HP: Ashborn

Her voice rang with pure authority. "What are you waiting for?"

The Ravenclaws didn't hesitate. Didn't argue.

They just ran.

Tripping over themselves in their desperation, they scrambled toward the nearest corridor, their footfalls echoing against the stone walls. One of them—probably the idiot who had botched his spell earlier—stumbled hard, nearly crashing into a suit of armor before catching himself at the last second.

Neither of us moved. We simply watched.

Watched them disappear.

Watched them flee.

The silence that followed was thick—like the aftermath of a storm, heavy with the weight of what had just happened. The tension still clung to the air, but now, it was different.

I turned to Jasmine. She wasn't shaking anymore.

Her grip on her wand was still firm, but not out of fear—out of control. Out of knowing that she had taken her power back, that she had been the one to decide how this ended.

For a second, she simply stood there, staring at the space where they had vanished.

Then, she exhaled.

Not shaky. Not weak.

Just steady.

Then, she turned to me, her expression unreadable at first before she finally muttered, "Thank you, Max."

I gave her a small smile. "You're welcome, Jasmine. But if you're comfortable sharing… what exactly made those idiots come after you?"

She let out a sharp, humourless laugh before sighing, her shoulders slumping. "Potter's name. The fame of the Boy-Who-Lived." Her voice dripped with frustration. "You have no idea how many ridiculous books are out there—absolute garbage, all of them. They claim my brother lives in a floating castle, that he has a dragon and a bloody Nundu as pets. That he's subdued thousands of dark creatures with a flick of his wrist."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her breath coming quicker. "And because I'm his sister, people assume I'm just some spoiled, entitled brat—nothing more than the arrogant little princess of Henry Potter's Make-Believe Empire. They think I throw around gold like confetti, that I get away with anything just because I share his last name."

Her voice rose, her anger spilling over. "I get asked the same idiotic questions every damn day—'What's it like being his sister? Does he have secret powers? Is he really training to be the next Merlin?'" She let out a bitter scoff. "As if I don't have my own life. As if I'm not even a person—just some extension of him."

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she just stood there, breathing heavily. Then, almost as if she realized how much she had let out, she exhaled slowly, trying to rein it back in.

But the frustration still burned in her eyes.

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I stayed silent, letting her words settle. Sometimes, people didn't need reassurances or empty platitudes. They just needed to be heard.

Then, to my surprise, she let out a small chuckle—dry, but real. "Then again, it was partly my mistake for expecting them to be sensible. And it's partly yours as well, you know?"

I blinked. Wait, what?

I raised an eyebrow. "Now you're talking nonsense, lady. But go on—humour me. How exactly is this my fault?"

She huffed, crossing her arms, but there was no real bite to it—just exasperation laced with something softer. Something almost… fond. "You were the first person I met on the train. You gave me enjoyable, comfortable company without once pestering me about my family name or my brother. You talked to me. You played that stupid game, which I quite enjoyed—even if you won it." She took a pause before continuing.

"But the whole time, you never cared about the Potter name. You were interested in me, just Jasmine."

Her voice quieted slightly, her gaze searching mine as if only now realizing how much that had meant to her. For the first time that night, I saw it—something warm in her expression, a soft glow in her eyes that made my chest feel strangely tight.

"You made me believe—just for a moment—that others would be like you. That I wouldn't have to constantly fight against expectations, against people who only see me as an extension of my brother."

She let out a small, self-deprecating laugh, but when she looked at me again, her eyes lingered—shining, locked onto mine, as if unwilling to look away.

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I wasn't a fool. I had lived too long in both of these lives, seen too much, to not recognize what was happening. That warmth curling in my chest, the way my thoughts stilled just for her—those were dangerous things. Things I knew better than to dwell on.

This was just a moment. A fleeting thing between two people who had fought side by side tonight. Nothing more.

Right?

With a quiet breath, I shoved the thought away before it could take root.

And it did not settle so again with a quiet breath, I shoved the thought away deeper before it could begin take root. Instead, I tilted my head, a slow grin forming. "Well, then, clearly, this isn't my mistake at all. You just assumed there'd be others like me. And that's where you went wrong."

I placed a hand on my chest, feigning exaggerated pride. "For there is no one like me. There is only me—the last Ashborn, the lone Ashborn, the incomparable Maximus Ashborn."

She rolled her eyes, but there was a glimmer of amusement in them, and maybe—just maybe—something else.

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"Did I ever tell you that you're absolutely not normal in the head?" she asked, tapping her temple with a teasing smile.

"You did, dear," I replied, matching her tone of amusement. "And I told you—normal is boring. Life's too short to live a boring life."

She giggled, shaking her head. "Yes, normal is, in fact, boring. But—"

She suddenly took my hand, her fingers curling around mine in a firm yet warm grip. My breath hitched.

Her forest-green eyes locked onto mine, shimmering with something deep—something unspoken. There was no teasing in her gaze now, no light-hearted mockery. Just raw, unfiltered emotion.

"Thank you, Max," she murmured, her voice softer now, more delicate. Like a whisper meant only for me. "For being by my side. For giving me strength. For believing in me… and for being my friend."

Her gratitude was almost tangible, threading through the space between us like an invisible tether.

And then, I nearly had a heart attack.

Because right in front of me was a sight capable of making even a hardened soul falter. Her deep forest-green eyes, glistening with unshed tears—not from sadness, but something gentler, something impossibly tender. The way her long, dark eyelashes framed them, like they were meant to trap even the strongest of men. Her fiery red hair, catching the dim light, glowing with shades of gold and copper, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. And worst of all—the way she was looking at me.

Just me.

I swallowed hard, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

What the hell was I supposed to do with this?

I held her gaze, tightening my grip just enough for her to feel the reassurance in it. A silent promise. One I had no intention of breaking.

No words were needed to tell her I understood—I simply let the moment linger, let her see everything I wasn't saying, before finally replying, my voice quiet, certain.

"Always."

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Her fingers tightened around mine for the briefest moment, as if anchoring herself to those words. To me.

"You don't have to carry it all alone, Jasmine," I continued, my voice low but steady. "You're more than just your last name. More than what people expect you to be. And if they can't see that, then to hell with them."

A soft breath left her lips, something between a laugh and a sigh. Relief. As if those were the words, she had needed to hear for longer than she'd ever admit.

I lifted our joined hands slightly, just enough to give hers a light squeeze. "Whenever the world feels too heavy, whenever you need someone to remind you that you're more than their stupid expectations—I'll be here."

Something flickered in her eyes. A warmth. A trust. And maybe, just maybe, something deeper.

She exhaled softly, almost like a quiet laugh.

But she didn't let go.

Neither did I.

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I let the silence linger for a moment before Jasmine finally broke eye contact, released her grip on my hands, and took a small step back. The warmth of her touch faded, but the moment still lingered between us, unspoken yet undeniable.

Then, with a soft exhale, she asked, "Now, where are we going?"

I blinked at her, momentarily thrown off.

She sighed, clearly reading my expression. This time, she rephrased, "Remember the challenge from Professor Flitwick today? What's the plan? How exactly are we going to train for it?"

Ah, right. That.

I dragged myself back to reality, pushing away the lingering weight of whatever that last moment had been. A slow smirk spread across my face. "I know just the place, Jasmine. Perfect for what we need."

She raised an eyebrow. "Okay…?"

"But" I continued, my voice dropping slightly for effect, letting a hint of mystery seep into my tone, "it's not just any place. It's a secret room in Hogwarts. One so obscure that I doubt even the headmaster knows about it. And it has a ridiculously specific requirement to unlock it."

I brought my hands in front and intertwined my fingers, levelling her with a look. "So, will you promise to keep this place a secret?"

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Her eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Wait, wait. So, only you know about this secret place?"

I chuckled. "No, the house-elves know about it too. But it's easier if I just show you." With that, I turned on my heel, already making my way toward the seventh floor.

Jasmine exhaled dramatically. "Alright, mysterious one. Lead the way."

She followed without hesitation, her steps light yet filled with curiosity. The corridors were quiet at this hour, the usual castle chatter replaced by the distant flickering of torches and the occasional shifting of a suit of armor. Despite the lingering weight of our earlier conversation, there was an unmistakable energy in the air now—one of anticipation.

When we reached the seventh floor, I led her to a very peculiar sight: Barnabas the Barmy's portrait, where he was, as always, failing spectacularly to teach a group of trolls how to dance ballet. Jasmine barely spared him a glance, too focused on me as I turned toward the blank stretch of wall across from the portrait.

"Here," I said, letting just enough mystery creep into my voice.

She stared at me as if I had just declared myself the new Minister for Magic. Her confusion was almost comical—eyes slightly squinted, lips parted just enough to show she was desperately trying to piece together what I was playing at.

But, being the master of suspense that I was, I simply smirked and let her stew in bewilderment.

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Without another word, I started pacing in front of the wall, deliberately focusing my thoughts. I need a room for two people to practice dueling.

Once. Twice. And on the third pass—

Magic answered.

The solid stone shimmered, rippling like disturbed water before morphing into a grand set of doors. Ancient. Majestic. With a deep, almost reverent groan, they swung open, revealing the chamber beyond.

It was massive. The far end of the room held static dummies, lined up like obedient soldiers, while moving dummies twitched in anticipation—ready to dodge, block, and fight back. The air itself carried a quiet hum, an energy that promised challenge and growth.

But none of that mattered.

Not compared to the look on Jasmine's face.

Her eyes were wide, stunned into silence, awe lighting up her features like a Lumos in the dark. She slowly stepped forward, as if afraid the illusion would shatter, taking in the sheer impossibility of what had just happened.

And I?

I found myself watching her instead of the room.

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I stepped inside, and Jasmine followed, but the moment the doors sealed shut behind us with a soft thud, a flicker of panic crossed her expression.

Before she could spiral, I raised a hand. "Calm down, Jasmine," I said easily. "It's a secret room, remember? Of course, the doors close automatically once someone enters. No need to worry."

She took a deep breath, nodding, though suspicion still lingered in her sharp green eyes. "Okay… now start explaining, Mister. What is this room? How does a place like this even exist without anyone realizing? What exactly does it do? How did you access it? And—"

"Jasmine, Jasmine," I cut in smoothly, but instead of simply raising my hands in surrender, I suddenly reached forward, gripping her shoulders and pulling her just a fraction closer. Not enough to be improper—just enough to startle her, to throw her off balance for a second. Her breath hitched, her eyes widening in surprise, and before she could react, I smirked.

"We are not playing Auror-Criminal, dear. Give me a second to explain before you interrogate me to death."

I let the moment stretch, just enough for her to roll her eyes, before flashing a knowing grin.

"This, my dear Jasmine, is the Room of Requirement—one of Hogwarts' best-kept secrets."

"Room of Requirement?"

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"Yes, the Room of Requirement," I said, gesturing around us with a deliberate flourish. "A room that becomes whatever the user needs it to be. Its magic is a fusion of highly advanced Transfiguration and powerful Illusions—meaning everything you see here is, essentially, a magically crafted copy. It feels real, looks real, but at the end of the day, it's just a very convincing fake. Of course, there are limits. You can't conjure food out of thin air—because, you know, Gamp's Law and all that."

Jasmine stood in silent awe, her eyes scanning the space, drinking in the sheer impossibility of it. The flickering torchlight cast a warm glow on her face, and for a moment, I just watched her—how her expression shifted between fascination and calculation.

"So, basically, this room transforms into whatever the user desires?"

"More or less," I confirmed. "But if you imagine a pile of treasure, sure, it'll look and feel like gold, but try buying something with it, and you'll quickly learn it's just enchanted play money. The magic here is so intricate that even experts would struggle to tell the difference." I let a smirk creep onto my lips. "Which makes sense, considering the people who designed this room were two of the four greatest wizards of their time."

That got her attention. She turned to me sharply, curiosity practically radiating off her. "Alright, now I'm interested. Who exactly were they?"

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I grinned, deciding to make her work for it. "I won't tell you directly, but I'll give you a hint. You belong to the house of one of them, and I belong to the house of the other."

She frowned, piecing it together. "What are you talking about—WAIT. NO FREAKING WAY!" Her eyes widened in shock. "You're telling me this room was designed by Ravenclaw and Gryffindor?!"

I snapped my fingers, pointing at her with a smirk. "Ten points to Ravenclaw for the correct answer." My voice carried an unmistakable air of amusement as I leaned back slightly, letting my grin do the rest. "Yes, this room was designed by Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor. But enough about the history lesson—if you want to know more…"

I turned my focus inward and silently requested the room to provide information on the Room of Requirement, just like last time. With a soft whoosh and a satisfying thump, an old, leather-bound book appeared on the study table.

Jasmine's eyes snapped to it instantly, curiosity lighting up her face.

"You can read that book," I said, smirking as I pointed toward it, watching her involuntary inch closer, her fingers already twitching in anticipation. "It contains everything about the Room of Requirement—how it works, the motivations behind its creation, all the juicy details."

She reached out, fingers barely brushing the cover, ready to dive in—

"But—" I cut in before she could crack it open, grinning as she froze mid-motion.

"That's after we finish the task we planned for today."

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Jasmine whipped her head toward me, eyes narrowing. Her expression was the very definition of betrayal—the kind of look one gives when their favorite candy is dangled just out of reach. Ah, Ravenclaws and their eternal love affair with books.

Still, after a long, suffering sigh, she begrudgingly tore her attention from the book and refocused on me. "Which is?"

"Dueling, dear," I reminded her, my smirk widening. "Unless you've forgotten, we need to survive for three whole minutes against a professional duelist—a five-time international champion, no less."

Her pout deepened, the sheer tragedy of her situation practically radiating off her. "I was hoping you'd forgotten."

I chuckled. "Oh, Jasmine, I could never deprive you of such a thrilling experience."

She huffed, crossing her arms but straightening up nonetheless, clearly resigning herself to the inevitable. "Fine. But after that, I am reading that book."

"Of course," I said smoothly, already planning exactly where I'd hide it just to watch her lose her mind later.

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"Right. But you still haven't explained how blasting spells at those dummies is supposed to help us," Jasmine pointed out, arms crossed.

"I'm getting there, Jasmine. Patience. This is the Room of Requirement, remember? Requirement." I swept my arm around dramatically, as if revealing some grand secret. "When I opened this room, my request was simple: I needed a place to practice dueling and—"

Mid-sentence, I silently thought, I need information on the dummies in front of me.

Thud!

A parchment materialized on the table with a satisfying weight. Without missing a beat, I grabbed it, already sensing that this was going to be very interesting. Jasmine, just as curious, leaned in beside me, her shoulder lightly brushing mine as we read.

A minute passed. Then—

"This is brilliant!" Jasmine gasped, eyes gleaming with excitement. "I had no idea these dummies could do this!"

Meanwhile, a slow, delighted grin stretched across my face. "Oh, this just made things so much better."

According to the parchment, these dummies weren't just lifeless targets—they moved like real duelists, mimicking actual battle situations. They could anticipate spells, dodge, block, counterattack. Even better, they had five different difficulty levels, each one ramping up in intensity.

It was, in a word, perfect.

Jasmine practically bounced on her heels. "With this, our training just got infinitely easier!"

I wholeheartedly agreed. "And infinitely more painful," I added, grinning.

Her excitement faltered. "Wait… what?"

I patted her shoulder with mock reassurance. "Don't worry, dear. If you collapse from exhaustion, I promise to carry you to the Hospital Wing with the utmost care."

The look she gave me could have set the parchment on fire.

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Clearing my throat, I turned to Jasmine with a serious expression. "Oh, by the way, there's one important thing I forgot to mention about this room."

She raised an eyebrow, immediately alert. "What?"

"If someone else is already using it, no one else can access it."

Her eyes widened slightly, realization dawning. "Oh…"

"Yes. Oh." I nodded solemnly. "Which is why we must never let anyone else know about it. The fewer people who know a secret, the better it stays a secret."

Jasmine pressed her lips together, mulling it over. Then she gave a sharp nod, fully on board. "Agreed. No one else finds out."

A quiet understanding settled between us. There was something thrilling about having a secret hidden within Hogwarts itself—a place that belonged only to us.

Then, just as the moment stretched into something bordering on meaningful, Jasmine tilted her head and shot me a suspicious look.

"Wait a second… are you having second thoughts about bringing me here?"

"What? No! Absolutely not!" I protested, far too quickly.

Her gaze sharpened, arms crossing. "Then why do you have that conflicted look on your face?"

Damn it. She was way too perceptive.

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I blinked, forcing my face into neutrality, but it was pointless. Jasmine knew me too well. And the truth was, she wasn't wrong. I was conflicted—not about showing her the Room of Requirement, but about what I was about to reveal next.

A slow breath left me as I rubbed the back of my neck. "Jasmine, I have no second thoughts about showing you this place. That was my choice—to share the joy of this room with someone who loves magic as much as I do. Someone who, like me, wants to push past the limits others set for us."

She nodded, her expression softening slightly, but there was still a hint of concern in her eyes. "Then what are you so conflicted about, Max?"

I met her gaze, steady and serious. "Jasmine, tell me—what is the one thing we lack the most when preparing for Professor Flitwick's challenge?"

Her brows furrowed, clearly thrown by the sudden shift in topic. But being a Ravenclaw, she adapted quickly, tapping her chin in thought. "Hmm… guidance, resources, and training?"

"Good answer. But there's something even more important that we don't have."

She tilted her head, waiting.

I stepped a little closer, lowering my voice as if about to unveil a grand conspiracy. "Time."

Jasmine blinked. "Time?"

"Yes. Time. We have less than four months to prepare. Between dueling practice, schoolwork, and life, we don't have enough hours in the day to get everything done." I paused, letting that sink in before adding, "Normally."

Her eyes narrowed. "'Normally'? You're talking as if—" She suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Her lips parted slightly, her expression flickering from confusion to dawning realization. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, putting the pieces together. And then—

Her breath hitched. "Wait… you have a Time-Turner?"

A slow grin spread across my face as I reached into my robes and pulled out the delicate golden hourglass hanging from a thin chain around my neck. The soft glow of its magic reflected in her wide, astonished gaze.

"You really are a Ravenclaw, you know that?" I teased, twirling the chain around my fingers. "Astute observation. Excellent deduction. Ten more points to your house."

Jasmine barely acknowledged my joke. Her eyes were glued to the Time-Turner, her fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to snatch it from me.

"With this," she whispered, almost reverently, "we could get extra hours a day."

"Exactly," I said, letting the weight of the moment settle. "I'm going to use it regardless. But what I really want to know is—will you do it with me?"

Jasmine swallowed, her gaze flicking between me and the Time-Turner. And then, very slowly, she met my eyes, her voice laced with something between awe and sheer academic hunger.

"...You're telling me I get extra hours for studying and dueling?"

I smirked. "That's what I'm saying, yes."