SHAPING MY SPACE
CHAPTER 23: SHAPING MY SPACE
As we approached the entrance to the Ravenclaw Tower, the towering spiral staircase felt endless, the ancient stone steps worn smooth from centuries of eager students. A tall, arched door stood at the top, without a handle or knob—just a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. One of the older prefects stepped forward, tapping the knocker lightly.
"To enter," she explained, her voice calm and composed, "you’ll need to answer a riddle." As if on cue, the eagle spoke, its voice melodic but firm.
“What always runs but never walks, has a bed but never sleeps?”
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the soft shuffle of feet as everyone considered the question. I felt a small smile tug at my lips, recognizing the answer almost immediately. Before I could speak, a second-year ahead of me whispered, "A river," and the door swung open gracefully, revealing the Ravenclaw common room beyond.
Stepping inside, I was greeted by the sight of a vast, circular room, far more open than I had anticipated. The soft, natural light streaming through the wide, arched windows gave the entire space a tranquil, almost ethereal feel. There, in the center, stood a marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, her stone features sharp and regal, her expression distant as if contemplating some profound mystery.
The blue curtains, delicate and shimmering, draped gracefully along the walls, matching the soft navy carpet beneath our feet. Above us, the enchanted ceiling mimicked a vast, starry sky. Constellations shifted lazily, twinkling like diamonds against the dark velvet of the night. It gave the impression of sleeping beneath the open heavens, a quiet reminder of the intellectual pursuits we were expected to follow here.
A few students were already scattered around, lounging in plush armchairs or nestled near the house-exclusive library, noses buried deep in books. The library was particularly enticing—a treasure trove of knowledge, housing volumes that weren’t available to the general student body. I made a mental note to explore it later.
The prefect continued her tour, gesturing toward the windows. "From here, you can see almost all of the grounds surrounding Hogwarts. There's the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest beyond it, the Quidditch pitch over there, and just to the left, the Herbology gardens. You'll never tire of the view; it's truly one of the perks of living in the tower."
I took a moment to appreciate the view, already imagining the many nights I’d spend studying by the window, with the vastness of Hogwarts' grounds stretched out before me. It was breathtaking, a constant reminder of the magic and wonder that permeated every corner of the school.
"Now," the prefect continued, "let's talk about the reward system we have in Ravenclaw. The better you do in your year—academically or through contributions to the house—the better the rewards you'll receive. That might mean the best rooms in the tower, more access to the library’s restricted sections, or even other perks, depending on what you've earned."
This was news to me. I had assumed all rooms and privileges were the same, but it seemed Ravenclaw had a unique system of merit-based rewards. It wasn’t surprising; in a house built on intellect and achievement, it made perfect sense. The prefect then led us down one of the hallways, lined with doors that led to our dormitories.
When we reached my room, I wasn’t expecting much, and I wasn’t wrong. It was simple—a bed tucked against one wall, a work desk set near the window, a bookshelf, and a closet. The basic necessities. But simplicity had its advantages. It was a blank canvas, and that was exactly what I needed.
The moment the door closed behind me, I pulled out my wand and set to work. Drawing the runes in the air, I watched as they glowed faintly before embedding themselves into the walls and floor. I was careful to mimic the enchantments I’d used on my expanded bag, adjusting the parameters to suit my needs. The room stretched slightly, becoming larger on the inside without altering its external appearance.
I grinned to myself as I carved out a corner for my potions supplies, another for rune crafting, and a special perch near the window for SAL. Just as I was finishing up, a familiar burst of flame illuminated the room, and SAL appeared, her sleek feathers glistening in the low light. She let out a satisfied trill, settling onto her perch.
“Nice timing,” I muttered with a smirk, “the Hogwarts wards won’t stop you, huh?”
SAL preened herself proudly, clearly unbothered by the school's famed enchantments. I chuckled, shaking my head. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t going to leave you at home all year.”
With my space set up, I collapsed onto the bed, pulling out a parchment and quill. I began to outline my plan for the year. There was much to be done, and I wasn’t going to waste any time.
First, get my hands on the Marauder’s Map and study it thoroughly. If I could learn how it was made, it might give me an advantage before I handed it over to the Weasley twins next year.
Next, check the Room of Hidden Things for a working Time-Turner. Even if I didn’t find one, I’d test the Room of Requirement until I figured out its limits. The possibilities were endless.
Academically, I needed to bring all my useful classes—Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes—to N.E.W.T level by the end of the year. Everything else—History, Divination, Astronomy, Muggle Studies—needed to be at Outstanding with distinction if possible.
The list grew longer as I continued to write, each goal carefully detailed. It was ambitious, but I thrived on challenges. After all, if I wasn’t pushing myself to the limits, what was the point?
A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up to see one of the first-years standing there, looking slightly nervous. “We’re meeting in the common room for a bit before bed,” they said, “want to join us?”
I paused, glancing at my list. It was tempting to keep working, but I knew the value of making connections, even if it was just with the other first-years. With a sigh, I rolled up the parchment and nodded. “Sure, I’ll be right there.”
As I followed the first-year back to the common room, I glanced back at my room, already feeling a sense of accomplishment at the changes I’d made. It was a small step toward the much larger plans I had in mind.
This year was going to be busy, but it was definitely going to be worth it.
I set down my quill, staring at the detailed plans I had scribbled onto the parchment. There was a lot to accomplish, but each goal was achievable if I stayed focused. I was already getting excited at the thought of pushing myself further than ever before. The only real obstacle was how much of a headache Dumbledore might try to be.
With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair, staring at the enchanted ceiling above me as the stars twinkled lazily in the artificial sky. My thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the man who supposedly knew everything—Albus Dumbledore. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect him. After all, he had defeated Grindelwald, kept Voldemort at bay for years, and practically rebuilt Hogwarts into the fortress of knowledge it was today. But honestly, for a wizard so intelligent, the man had a lot of blind spots.
I rolled my eyes, my frustration simmering under the surface. Dumbledore had this annoying habit of treating every promising young wizard like they were the next Tom bloody Riddle. He just couldn't let go of the past, always worrying that someone would turn out to be another Dark Lord. And why? Because one moldy egghead decided to go on a murder spree? Instead of nurturing talent and guiding students to reach their full potential, Dumbledore seemed to hold people back. He'd rather hide behind half-truths and cryptic warnings than trust anyone to be their own person.
I snorted. "Honestly, old man, get over yourself," I muttered under my breath, glancing at the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. She, at least, would understand. Wisdom and intellect weren't meant to be stifled.
It wasn't just about me, either. Look at Harry. The man didn’t teach him anything but half-baked clues and memories. It was ridiculous—Harry had potential, but Dumbledore treated him like a pawn. A tool to fight Voldemort and nothing more. If it came to it, I'd swear a magical oath just to get him to stop treating me like another Riddle-in-the-making.
I took a deep breath, feeling the tension slowly ease from my shoulders. "All right, rant over," I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. I had bigger things to worry about—like my classes, and how I planned to blow my professors away.
I smirked at the thought. "Right. Time for bed. Tomorrow, we knock some socks off."
For exclusive support and early access to upcoming chapters, join us at BUGSHOT on P.a.t.r.e.o.n.
The first week of classes brought a mix of feelings, excitement, and a bit of impatience. There was a certain thrill to finally attending Hogwarts, but there were moments where I had to hold back to avoid standing out too much. Some lessons, like Herbology, were easier than others, but that just meant I had to find ways to challenge myself.
Our first Herbology lesson paired us with the Hufflepuff students, and the group gathered in the greenhouse under Professor Sprout’s watchful eye. She was as energetic and enthusiastic as I'd expected, waving her arms dramatically as she welcomed everyone to the lesson.
“All right, class, today we’re starting with the basics,” she said, her voice brimming with warmth as she bustled around the greenhouse. “We’ll begin with a few safety protocols—especially when handling some of the more temperamental plants, like the Venomous Tentacula.”
At the mention of the Tentacula, several students exchanged nervous glances. Even the thought of the plant's writhing vines was enough to make some of the more cautious students take a step back.
Professor Sprout noticed and gave a reassuring smile. “Not to worry! We’ll start with something a bit more manageable.” But then she added, “However, as a precaution, everyone will be learning the Fire-starter charm, Incendio, today—just in case.”
I could feel the students around me tensing, their wands already in hand, eager to try out the spell. For me, it was second nature. I could perform Incendio silently and wandlessly by now, so I stood back, watching as Professor Sprout demonstrated the charm.
“Incendio!” she said with a flick of her wand, and a small flame danced in the air before disappearing.
The class began practicing, and it was clear who had a natural affinity for the spell. A few students struggled, their flames barely a flicker. Meanwhile, I simply raised my hand, a silent incantation in my mind, and with a faint gesture, a flame appeared in my palm before vanishing just as quickly.
Professor Sprout’s sharp eyes caught my movement. She nodded approvingly but didn’t say anything, moving on to help the others.
After everyone had a chance to practice, we moved on to the day's lesson: Puffapods. A fairly harmless magical plant, it was a safe choice to ease us into the world of Herbology. I had worked with Puffapods before—so many times, in fact, that I could practically tend to one in my sleep.
I grabbed a pair of gloves, humming softly to myself as I worked. The bulbs bloomed into beautiful pink flowers as soon as I planted them into the soil, the bright blossoms adding a splash of color to the otherwise green landscape of the greenhouse.
I finished faster than I’d expected, and Professor Sprout noticed. She bustled over, peering at my plant with raised eyebrows. “Already finished? Let’s have a look…”
She examined the Puffapod carefully, then smiled broadly. “Well done! Five points to Ravenclaw.”
A few of the other students glanced over, surprised, but I shrugged it off. It wasn’t hard for me—though I had to admit, it felt nice to earn points so early on. As I glanced around, I noticed another Ravenclaw student, Ward, also earning a few points for his work. I didn’t catch his first name, but he seemed competent enough.
The class wrapped up with more practice, and I couldn’t help but overhear a commotion behind me. Turning around, I saw James—one of the Gryffindors—being attacked by a particularly aggressive Venomous Tentacula.
"Oi, watch out!" I called, but it was too late. One of the vines had already wrapped around his arm, and he was struggling to get free. Professor Sprout rushed over to help, but it was clear James had learned a hard lesson today about underestimating magical plants.
I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. “Looks like someone needs more practice with that Fire-starter charm,” I muttered, turning back to my own station.
As the lesson came to a close, I felt a small sense of satisfaction. It was only the first week, and I was already making progress. If I kept up this pace, I’d be well on my way to achieving everything I’d set out to do.
After Herbology, we all made our way back to the Great Hall for lunch. The chatter of students filled the room, bouncing off the high ceilings, but I tuned most of it out, mentally running through the list of upcoming classes. Defense Against the Dark Arts was next. I wasn’t holding my breath for anything spectacular—especially given the infamous turnover rate for the position—but I’d hoped for at least some practical, hands-on experience.
Unfortunately, the lesson was exactly what I had feared: dull, uninspired, and entirely based on textbook guidelines rather than any real-life experience. The teacher, a middle-aged witch with a pinched expression, stood at the front of the room and droned on about defensive techniques in theory, but there wasn’t any substance to back it up. No real understanding of how these spells might work in actual combat.
I glanced over at the Gryffindor students, wondering if they shared my frustration. Sure enough, I saw James slumped over his desk, looking about as interested in the class as a cat would be in a bath.
"Great," I muttered to myself, resting my chin on my hand. "Another year, another useless Defense professor."
The hour crawled by, and when it finally ended, I was more than happy to leave the classroom behind. But things started to look up after that. Our next class, Charms, was with Professor Flitwick, and I knew from the start that it would be different.
Flitwick was brilliant. Short in stature but absolutely brimming with energy, he knew exactly how to keep students engaged. From the moment we walked in, he had the entire class hooked, his tiny frame bouncing around the room as he talked us through the theory of basic charms.
“Now, today, we’ll be starting with the Lumos charm,” he announced with a grin, clapping his hands together. “A very useful spell that produces light at the tip of your wand. Simple, yes, but also the foundation for many more complex spells.”
I glanced at Victoria, a fellow Ravenclaw sitting beside me. We exchanged a nod, and as soon as Flitwick gave us the go-ahead to try the spell, we both cast it at the same time. “Lumos.” The tip of my wand flared to life, but while most of the class was still focusing on their wand movements and incantations, I managed to perform the spell silently and without any unnecessary flourishes.
Victoria’s Lumos worked as well, though it was far more conventional. Professor Flitwick’s eyes gleamed with pride as he noticed the synchronized casting.
“Five points to each of you,” he said brightly, beaming at us both.
I grinned, but I wasn’t done yet. With nothing else pressing, I decided to have a bit of fun with the spell. With a slight tweak in the wand movement and a little focus, I manipulated the light to shift through a series of colors, creating a rainbow that danced at the tip of my wand.
The effect caught Flitwick’s attention immediately. His eyes widened, and a delighted laugh escaped him. “Oh, wonderful! Marvelous creativity! That’s another ten points to Ravenclaw!”
I couldn’t help but smile at that, though when I glanced at Victoria, her expression was as neutral as ever. I swear, a wall had more personality than she did. Still, it didn’t bother me. I spent the rest of the class helping a few housemates who were struggling with their spells. Professor Flitwick seemed genuinely pleased, which was a refreshing change from our earlier Defense class.
But of course, after the excitement of Charms, the inevitable enemy arrived: boredom. And not just any boredom—History of Magic boredom.
I had seriously underestimated just how mind-numbingly dull Professor Binns could be. The ghostly professor floated at the front of the room, droning on in a monotone voice that seemed to sap the life out of everyone in the room. It was as if he was trying to put us all into a coma.
I looked around. As expected, nearly everyone was either asleep or on the verge of it. Heads rested on desks, quills hung limp in hands, and the occasional snore echoed through the classroom.
Honestly, if the Ministry ever needed a way to break down a wizard’s Occlumency defenses, they should send them to one of Binns’ lectures. By the time he was halfway through a chapter on the Goblin Rebellions, anyone would confess to anything just to make it stop.
I, on the other hand, had a different plan. With a quick, discreet flick of my wand, I cast a Muffliato charm around myself, effectively isolating me from Binns’ sleep-inducing lecture. Once the hum of his voice was muted, I pulled out one of my own books and started reading something far more interesting.
This was going to be my strategy for the next five years, I realized. As long as Binns remained our History of Magic professor, I’d have to entertain myself if I wanted to survive his classes. At least now, with the charm in place, I could actually enjoy my time without being lulled into unconsciousness.
By the end of the first week, I felt more grounded. Despite the monotony of some classes (cough History of Magic cough), I was making steady progress, impressing a few professors along the way. And I could feel that I was just getting started—this year was going to test me, but I was more than up for it.
Our first Transfiguration class was paired with the Slytherins, which made things a bit more tense than usual. Professor McGonagall, ever the no-nonsense head of our house, wasted no time getting into her routine. She began with her classic Animagus transformation, morphing into a tabby cat and back before any of us could blink. Then came the inevitable warning: “Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Any misbehavior in my class will result in swift punishment. Understood?”
After that pep talk, we were instructed to do the standard first-year transfiguration: turning a match into a needle. Of course, this was something I’d figured out when I was five—without a wand. So, I barely glanced at the match on my desk before transfiguring it into a golden needle, engraved with delicate petal designs. Satisfied, I looked away, knowing it was more than enough to make an impression.
Victoria, sitting nearby, seemed to notice and shot a smug look in my direction. She probably thought I was trying to outshine her, but honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about her. Instead, I focused on helping my desk mate, who was struggling a bit with her match. I gave her a few pointers, quietly encouraging her, when McGonagall walked over. She paused, eyes narrowing at my needle.
“Ten points to Ravenclaw,” she said, her voice betraying a hint of surprise. Victoria, who’d only earned five points, looked like she’d swallowed a lemon, but I just shrugged it off. Transfiguration had always been one of my strong suits.
Potions, on the other hand, was more... eventful, thanks to Snape. The man came storming into the classroom, cloaked in his usual aura of doom and gloom. He launched into his dramatic monologue about the "subtle art of potion-making," which is true in theory—but did he have to be so insufferable about it? Then, of course, he slipped in his usual line about how most of us weren’t capable of brewing anything beyond a simple tea. Honestly, Snape’s teaching style seemed designed to terrify students into making mistakes.
I decided to partner with James for this class. He looked as nervous and uncomfortable as he had during Herbology, clearly out of his element. We were tasked with brewing the Cure for Boils, which was a basic potion—something I could practically make in my sleep. I didn’t even bother looking at the instructions. Instead, I went straight for the ingredient cupboard, ignoring Snape’s glare. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something when he noticed I was picking the correct ingredients, along with a few extra ones.
While Snape was busy tormenting other students, I made a modified version of the potion, one that not only cured boils but also helped with pimples and warts. It was quicker to brew, too, so I had time to help James out. He was struggling, unsurprisingly, but with a few well-timed nudges and wand flicks, his potion turned out decent enough. I barely paid attention to my own work, letting my hands do the motions out of habit while I watched Snape prowl the classroom like a bat.
He couldn’t find a reason to criticize me—though I could tell he wanted to—but he took every opportunity to dock points from James and the other students. The class ended with a massive pile of homework, which, honestly, I didn’t mind. It was just another chance to tweak my potion recipes.
That night, we had Astronomy, which, in theory, could’ve been fascinating. Professor Sinistra was engaging enough, and I’ve always been curious about the stars. But the wizarding world’s take on astronomy? It’s a mess. Somehow, they still cling to the idea that the Earth is the center of the universe, despite all the modern advancements in muggle science.
The odd thing is, despite how backward some of the theories are, they manage to divine things from the stars with eerie accuracy. And don’t even get me started on rituals—somehow, they still work, despite using a flawed understanding of how the cosmos actually functions.
But instead of letting it frustrate me, I decided to have a bit of fun with it. While Sinistra lectured, I spent the class testing my own theories—combining modern astronomy with wizarding magic to see what I could come up with. If nothing else, it gave me something interesting to focus on.
The excitement of my first flying lesson still buzzed in the back of my mind as the weekend approached. Madam Hooch was strict, making sure none of us got too carried away during our first session, but that didn’t dampen my curiosity. I couldn't help but think about how much potential there was for flight in this world. Sure, summoning the broom to my hand wasn’t particularly difficult, but the desire to fly was what made me eager. I could already feel that sense of freedom, of shooting off into the sky whenever I wanted. Ward, the quiet Ravenclaw who seemed to be a natural at this too, caught my eye. Maybe he'd be worth befriending—it was always good to know someone who shared a similar passion.
By the end of the week, most students had found their rhythm. Classes, while challenging for some, started to become more routine, and the castle’s quirks—moving staircases, talking portraits, and ghosts—became part of everyday life. Homework quickly emerged as the bane of many students' existence, but not mine. Thanks to my prepared quills, which I’d charmed to write for me based on my dictated input, I was able to breeze through it. Of course, we weren't allowed to use them for tests or classwork, but there were no rules against using them for homework. It was a loophole that, surprisingly, no one else seemed to have thought of.
While I used the quills to complete most assignments, I put extra effort into my Potions homework, specifically to irk Snape. Inspired by some of my favorite fanfictions from my past life, I decided to bombard him with all the knowledge I had, going above and beyond on every assignment just to overwhelm him. It was a subtle form of payback for his attitude. For the other professors, I did what was required, though I kicked up the complexity—just enough to make them take notice, but not so much that it drew too much attention.