The Most Fortunate Malfoy In Harry Potter Chapter 10 10 : Room of Requirement

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*****

Victor walked down the corridor, the echo of his footsteps sharp against the stone.

The mont he was out of sight, his calm expression slipped.

"That red-headed idiot," he muttered under his breath, irritation finally showing.

Things had been going smoothly—perhaps too smoothly. Talking with Harry had been easy, even useful. If his system reacted to Hermione, there was a good chance Harry might trigger sothing as well—perhaps an even better reward.

That was why Victor had been making the effort to mingle.

Then Ron Weasley opened his mouth and ruined the mont.

Victor exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think.

He couldn't approach Harry directly. That would draw attention—unwanted attention. Dumbledore watched Harry closely, and Snape watched Malfoys even more closely. One wrong move and it would look like Lucius had sent him to get close to the Boy Who Lived.

That was not a risk worth taking.

So he would have to wait. Let things happen naturally.

Ron, however, was a different matter.

Victor's steps slowed.

"Spiders…" he recalled thoughtfully.

Ron Weasley's fear of spiders. An irrational, exaggerated terror that made him jump at shadows if they had too many legs.

Victor's lips curved into a thin, displeased smile.

"I'll make sure that fear doubles," he said quietly.

Nothing obvious. Nothing that could ever be traced back to him. Just enough to remind Ron Weasley that words had consequences.

Victor was not kind enough to let that red-haired fool provoke him and walk away untouched.

So lessons, after all, were best learned the hard way.

***

That night, Hogwarts lay wrapped in silence.

The corridors were empty, torches burning low as if mindful of the hour. Staircases rested where they stood, and behind thick stone walls, students slept soundly in their dormitories.

Only Argus Filch was awake, making his rounds with Mrs. Norris gliding beside him, her watchful eyes missing nothing.

High above them, on the seventh floor, a small figure moved quietly along the corridor, footsteps asured, careful. He paused before a blank stretch of stone wall and waited, listening—not for footsteps, but for the castle itself.

Victor slowed his step.

"Where the hell is the Room of Requirent?"

He was certain the Room of Requirent was on the seventh floor—but that was where his confidence ended. Rembering its exact location based on a handful of movie scenes he'd watched years ago was proving… unrealistic.

In the films, the characters always seed to arrive exactly where they needed to be. No wandering. No second-guessing. No endless stone corridors that all looked annoyingly identical.

He had already searched the right side of the floor, walking back and forth more tis than he cared to admit.

Nothing.

With a resigned sigh, he turned and began searching the left corridor instead.

That was when he stopped.

Sothing was… different.

Before him hung the strangest tapestry he had ever seen.

It was enormous and vividly animated, depicting a wizard in extravagant robes gesturing wildly at a group of eight trolls. The trolls stared back at him with blank expressions, occasionally tripping over one another in what might generously be called an attempt at ballet.

Victor stared.

"…What the hell is this horror?" he muttered.

He raised his wand slightly. "Lumos."

The light brightened the scene, revealing the wizard's increasingly desperate expressions as the trolls continued to fail spectacularly.

'Who in their right mind tries to teach trolls to dance? ' Victor wondered.

Then it clicked.

Barnabas the Barmy.

And with that realisation ca another.

Victor's gaze shifted—slowly—to the empty stretch of wall directly opposite the tapestry.

His mory aligned at last.

'Right opposite the Troll Tapestry.'

Victor stepped forward, heart steady now, irritation replaced by focus.

If the Room of Requirent was going to appear anywhere on this floor—

It would be here.

Victor recalled the thod at last.

The Room of Requirent did not reveal itself to just anyone. One had to walk past the empty stretch of wall three tis, focused clearly on what was needed. Only then would the castle respond.

He steadied his thoughts.

A place to store sothing.

Keeping that idea firmly in mind, Victor turned and began pacing the corridor. Once. Twice. Three tis— each thought controlled.

On the third pass, the stone wall shifted.

Where there had been only bare stone monts before, an entrance slowly ford. A simple wooden door appeared, set neatly into the wall, as though it had always been part of the castle.

"Finally," Victor muttered, "after an hour of searching."

He opened the door and stepped inside.

The door closed softly behind him, and on the outside, the entrance vanished at once, the stone wall returning to its smooth, unbroken state as if nothing had ever been there.

In front of Victor stretched a vast room, far larger than it had any right to be. Piles of objects filled the space from floor to ceiling—old furniture, stacks of books, broken instrunts, cracked mirrors, chests, cages—layer upon layer of things no one wanted, rembered, or missed.

Victor stood still for a mont, letting it sink in.

"I expected this," he murmured. "But reality is always different."

Worse, in this case.

A Horcrux would not reveal itself to magic ant for locating lost items. Dark objects like that resisted such spells. There would be no shortcuts here, no clever charm to narrow the search.

He would have to look the old-fashioned way.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Victor let out a quiet breath, already aware of how long this could take.

"Well then," he said at last, stepping forward, "let's begin."

The piles closed in around him as he disappeared into the clutter, and the long search truly started.

Two hours later, Victor stepped back out into the corridor.

He looked exhausted.

His shoulders sagged slightly, his eyes heavy, the quiet fatigue of an overworked eleven-year-old body finally catching up to him.

"For the first ti," he muttered, rubbing his eyes, "I can feel how weak an eleven-year-old body really is."

Sleep tugged at him insistently. Tonight was enough. He hadn't found the diadem, and pushing further would only lead to mistakes.

Victor turned and headed back toward the Slytherin dungeons.

Halfway down the corridor, a soft sound reached his ears.

ow.

Victor stiffened.

"…Filch," he muttered under his breath.

Without rushing, he moved closer to the wall, choosing the darkest side of the corridor. Then he raised his wand and cast a Disillusionnt Charm on himself.

His body blurred, colours bending and fading until he blended almost perfectly with the stone behind him.

Monts later, Mrs. Norris passed by, her sharp eyes scanning the hallway. She paused briefly—but saw nothing.

Victor remained perfectly still until the sound of her footsteps faded.

"Good thing I learned the Disillusionnt Charm," he muttered quietly.

He lifted the charm once he was safely clear and continued on his way, moving through the familiar stone corridors until he reached the Slytherin dorms. Inside, the room was dark and silent. His roommates were already asleep.

Victor didn't bother changing.

He dropped onto his bed fully dressed, exhaustion overtaking him almost instantly.

The next morning, Victor arrived at Charms looking noticeably tired.

He took his seat beside Hermione, moving with less energy than usual. The faint shadows under his eyes didn't escape her notice.

She leaned closer and whispered, "You look exhausted."

Victor gave a quiet hum. "Didn't sleep much."

Hermione frowned. "That's not good. You'll miss things."

Before he could reply, the classroom door closed, drawing everyone's attention forward.

Professor Filius Flitwick hopped up onto a stack of books behind the desk, smiling brightly.

"Good morning, class!" he chirped.