The room hung in a heavy silence as Lily lifted her gaze from the book, meeting the eyes of everyone around her. The air felt still—thick, even—as though the very walls held their breath. Across the room, the faces staring back at her were painted in awe, shock, and quiet disbelief. Yet no one spoke. Not because they didn't want to, but because none quite knew what to say.
The Room of Requirement had outdone itself. The chairs were plush and perfectly worn, their cushions hugging the students like old friends. The temperature hovered in that rare, blissful middle ground—neither too warm nor too cold—allowing them to settle in without distraction. Snacks and drinks appeared when needed, and even the occasional ambient rustle or whisper from the enchanted walls gave the place a strange sense of life.
Time slipped by unnoticed, melting away like wax from a candle. They'd been completely consumed by the journal's contents. Page after page drew them deeper, until it no longer felt like reading a story—it felt like witnessing one. The people within it weren't characters anymore; they were flesh and blood, with pain, purpose, and pasts that felt too real to be fiction. With each revelation, the room itself seemed to grow quieter, as if it too were holding its breath.
James and Sirius sat frozen; eyes wide. Remus leaned forward, rubbing his chin in thought, while Severus reclined in his chair with arms folded tightly, his expression unreadable. Since the moment they'd entered this room hours ago, revelation after revelation had crashed upon them like a tide, relentless and unyielding. And now—with Lamar's declaration of martial law over Caerleon—the tide had turned to storm.
The soft whoosh of flames roaring to life in the hearth drew their attention, briefly breaking the silence. That, and the distinct crunch of crisps in Peter's mouth, who blinked expectantly at the rest of them.
"Well… blimey," James muttered, raking a hand through his already disheveled hair. "That's… um…" He looked helplessly at his best friend. "Paddy?"
"Don't look at me, mate," Sirius replied, hands raised in surrender. "I'm just as gobsmacked as the rest of you. By Merlin's bloody beard… what a ride."
"And we're not even at the halfway point yet," Remus murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Where do you even start with all this?"
"I always knew the Clock Tower was dodgy," Myrtle said, drifting nearer, her translucent eyes narrowed. "But I didn't think it was that rotten."
"Rotten would be putting it mildly," Severus cut in. "If Lamar Burgess really did orchestrate that tragedy to claw his way to the top, that's not corruption—that's calculated evil on a scale most wouldn't dare to imagine."
"Those bloody wankers from the Clock Tower make evil look like a bloody pastime," Sirius growled, arms folded tight across his chest. "Clegane, Kaltz, Callahan—bastards, the lot of them. I hope they rot in... wherever Asriel and his lot tossed them."
"Tartarus, mate," Peter mumbled, mouth half-full of crisps as he crunched another handful.
"It's awful," Lily said softly, drawing their attention. "What they did to Isha's brother… to Arno. And Gunnar's daughter. Abigail—especially Abigail."
"Callahan got exactly what was coming to him," James muttered, fists clenched tight. "Frankly, I think he deserved far worse."
"Isn't it troubling," Severus said coolly, reaching for his tankard of butterbeer, "that such filth can wrap themselves in law and call it justice?" He took a sip, then set it down. "Kaltz had it right—the courts are theatre, and the law's just a costume they wear to make it palatable."
"I mean, I'd like to think our own Ministry of Magic's not that far gone," Remus chimed in. "Sure, they're not perfect, but I can't imagine they'd sink to that level… at least I sincerely hope not."
"Your faith in bureaucratic decency is rather adorable, Lupin," Severus replied dryly, raising an eyebrow.
"Right—speaking of which," James cut in, "no one's said anything about Captain Langston." He glanced round. "I know what he did to Orgrim was—awful, inexcusable even—but... he does seem genuinely remorseful."
"As noble as that might sound, Potter," Severus said, fixing him with a cool stare, "remorse doesn't wash blood from one's hands. Nor does it bring back those Orgrim lost. Forgiveness, in such cases, often feels... hollow."
"I'm not giving Orgrim a free pass, though," Myrtle chimed in quietly, her usual airy tone gone. "He murdered Iris. Not for justice. Just to make Langston suffer. And she didn't deserve that."
"Hatred doesn't exactly lend itself to reason," Severus said. "Revenge doesn't care who gets hurt. It only asks that someone does."
"Circling back to what Severus said," Remus began, reaching for a handful of almonds from the glass bowl on the coffee table, "that whole business about the Director and his history with the Ravenclaws…" He popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "I mean, nothing's confirmed yet, but just imagine it—stepping over your best friend, murdering thousands… all for a seat at the top."
"Not just any seat, mate," Sirius said, lifting his tankard of butterbeer and taking a long sip. "We're talking top of the bloody Clock Tower. That's not just Head Auror territory—that's Minister of Magic levels of power. More, even. All that authority. Burgess probably fancies himself a god by now."
"And rightly so," Severus added. "Power reveals. Give a man influence without consequence, and you'll see the darkest corners of his soul laid bare. It's never subtle. It always ends in blood."
"Still…" Lily spoke up gently, her brows knit, "genocide, though. For power. That's monstrous. And that's not even counting the people he's destroyed since becoming Director."
"I'll tell you what I did enjoy," Peter said with a grin, crumbs of crisps at the corner of his mouth. "The bit where Serfence washed his hands of him—left him to the wolves. Slimy old git."
Sirius barked a laugh. "Serves the bastard right. Man built a kingdom on bones and thought it wouldn't come back to bite him."
"Whatever the case," Severus exhaled, his gaze thoughtful, "it seems everything's coming to a boil. The thing about tyrants is—when the mask slips, the gloves tend to come off." He leaned forward slightly. "And Lamar? He's doing it the old-fashioned way. Truncheons instead of dialogue, obedience through fear."
"Norsefire," Lily muttered, brows furrowing. "Sounds uncomfortably familiar. Like certain uniforms that marched through Germany… compliance at any cost."
"What I don't get," Sirius cut in, rubbing his chin, "is the endgame. What exactly does Lamar think happens after this? The city turns on itself, he stomps out the flames with brute force, and what then? Applause? A medal? They roll out the red carpet back to the Tower with a bouquet and a thank-you note?"
"Doubtful," James said, folding his arms. "From the sound of it, this isn't his first performance. Silence the critics, erase the witnesses, bury the truth so deep no one dares to dig it back up."
"Just like Asriel," Myrtle added quietly, "and the Se'Lai family."
There was a pause. Only the crackle of the fireplace dared fill it.
The mellow chime of brass echoed from the grandfather clock nestled beside the snack shelf, its iron hands pointing straight to midnight.
"Merlin's beard, it's that late already?" James blinked, glancing up. "I could've sworn we hadn't even hit eleven."
"Time flies when you're wrapped up in tyrants and tragedies," Sirius said with a lazy grin, stretching his arms behind his head.
Severus stood with a quiet rustle of fabric, adjusting the folds of his robes. "Well, if everyone's quite finished with the melodrama for one evening, I'd suggest we all retire." He dusted off his sleeves. "Some of us value being functional in the morning."
Lily's eyes widened. "But tomorrow's Saturday—no classes." She hesitated, brushing her fringe aside. "I was thinking, maybe… we could keep going? Just a bit more?"
"Ooh, sounds like a sleepover," Peter piped up, perking with excitement. "Just like all the times we visit the Shac—"
Before he could finish, Sirius, James, and Remus lunged in unison, smothering him with their hands, their faces frozen in comical panic. All three cast a quick glance at Severus, Lily, and Myrtle, who looked equally baffled and suspicious.
Severus arched a brow, unimpressed. "Right. I won't ask."
He turned to Lily, expression dry. "And Evans, surely you jest."
"Come on, Snape," Myrtle chimed in, drifting beside him with an impish grin. "When's the last time you had a proper sleepover? Or did all your invitations get lost in the owl post?"
Severus sniffed, tugging his sleeves. "I'll have you know I receive plenty of invitations, thank you."
"To what, the Greasy Hair Society?" Sirius quipped, barely concealing his smirk.
"Charming as ever, Black," Severus retorted, his gaze sharp as he folded his arms. "Regardless, even if I were inclined to indulge in this juvenile little gathering, my evening attire is back in my quarters. So, unless it's going to materialize before me by divine miracle—"
The low grind of shifting stone echoed through the room, drawing every gaze to the far wall as the bricks began to rearrange themselves—neatly, precisely—until they morphed into a pair of grand, dark oaken doors. With a soft creak, they swung inwards, revealing a warmly lit chamber beyond. Wall-mounted torches flared to life with a gentle whoosh, casting a golden glow over the floors and high-vaulted ceilings. The boys stared, wide-eyed. Peter was grinning from ear to ear. Lily and Myrtle exchanged a knowing look before both turned expectantly toward Severus.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, naturally."
"Come on, then!" Myrtle called out cheerfully, already gliding ahead through the open doorway.
The boys rose from the couch one after the other, trailing after her. Lily placed the journal carefully back on the coffee table before following suit. Severus, muttering something under his breath, brought up the rear.
The new chamber was vast—easily three times the size of any of their dormitories. Ancient castle stone made up the walls, but the atmosphere was far from cold. Six four-poster beds were spaced evenly around the room, each one dressed in fresh linens and thick duvets. Beside each stood a tall wooden wardrobe bearing a nameplate etched in gold.
"Oi, this one's got my name on it!" Peter cried out, hurrying over to inspect his. He tugged open a drawer and held up a pair of silky navy-blue pyjamas. "And it's even got jammies! Wicked!"
James and Sirius dashed over to their own wardrobes, throwing theirs open and discovering similarly pristine sets of nightclothes. James gave a low whistle. "Blimey, this bed's softer than the one back in Gryffindor Tower."
Lily caught the look they all shared before they turned in unison to face Severus, who stood rooted to the spot. He blinked once, then rolled his eyes with a groan.
"Fine," he muttered at last. "I'll play along. But only this once."
"You know," Sirius said, kicking off his shoes with a grin, "it wouldn't kill you to admit you're enjoying yourself. Must be a nice change from brooding alone in some dusty corner."
"Spare me the psychoanalysis, Black," Severus shot back, already heading toward the wardrobe with his name. "If it weren't for Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew, you'd scarcely have a social life of your own."
"Touché," Remus murmured under his breath, grinning behind his hand.
The boys had just begun pulling off their shirts when a sharp, deliberate cough echoed through the room.
They froze.
Slowly, they turned to find Lily standing stiff as a board, her face blooming crimson, eyes wide and very much fixed on their now half-bared torsos. Myrtle, by contrast, floated beside her with a grin that could only be described as positively indecent, a glint of ghostly mischief dancing in her gaze.
Sirius, ever the picture of roguish charm, leaned lazily against the bedpost and offered a devilish smirk. "Well… I won't tell if you won't."
That did it.
A blast of magical energy erupted, and in the blink of an eye, all five boys were ejected from the room with a collective yelp. The door slammed shut behind them with an emphatic thud, followed by the whump of their pajamas being flung out in a flurry across the corridor floor.
They landed in a tangle of limbs and cotton, groaning as they scrambled upright. Remus shot Sirius a glare that could've curdled milk.
"Honestly, Sirius. Must you always flirt with death?"
"Women, eh?" Sirius said with a shrug, brushing dust off his sleeves. "One moment they're swooning, the next you're airborne."
"You're an insufferable horndog," Remus muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
"For once," Severus added coolly, brushing past, "I find myself in total agreement."
James just shook his head, suppressing a chuckle. Peter, already trying to gather his scattered pajamas, let out a snort of laughter.
"Well," he said with a grin, "at least we know the Room's got a sense of humor."
****
Like clockwork, the plush couches from earlier folded seamlessly into the floor, replaced by a sea of overstuffed pillows strewn across a velvet red carpet nestled near the fireplace. The hearth crackled with life, casting soft golden light that danced against the stone walls, wrapping the room in a cocoon of warmth.
The six of them sank into the cushions, each now clad in their own set of silken pajamas—smooth to the touch and tailored as if by magic. James wore deep crimson, Sirius in jet black, Peter a warm amber, Remus in cool grey, Severus in dark emerald, and Lily in soft white. The colors reflected them oddly well, even if no one said it aloud.
Peter returned balancing an armful of crisps, eyes gleaming, while Sirius swaggered in with a tray of metal goblets, each filled to the brim with rich hot chocolate and pillowy marshmallows. He handed them out with an exaggerated flourish, earning a few grins.
"I don't know about the rest of you," James said, blowing on his drink, "but I've never had a sleepover quite this wicked. There's just something different about it… when you're with people you actually like."
"Careful, Potter," Severus quipped, lifting his goblet with a dry smirk. "You're in danger of sounding sentimental."
James narrowed his eyes. "Present company excluded, of course."
"Speak for yourself," Remus chuckled, dipping a biscuit into his cup. "I could get used to this. Honestly, I'd take this over another essay on defensive transfigurations any day."
"I agree," Lily chimed in brightly, the journal resting in her lap. She gave its leather cover a light pat. "Especially if it means we get to keep reading this."
"Well then," Myrtle said, floating lazily above the pillows, "now that we're all nice and cosy, what say we dive back in?"
Lily nodded and opened the book to where they'd last left off. The fire popped, shadows flickering across their faces as they leaned in—eyes wide, hearts eager—as her voice carried them back into the world of Avalon.