Leonard stood in front of the blank stretch of wall, deep in thought.
What exactly was the Room of Requirement? In the films, it had appeared as a vast chamber filled with piles of discarded objects—evidence that countless people had once used it to stash their secrets. Yet most of what filled that space seemed to be nothing but useless junk.
To Leonard, the Room of Requirement felt more like a ghostly entity—an elusive chamber that wandered the castle, collecting the forgotten remnants of the ages.
The wall opposite the tapestry might be its fixed entry point, but certainly not its only one.
Still, this was only Leonard's speculation. Unless the room's creator decided to crawl out of the grave and explain it himself, no one would ever know the truth.
Not that it mattered much anyway.
Leonard took a slow breath, silently repeating in his mind, A room to hide secrets. He paced past the blank wall three times. On his third pass, dark, ink-like patterns began to spread across the surface, swirling together until they solidified into a large door.
Leonard hesitated briefly, then reached out and pushed it open.
Beyond the threshold stretched an enormous space overflowing with the most bizarre assortment of junk imaginable. Calling it a "room" was almost insulting—it was vast, endless, with piles of objects stacked all the way to the ceiling, stretching far beyond sight.
Finding a single diadem in here would be no easy task.
Leonard took one glance at the chaos before him and immediately felt his enthusiasm wane. Honestly, spending hours digging through trash for Ravenclaw's Diadem felt like a waste of time. He'd rather be tending to his plants in the Botanical Garden or clearing out the unidentified creatures lurking nearby.
Pretty much anything would be better than this.
"Maybe I should just set it all on fire," Leonard muttered. "The Room of Requirement can withstand Fiendfyre, so there's no reason ordinary flames would hurt it."
His gaze swept across the endless heaps of debris, and the thought didn't even feel all that unreasonable. After all, Ravenclaw's Diadem—infused with Horcrux magic—wouldn't be destroyed by mere fire anyway.
Leonard wasn't after the Horcrux's power, though. What intrigued him was the artifact itself—an enchanted crown said to grant wisdom to its wearer.
Who would ever complain about being too intelligent? Leonard certainly wouldn't.
But staring at the mountain of junk before him, he decided to shelve that ambition for now.
He hadn't yet learned any fire-based spells. Both Incendio and Confringo were advanced spells reserved for upper-year students.
Those spells weren't found in the general library either—only in the Restricted Section.
He planned to visit there eventually, but first, he wanted to test the Room of Requirement's "anything you need" ability and see just how far it could really go.
Stepping back out, Leonard watched as the doorway slowly faded from view. Then he focused and silently thought, a place suitable for a hot spring.
Time for an experiment.
Leonard was serious about this. To test the Room's limits, he needed a very specific and unusual request.
He paced past the wall three times. The doorway shimmered back into existence. Pushing it open, Leonard was immediately met with a wave of warm, sulfur-scented steam.
"A real hot spring?" he murmured.
He brushed the mist aside and approached the source. Before him was a naturally shaped pool, ringed by smooth stone, bubbling gently with heat.
Kneeling down, Leonard dipped his hand into the water. The temperature was easily forty or fifty degrees Celsius—just right.
"Hmm. Is this spring genuine? I wonder if it was conjured or moved here from somewhere else," he mused aloud.
Wizard magic truly was extraordinary. Take Transfiguration, for instance—it could transform almost anything into something else, regardless of size.
And within that branch of magic existed Summoning Charms, capable of calling specific items directly to one's side.
Both forms of magic could theoretically create a hot spring—but doing so was no simple feat.
Yet for the Room of Requirement, this ancient magical phenomenon, it seemed effortless.
After confirming the spring's authenticity, Leonard exited once more. This time, he thought, a place suitable for fishing.
The doorway appeared again. Leonard entered—and found himself standing before a crystal-clear lake, with a small recess along the shore perfectly sized for one person to sit and cast a line.
Every fisherman's dream.
Except… after watching the still waters for a long while, Leonard didn't spot a single fish.
He stood there silently for a moment, then turned and stepped back out to try again.
A hunting ground. A farm. A pasture…
After several attempts, Leonard confirmed one thing beyond doubt—the Room of Requirement couldn't create living beings.
No animals, no plants.
Still, as a proper transmigrator, Leonard refused to be bound by convention. He needed to push the experiment further. Something more interesting.
For example…
He paced back and forth three more times.
This time, the door didn't appear.
"It didn't appear… does that mean it can't comprehend it?" Leonard muttered to himself.
The room he had envisioned was one "suitable for hosting a comic convention."
Next, he tried imagining other rooms from the Muggle world—airports, train stations, love hotels, and so on. Without exception, the Room of Requirement ignored every single one of them.
That left Leonard a bit disappointed. "I thought it might at least give some reaction—maybe glitch a little or make a mistake. But no, it just refuses to open at all."
What a cunning bit of design.
Since the Room wouldn't indulge him, Leonard decided to stick to more reasonable experiments.
He silently pictured a greenhouse suitable for cultivating plants. When the door appeared and opened, he stepped into a space with perfect temperature and lighting, fully stocked with tools and lined with countless empty pots.
However, the light didn't come from the sun—it shone from a row of lamps burning with an eerie blue flame.
Naturally, the Room of Requirement couldn't conjure an actual sun to hang overhead.
Having confirmed the limits of the Room's abilities, Leonard planted a Bitterthorn seed into one of the pots.
He cast [Rapid Growth], watching as the seed sprouted and grew before leaving the room and switching its form.
When he entered again, the pot that had contained the Bitterthorn was empty.
"What a shame," Leonard sighed, shaking his head. "Looks like this place can't be my private greenhouse after all."
He had hoped the Room of Requirement could serve as another Botanical Garden, but it clearly couldn't preserve anything planted within.
Technically, he could just keep it locked in the [Greenhouse] state indefinitely, but Leonard couldn't guarantee that no one would stumble across it.
It was hidden, yes, but not undetectable. If he nurtured something here, poured effort into it, and then someone happened to walk by and activate the Room, all his work would vanish in an instant—and that would be enough to make him cough up blood from frustration.
Still, using it as a private chamber wasn't an issue. Based on what he knew from the books and films, if someone was already inside the Room of Requirement, no one outside could activate it—no matter how many times they walked past.
That meant he could turn it into his personal training ground.
Perfect. Leonard had plenty of magical ideas he wanted to test.
He focused on the thought of "a place suitable for practicing magic," and soon the door opened again—this time revealing a vast, arena-like chamber.
Across from him stood a mannequin clutching a wand.
It was a standard practice dummy, the same type he'd used at Ollivander's Wand Shop—the kind with a target marked across its chest.
A powerful blast of magic shot forward, striking the dummy and sending it flying backward.
...
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