standard professor."

"It confirms he's either a surprisingly cool professor or a dangerously manipulative one," George muttered. "I vote for dangerous."

Before Albert could respond, George gasped, his eyes wide with genuine astonishnt, even though he had been ntally prepared. The smooth stone wall, which had been blank just an hour ago, now featured a colossal, polished wooden door.

"As expected," Albert murmured softly, nodding once. The door's appearance confird his theory: the space had been vacated by its previous occupant.

"I can't believe it's true," Fred whispered, exchanging a look of bewildered awe with his twin. They hurried forward, trailing Albert.

Albert pushed the massive door open, revealing a breathtaking space inside.

The excited expressions on the twins' faces imdiately froze, replaced by expressions of shock and confusion. This was not the cluttered broom cabinet, nor was it the luxurious room of chamber pots Albert had described earlier.

The room was imnse, high-ceilinged, and filled with a cold, pale moonlight filtering through non-existent windows. It was configured like a private, isolated training ground or defensive research facility. There were thick, wooden practice dummies riddled with blast marks scattered around, complex runic diagrams chalked onto the stone floor that pulsed faintly, and along the back wall, a series of seven or eight towering, interconnected tal cages. Inside the cages were various shimring magical constructs—protective shields that flashed and buckled, or small, swirling vortexes of energy that looked distinctly unstable.

"Bliy," Fred breathed out, staring at the scarred dummies.

"What in the na of rlin is this?" George asked, completely overwheld. "It looks like a high-security prison for spells."

"This, gentlen, is what Professor Bardbrod requires for his private use," Albert said, walking cautiously onto the chalk-marked floor. "He was clearly practicing or testing highly complex defensive magic, or perhaps experinting with containnt spells. This level of secrecy is… excessive, even for a DADA professor."

Albert walked toward a heavy, oak desk tucked into a corner. On it sat a used, empty cup, and a discarded, thin sliver of ancient parchnt covered in tiny, neat runes that seed to shimr slightly.

"What's this?" Fred reached for a discarded glove lying near the desk. It was thick, dragon-hide, and felt strangely warm.

"Don't touch anything," Albert warned sharply. "This entire room is saturated with residual, high-level magic. We are not going to disturb a single item. We've confird the occupant; that is the extent of our mission here."

"So, he's either preparing for a serious threat, or he's creating one," George sumd up, suddenly very quiet.

"Precisely. Now, let's ensure this room is wiped clean of his presence and serves our imdiate, far less criminal needs."

Albert gestured for them to exit. As they stepped out, the majestic door instantly vanished, returning the wall to its seamless state.

"Right," Albert announced, walking past the wall once, then a second ti. This ti, he focused his entire will on the image of comfort and security. A cozy, warm haven, with a blazing fire, soft velvet armchairs, and snacks.

When he completed the third pass, a simple, unassuming wooden door appeared.

The twins looked at the transformation with wide, slightly terrified admiration. They pushed the door open to find themselves in a spacious, dimly lit room dominated by comfort. A roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth, chasing away the bone-deep chill. Two imnse, plush velvet armchairs were pulled up near the fire, and a small table between them was already laid out with a tray of fresh-baked biscuits (still warm!) and two steaming mugs of cocoa.

"This is much better than a broom cupboard," Fred said, sinking into one of the chairs and imdiately grabbing a biscuit.

"It is truly magnificent," George agreed, marveling at the magical speed of the room's transformation. "By the way, you still haven't fully explained how you found this place. You used so vague hints about us looking for a hiding place."

"I'd like to know too. We provided the clue, but you solved the riddle," Fred chid in.

"It was deductive reasoning, mixed with focused experintation," Albert stated, adopting his 'pre-prepared' explanation. "I noticed that when you two were looking for your 'moving broom cupboard,' you always passed this stretch of wall and expressed a profound need for a hiding spot. That constant, focused need was the key."

"So, you just tried walking past it and wishing hard?" George asked skeptically.

"Initially, yes, and I failed repeatedly," Albert confessed, exaggerating his initial difficulties. "But I cataloged and summarized every failure. I realized that the room only responds if the need is acute and the pace of the passing is precise—neither too slow nor too fast, perford three tis with absolute ntal clarity on the required outco. Only after this thodical analysis did I finally manage to open the first version of the room. After more testing, I discovered its true nature: the Room of Requirent—a room that can transform to fit any demand."

"So, you found this place using logic and scientific thod applied to our failed hiding attempts? You are infuriatingly brilliant," Fred declared, tossing a biscuit at Albert.

"Praise if you wish," Albert shrugged, accepting the complint with a smile.

"We can manufacture the Garlic Crosses here without worrying about the entire dormitory reeking of a spice rchant's disaster," George exclaid, suddenly connecting the room to their enterprise.

"You haven't given up on your plan to create alchemical tools?" Albert asked, internally wincing at the misuse of the term 'alchemical.'

"Why would we give up? We have a large supply of garlic now," Fred confird, his eyes shining with the fervor of an entrepreneur. "This cross will be our first genuine product of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Albert rubbed his forehead, deciding once again that shattering the twins' innocent dreams of 'alchemical garlic' was too cruel a fate. They were destined for greatness; the distinction between alchemy and prank manufacturing could wait.

The trio spent a comfortable hour in the warm retreat, waiting for the castle to settle back into its deep silence. To pass the ti, they engaged in a furious ga of Wizard Chess, with Albert playing both twins simultaneously. Predictably, Albert was utterly dominant.

"George, pull it together! You still have a chance to secure a stalemate!" Fred encouraged loudly, though his own Queen had just been spectacularly pulverized by Albert's Bishop.

"How do you suggest I salvage it when your Knight is blocking my own escape route?" George retorted, swiping his hand at Fred. "Besides, you're already checkmated before !"

"Ahem," George coughed, quickly changing the subject before Albert could move for the final blow on his board. "The Map shows Filch is finally turning back toward his office. The coast is clear. Let's head to the library now."

"A superb suggestion," Fred instantly agreed, leaping to his feet to avoid seeing his King shatter.

Albert, without a word, simply moved his Queen to capture Fred's besieged King. "You lost too, Fred."

The three wizards, once again invisible, made their way silently to the ground floor. Surprisingly, the vast, heavy double doors of the Hogwarts Library were unlocked.

Albert pushed the door open first. The interior was a cavern of ink-and-old-paper darkness, eerily silent, save for the distant, faint ticking of an unseen clock. Albert raised his wand, and the single, pale beam of Lumos did little to penetrate the oppressive gloom.

They moved quickly to the rear of the library, crossing the velvet rope that marked the boundary of the Restricted Section. The atmosphere imdiately grew heavier, thicker with the residual magic of dark and controversial knowledge.

"The goal is the Spell Formulation texts, the Advanced Potions Guides, and the history of Felix Felicis," Albert reminded them, keeping his voice to a whisper. "Do not open any books casually, and do not attempt to yank them from the shelves. Most books here are cursed or enchanted to defend themselves."

"Understood," the twins nodded in unison, though their excitent was palpable.

The search in the endless rows of old, crumbling leather tos was a nightmare. The books were arranged with no apparent system, their faded titles barely visible in the weak light.

"Albert!" Fred hissed suddenly, pointing his glowing wand beam at a shelf nearby. "I hear sothing. Faint… whispering coming from those books over there."

Albert frowned, imdiately moving toward the sound. They crowded together, their three Lumos beams illuminating the worn spines. Sure enough, from a trio of books bound in black, reptilian skin, faint, hushed voices seed to emanate. They were indistinct, sibilant sounds that gave the undeniable impression of forbidden secrets being murmured just out of hearing range.

"This is the Restricted Section; books like this are common," Albert confird, feeling the hairs on his arm prickle. "Do not touch them. These are dark objects; they likely draw energy from a reader's fear or anger, or perhaps even try to bind themselves to a reader's soul. Opening them now is not an option."

"Do you think they contain powerful Dark Magic?" George asked, a hint of awe and apprehension in his voice.

"They are certainly not bedti reading. Now, focus. Find the Spell Book; those spells are far more useful to us right now."

The three split up again, working through the aisles. Albert was acutely aware of the ti, knowing that the librarian, Madam Pince, often conducted random, ghostly patrols.

As Albert passed one specific shelf near the back, he froze. He faintly heard a sound that was neither whispering books nor ambient castle noise. It was a faint, muffled sound of human voices—a conversation, completely obscured by a powerful Muffliato or equivalent sound-dampening charm. The sound seed to be coming from the wall behind the bookshelf.

Another secret? Albert wondered. A hidden room, perhaps—an entirely separate archive concealed even from the main library? He resisted the urge to investigate. The mission was securing the books, not discovering every hidden nook in the castle.

It took the trio almost an hour and a half to finally locate the specific, heavy tos they needed: the original "Liber de Sortilegiis" (Book of Spells), a bulky "Potiones Major" (Advanced Potions), and, finally, a cryptic, leather-bound volu titled "A Confluence of Temporal and Fortuitous Elixirs"—clearly containing the Felix Felicis records.

"Well, this is problematic," Fred muttered, pointing to the loot. The crucial books, the heaviest and oldest, were secured to the shelves by thick, enchanted iron chains. "Alohomora isn't working; these chains are clearly protected by a powerful Anti-Unlocking Charm."

"You're not thinking of brute-forcing them, are you?" George asked anxiously. Forcing the chains would undoubtedly trigger a loud, potent alarm.

"Of course not. That would be monuntally stupid," Albert said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, intricately designed Swiss Army Knife. It was a Christmas gift, and while he didn't care for the knife itself, the assortnt of specialized tools, particularly the lock-picking accessories, were precisely what he needed.

"What is that?" Neither twin understood the mundane, chanical object in his hand.

"A piece of Muggle engineering," Albert explained, flipping out a tiny, curved pick. "We are going to employ Muggle tricks."

"Muggle tricks?" The twins leaned in, utterly fascinated.

Albert knelt, examining the heavy, brass padlock securing the chain. It was an old-fashioned chanism, protected by magic, but still fundantally a chanical lock.

"Most wizards, particularly those who grew up using only Alohomora for everything, forget that a lock is simply a sequence of tumblers," Albert explained softly, inserting the tension wrench and then the pick. "They protected the chanism from magic, but they neglected to protect it from a physical solution. This is where arrogance creates a vulnerability."

Albert worked with intense concentration, using his highly trained, steady hands. The subtle clicks inside the lock were barely audible.

A mont later, a soft, final click was heard, and the heavy brass lock sprang open.

"How did you possibly do that?!" Fred and George exclaid in dumbfounded unison, staring at the tiny tool in Albert's hand.

"I told you: a basic Muggle lock-picking trick," Albert grinned, pocketing the tool. "It's slower than a spell, but completely silent and, more importantly, invisible to the magical defenses they rely on. They never thought to protect the locks from their most basic form of attack—a non-magical key."

"You have to teach us that," George insisted, his eyes sparkling with renewed admiration. "It's the perfect counter-magic! Next ti, we won't need to rely on the Alohomora spell at all!"

"It's simply a skill that requires patience, dexterity, and a lack of belief in magical superiority," Albert said casually. "I'll teach you when the ti is right."

With the chains easily released, they secured their three massive volus.

It was approaching four in the morning when the three managed to slip out of the library and make their escape through a secure secret passage. They moved quickly, avoiding a nervous-looking ghost wizard with a cane who was performing a late-night check near the dungeons.

They finally reached the Gryffindor dormitory, still invisible. They quickly dispelled the Disillusionnt Charm and quietly gathered their spoils.

They found Lee Jordan already awake, sitting up in bed, looking severely unimpressed and rubbing his tired eyes.

"You absolute rotters," Lee complained imdiately, his voice thick with sleep. "You should have woken up. I could have helped."

"And miss out on this? Not a chance," Fred said, stifling a massive yawn as he proudly held up his brick-sized haul. "Behold, the fruits of our nocturnal labor, fresh from the deepest recesses of the library."

Lee Jordan's eyes imdiately widened at the sight of the old, bound tos. "Let see those! What are they?"

"Look for yourself, but handle them with reverence, friend," George advised, already peeling off his heavy robes. "We've had our excitent for the night. Ti for a well-deserved nap."

"Good night." "Good night, Lee. Do not open the books until we've had so sleep."

Fred and George collapsed onto their beds, already half-asleep. Albert, pulling the curtains around his own bed, knew sleep would be elusive. He had the prize—the advanced texts—but he also had a deeply unsettling new mystery: Professor Bardbrod, conducting high-level, secret defensive research in the hidden Room of Requirent, and simultaneously covering for a first-year student.

Lee Jordan, however, didn't move. He stared at the three dark, brick-sized books lying innocently on George's trunk, the faint sll of old parchnt and dark magic clinging to the air around them.