Gabriel frowned, eyes flicking once more to the letter in his hands.
"Please come to the seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and look for the Room of Requirement."
— A. Dumbledore.
He lowered the parchment, scowling faintly at the empty stretch of corridor before him. "Where the hell is this thing?," he muttered under his breath.
He was certain there was no such room on the seventh floor. Back in the first year he'd walked these halls enough times in order to find out every trick staircase and secret sconce he could. Still, he searched - running a hand over smooth stone, peering behind a dusty suit of armor, even checking behind the tapestry just to be sure.
After a few minutes of fruitless searching, he threw his hands in the air. "Oh, for Merlin's sake! Where the bloody hell is the Room of Requirement!?"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than something stirred beside him - a low rumble that vibrated through the wall. Gabriel stumbled back as a wooden door materialized from the stone itself, frame first, then hinges, then a polished bronze handle. It gleamed softly, like it had been waiting for him the whole time.
He closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and counted down from ten to zero. When he opened them, the door was still there.
"...Right," he sighed, gripping the handle. "Sure. Why not?"
The door opened without a sound.
The air that greeted him was warm and dust-scented, humming faintly with magic. The room stretched wide and impossibly tall - far larger than it could ever fit within the castle walls. Towering shelves leaned against one another in crooked rows, stacked with forgotten treasures: cracked goblets, broken wands, cages that still shimmered faintly with containment charms. Mountains of furniture stood like sleeping giants, draped in white sheets that fluttered in an unseen breeze.
A faint golden glow seemed to hover above everything, giving the space a dreamlike haze. Here and there, Gabriel spotted curious trinkets - a clock with backward-turning hands, a broomstick split clean in half but still twitching to fly, a music box that sang even though its lid was closed.
The strangest part, though, was that everything felt alive. Like the room itself was breathing around him, shifting softly with each step.
And in the middle of that chaos sat Professor Dumbledore.
He was reclined in a shockingly fluffy armchair - pink and puffy like cotton candy - running his fingers absently through his long silver beard. His robes were a riot of color: bright orange trimmed with yellow and red, a sash that shimmered like firelight, and what looked suspiciously like false phoenix feathers stitched into the hem. His half-moon spectacles were sliding down his nose, his eyes crinkled in delight.
"Do forgive the little prank, my boy," Dumbledore said, his voice warm and musical. "It is always an experience to see people discover the room by themselves."
Gabriel stared at him for a beat, then at the robes, then back at him. He decided, wisely, not to ask.
Instead, he gave the Headmaster's attire a single unimpressed look before his curiosity was caught by the surrounding chaos.
He began wandering absently, eyes darting from pile to pile, his fingers itching to collect half a dozen oddities already. He muttered something about needing an expanded pouch before forgetting which pile he'd already inspected.
"'S alright," he said eventually, still turning a strange compass over in his hands. "Was it the desire to find the room or the verbal command that actually triggered the entrance? Also, is this-" he gestured around him "-the castle's Lost and Found or something?"
"Desire is certainly part of it," Dumbledore replied, smiling over his spectacles, "but not all. This is the Room of Requirement - one of Hogwarts' greatest wonders. Walking past the wall three times while thinking of what you need will make it appear in the form that suits your wish. A bathroom, a potions lab, a training hall, a library… or, as you see now, its standard form - an expanded storage room that grows larger the more things are placed inside."
He gestured around them with a lazy sweep of his hand. "The house-elves use it to store items that are broken beyond easy repair, or those lost whose owners have never been found."
Gabriel turned toward him, eyes wide. "That's ridiculous."
Dumbledore chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Our Hogwarts is quite the wonder, isn't it?"
Gabriel chuckled softly, hands tucked into his pockets.
"This sounds like exactly the kind of thing Ravenclaw would try to make - though how she could have done it, I have absolutely no idea."
Dumbledore tilted his head to the side in agreement, the feathers on his robe swaying faintly with the motion.
"It certainly fits the legend of Lady Rowena," he mused. "However, there are no actual records of this room in the castle's plans or architectural maps. The oldest mention I've found dates back to the fourteenth century, in a note written by one of my predecessors - a rather eccentric Headmaster. For all we know, this room may have simply appeared out of nowhere… an expression of Hogwarts' own desire to help those who dwell within it."
Gabriel crouched down, placing a hand against the stone floor. It was subtle - faint as a sigh - but beneath his fingers, he could feel something that pulsed between a breath and a heartbeat. It was alive.
That was the first time he truly understood what his mother had meant in her first letter last year, when she'd written that all magical schools were living beings in their own right - guardians, sentinels... dreaming giants that watched over their students.
'It's like me,' he thought with a faint smile.
"I can believe it," he said, rising to his feet again. Then, turning to the Headmaster, he added, "But why did you call me, Professor? Is this about the 'reward' Mum was talking about?"
Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment - his eyes soft, but gleaming with some private amusement - before smiling and standing up.
"You could say that," he said calmly.
The air shifted.
Around them, the clutter of forgotten furniture and broken instruments began to blur, fading into smoke. The space stretched wider, the walls pulling back like the inside of a great lung. Candles appeared along the arches, their flames hovering midair. In the center, rows of cushions and dummies emerged from nothing, surrounded by shelves filled with magical texts, dueling targets, and crystal spheres. A wide circular window appeared on the far wall, casting moonlight across the polished floor.
Dumbledore's voice carried easily through the transformation.
"Your mother has convinced me to take you in as my apprentice."
Gabriel blinked, momentarily forgetting to breathe. His gaze flicked between the shifting room and the old wizard, disbelief plain on his face.
"That doesn't sound like her."
Dumbledore's expression turned dryly amused.
"She has also promised that if I told you her reasons before she could - or if I explained why I called her Saint Germain - she would, and I quote, 'put my soul in the body of a goldfish and give me to a nine-year-old Muggle girl as a pet.'"
Gabriel snorted. "Now that sounds like her."
He straightened, lips twitching into a smirk.
"So… how are we doing this?"
Dumbledore's voice took on a more formal, lecturing tone - though the ever-present twinkle in his eyes never dimmed.
"This year, we shall be meeting every Saturday evening at this very hour for your lessons," he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he began to pace slowly around the room. "Next year, however, I will make an official announcement that I have taken you on as my apprentice. You will then be listed under my tutelage, and along with whichever electives you choose to take, you shall also have Alchemy in your curriculum."
Gabriel blinked once, tilting his head. "So… you'll be teaching me Alchemy?"
"Merlin forbid!" Dumbledore laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly through the room. "If I so much as presumed to teach you Alchemy, I'm quite certain your mother would do something far worse than turn me into a goldfish. No, no - I wouldn't dare encroach on her domain."
He waved a dismissive hand. "You also already have professors for Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions. What I shall be teaching you is something rather… broader. I will be teaching you magic."
Gabriel lifted an eyebrow, a sardonic smile tugging at his mouth. "You've lost me there, Headmaster."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "A fair reaction."
Then, drawing his wand, he said, "Why don't we start with something simpler? Show me your favorite spell. Although I have a suspicion I already know which one that might be."
He held his wand loosely in his fingers - An ancient and strange looking thing. Its pale, bone-like surface carved with faint runes and a pattern of knotted spheres that pulsed with quiet power under the light.
Gabriel's eyes flicked to the glowing rings of blue flame hovering lazily around his wrists, ankles, and behind his head like a halo. He gave a crooked grin. "Yeah, I think you've got me figured out."
He plucked his own wand from where it rested tucked behind his ear, its handle tangled in his hair, and gave it a casual wave. A thin stream of flame jutted from the tip, curling and twisting through the air until it formed the glowing word:
BLAUFLAMMER
The blue fire shimmered, letters hanging like neon against the room's dimness. "I really love the Bluebell Flames," he said, proud.
Dumbledore smiled, clearly delighted. "Wordlessly?"
"Mhm!" Gabriel nodded, excitement bubbling up as he started explaining. "I found out that as long as I keep the flames going - even if I cast another spell or let go of my wand - it still counts as if I'm holding the original cast. So I can just feed it more magic instead of having to recast it every time."
To demonstrate, he bent low until the tip of his wand almost brushed the floor, then spun in a smooth, dancer-like turn. A perfect ring of blue fire bloomed around him, burning without smoke or heat, tracing his motion like a comet's tail.
He ended his spin grinning at the Headmaster - but paused when he noticed the older wizard wasn't smiling.
Dumbledore stood very still, eyes distant, as if he were watching someone else through Gabriel's movements. It lasted only a second before he seemed to shake himself free, smiling again with a faint, wistful look.
"Forgive me," he said softly. "You just reminded me of an old friend for a moment."
Then, his tone brightened. "Coincidentally, my favorite spell is also a kind of fire."
He flicked his wand, and from the tip poured a brilliant jet of vermilion and gold flame. It expanded, spiraling upward until it formed a vortex that filled the room with warmth and light. The fire moved like water - fluid, graceful, alive. Slowly, it took shape: wings, feathers, a beak of light - a phoenix.
The great fiery bird circled once around them before settling behind Dumbledore, wings spread wide. Its light cast molten gold across his robes, making him look for all the world like some ancient god cloaked in dawnfire.
Gabriel stared, half impressed, half exasperated.
"Show-off," he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. "What kind of crazy spell is that? Did you make it?"
"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said lightly. "The Incendio charm is quite a bit older than me."
"Bullshit," Gabriel said immediately, then froze - realizing what he'd just said in front of the Headmaster.
Dumbledore merely quirked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in barely concealed mirth.
Gabriel shrugged, soldiering on. "I mean, there's no way that's Incendio. All that spell does is set something on fire."
"And that's precisely why I'm using it," Dumbledore replied, dismissing the fiery phoenix with a wave of his wand. The flames dissolved into motes of gold and vanished. Then he pointed his wand straight ahead, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.
"Of course," he went on lightly, "it would be quite shameful if my favorite spell didn't involve Transfiguration - considering I have taught it in these hallowed halls for several decades. So, we start by conjuring some fuel…"
The air around his wand began to shimmer, twisting like a heat mirage. "…which I then set aflame using the Incendio charm."
A spark leapt from his wand and caught the warped air, igniting it into a small orb of pure flame. The fireball hung there, floating just above the wand's tip, pulsing like a miniature sun.
"From this point," Dumbledore continued conversationally, "it's simply a matter of conjuring more fuel to feed it- " The fireball grew, swelling larger with each heartbeat. "-and using Transformation to mold its shape."
The glowing sphere stretched and folded into the form of a cartoonish, five-pointed star, its edges flickering playfully.
"And, in much the same way you keep your Bluebell Flames active while casting other spells, the base structure of Incendio remains ongoing. By feeding it more magic, I can amplify and refine its power."
As he spoke, the star brightened - its glow intensifying until the air itself seemed to ripple. Even from several meters away, Gabriel felt the sudden heat hit him like a wave. Sweat broke across his brow in an instant.
He gawked at the floating inferno, then pointed an accusatory finger at it as if it had personally insulted him. "That's- what the- that's insane!"
Dumbledore chuckled, a delighted, booming "Ho ho ho!" that he half-covered with one hand.
"It's not that impressive," he said with exaggerated modesty.
"Not that impressive!?" Gabriel all but shouted. "You're casually using conjuration - which, by the way, is the hardest branch of Transfiguration - constantly! You're also shaping gas and energy with Transformation, all while maintaining a non-continuous spell like Incendio! And you're calling that 'not impressive'!?"
"Of course not!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "But it does make for a fine first step. The next step, of course, being the use a different spell as a base to increase the magical weight and alter the magical properties. For instance…"
He gave a small, graceful flick of his wand. "Carpe Retractum!"
A whip of light shot from his wand, striking the fiery star. Instantly, the flames rippled, their color deepening to orange-red as the shape warped - twisting into a blazing whip that danced and cracked through the air, curling sinuously around Dumbledore like a living serpent made of molten gold.
Gabriel could only gape, gesturing uselessly. "Ah- Bah! Buh- Ughhh!"
Dumbledore's laughter filled the room - rich and sincere. "This kind of praise is much more satisfying than what I usually receive."
Gabriel let out a defeated groan, rubbing a hand down his face as the blue flames circling him sputtered for a moment before flaring back up with a flex of will. He stared at Dumbledore with wide, incredulous eyes.
"Why even do all this? You've got enough mastery to just create a fire whip spell or something, right?"
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed amiably. "And I did, in my youth. Along with a fire tornado charm, a fire-breathing charm, a fire-sword charm, and many, many others. But at some point, I realized I'd grown skilled enough to trade the simplicity of a hundred different spells for a single process that can achieve a thousand different results. Rather than ease, I chose variety - and control."
Gabriel groaned, muttering, "That's like saying you decided muscle memory was too imprecise, so now you move every muscle manually."
Dumbledore only smiled, and the fiery whip began to change again. Its form shifted - bones and joints taking shape, then organs, sinew, and skin quickly covered by clothes. Within moments, Gabriel found himself staring at a second Dumbledore, made entirely of fire. The copy stood as solid and lifelike as the man himself, every wrinkle, every gleam of his glasses recreated in flickering light.
"It's a bit more than that," Dumbledore corrected gently. "And that, my boy, is precisely the kind of control over your magic that I intend to teach you."
Gabriel stared for a few long seconds, then looked down at the small, flickering flames orbiting his body - so simple, so tame by comparison. But rather than discouragement, what rose in him was a spark of fierce determination.
He grinned. 'I'm going to wipe that smug smile off his wrinkled face.'
Drawing his wand, he twirled it once and said eagerly, "So how do we start?"
Dumbledore's grin widened, his eyes dancing with mischief.
"Your mother has already put quite a lot of stress on me, and I find myself in a rather mischievous mood. So today," he said, raising his wand high, "we shall do exactly what every mother tells her son not to do."
A spark of golden fire flared to life at the wand's tip.
"Let's play with fire."