Chapter 23: The Ravenclaw Common Room
When the last of the desserts vanished from the tables, Dumbledore rose to his feet once more. The Great Hall instantly fell into silence.
"Now that everyone is well fed," he began, his voice warm yet commanding, "there are a few important reminders before the new term begins."
His gaze swept across the hall, sharp and kind in equal measure.
"First-years — and certain forgetful older students — must under no circumstances enter the Forbidden Forest. It is off-limits to all."
A few Gryffindors snickered; Hagrid looked mildly offended.
"Secondly," Dumbledore continued, "students are reminded not to perform magic in the corridors."
"And finally — Quidditch tryouts will be held on the second weekend of term. Those wishing to join their House teams should speak with Madam Hooch. Participation is limited to second-years and above."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room before Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again.
"And now," he said, clapping his hands once, "to conclude our evening — let us all sing the school song!"
A collective groan echoed through the hall.
Even the professors' smiles froze in place, as if they were bracing for impact.
---
By the time it was over, Russell felt like his brain had been scrambled.
He rubbed his temples, still dazed from the auditory assault he had just endured.
The lyrics were fine — even stirring — but the problem was that every single student chose their own tune.
The result? A chaotic medley that sounded like a choir possessed by madness.
The Weasley twins, in particular, had somehow decided to sing to the melody of Ode to Joy. They couldn't hit half the notes and kept stretching the last line into eternity.
Russell swore his temples were pulsing.
And yet, through all of it, Dumbledore stood there, smiling blissfully, his eyes glistening with emotion — as though he were listening to the music of angels.
Right, Russell thought grimly. Next year, I'm singing "The Great Snow Adventure." Let's see how the old man likes real music.
---
When Dumbledore finally announced the end of the feast, the Ravenclaw students gathered behind Amelia Slughorn, their prefect, and followed her out of the Great Hall.
They passed through the crowded entrance hall, climbed the gleaming marble staircase, and began the long ascent through one of the castle's many towers.
The higher they climbed, the quieter it became — their footsteps echoing faintly in the spiraling corridor.
After what felt like forever, they reached a large, arched door adorned with a bronze eagle-shaped knocker.
Amelia turned to face the group, a faint smile curving her lips.
"Unlike other Houses," she said, "Ravenclaw doesn't use passwords. To enter, you must answer the eagle's riddle correctly."
She raised her hand and rapped lightly on the bronze door knocker.
Instantly, a smooth yet slightly raspy voice echoed from it — calm, mysterious, and filled with quiet wisdom.
"I have no mouth, yet I speak of a thousand years' wisdom..."
The riddle continued in that calm, echoing voice from the bronze eagle knocker:
"I have no wings, yet I soar across the river of time.
Born in silence, eternal in the sea of thought.
The wise reach out to touch me,
The foolish sigh in vain."
"Who'd like to give it a try?" asked Amelia Slughorn, smiling faintly. She didn't answer it herself, clearly wanting the new students to think for themselves.
"Books," came a voice from the crowd.
Click.
With a smooth sound, the massive door slowly swung open.
Amelia turned toward the voice, ready to offer praise—
But the moment she saw who had spoken, her smile froze.
It was Phineas Fawley.
Her compliment caught in her throat. That same pompous boy who had thrown the Sorting Hat on the floor now stood there, wearing a smug grin of self-satisfaction.
Perhaps believing this was proof of his "genius," Fawley's chest puffed with pride.
He finally understood, or so he thought: the Sorting Hat hadn't placed him in Ravenclaw because his bloodline was impure, but because his intellect was superior.
"Hmm. Well done," Amelia said stiffly. Her impeccable manners forced the words out, though every syllable felt like sandpaper.
---
The Ravenclaw common room took everyone's breath away.
Tall, arched windows framed the view of the starlit sky. Blue and bronze silks draped elegantly from the walls, and the domed ceiling shimmered with painted constellations.
A midnight-blue carpet was embroidered with golden stars, mirroring the heavens above. Tables and bookshelves lined the polished floor, and across from the entrance stood a white marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, serene and graceful, her stone eyes reflecting quiet wisdom.
The climb had been long, but the view—and the atmosphere—made it worth every step.
---
"Alright, everyone," Amelia clapped her hands lightly. "Get some rest. Classes begin tomorrow morning."
The students immediately scattered, exploring every corner of their new home.
Feeling drowsy, Russell made his way to the boys' dormitory. Four beds stood neatly arranged, only his was occupied.
A familiar rustling sound came from the cage by the window—his cat, Ice Cream, pacing impatiently.
"Sorry, sorry," Russell said, opening the latch. "You must be dying to stretch."
The moment the cage opened, Ice Cream shot out like a white blur, vanishing down the corridor before he could blink.
Chuckling, Russell poured some cat food and fresh water into a small bowl, sliding it under his bed. "There. For when you come back, little monster."
He glanced around—four beds, but all empty. His roommates were probably still chatting downstairs.
He'd wanted to meet them, but he had training at dawn, and discipline came first. After changing into his pajamas, he slipped under the covers.
"Goodnight." he murmured drowsily before drifting off.
---
By the time the first light of dawn brushed the windows, Russell was already up, dressed, and ready to head out for morning exercise.
The other three boys were still sound asleep, snoring softly. He bent down to check the bowl under the bed—untouched. Ice Cream hadn't come back yet.
He wasn't worried. Magical cats were clever creatures, natural survivors. Ice Cream was classified as a Class-XXX magical beast—few things at Hogwarts could threaten it.
The morning air carried a crisp chill. Russell opened the common room door—
—and walked straight into a translucent figure.
The ghost blinked, startled, clearly not expecting anyone to be up this early.
"Good morning, Lady Grey," Russell greeted politely.
"Good morning," she replied, her voice soft and heavy with sorrow. "I remember you… the new Ravenclaw student. You're going out to train, I see."
Before he could answer, she continued in a wistful murmur,
"When I was alive, I, too, rose early… worked hard… but alas—"
She stopped mid-sentence. Without another glance at him, she drifted toward the marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw and hovered silently before it, lost in thought.
Russell watched her for a moment, then quietly closed the door behind him, not wanting to disturb her melancholy.
Something about her reminded him a tragic heroine-a soul of deep feeling and fragile pride, doomed by her own sorrow.
Left alone too long, he thought, she'd drown in her thoughts forever.