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The Sunday morning sun filtered through the grimy windows of the Leaky Cauldron, pulling Darius from a sleep that had been deeper than expected. For a moment, he lay still, orienting himself—the lumpy mattress, the smell of old wood and stale beer, the distant clatter of breakfast preparation downstairs.
Then memory flooded back: the midnight acquisition, the components hidden in his trunk.
[Sleep analysis: 6.2 hours achieved. REM cycles optimal. Physical recovery: 94%. Mental acuity restored. Magical reserves: 93%. Host successfully metabolized fatigue from previous night's operation.]
Darius sat up, running a hand through his hair. The canvas bag sat innocuously in his trunk, buried beneath the legitimate alchemical equipment. To any observer, it would appear to be just another container of research supplies.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Mr. Kael?" Professor Flitwick's cheerful voice called. "Breakfast is being served, and we should complete our final errands before the Floo journey back to Hogwarts!"
"Coming, Professor!" Darius called back, already moving to dress in his school robes.
The morning passed in a blur of activity that felt almost surreal after the tension of midnight. Professor Flitwick was in excellent spirits, chattering happily about the success of their expedition as they visited two more shops—one for additional precision tools Flitwick insisted would be valuable for Darius's research, another for specialty parchment that the tiny professor claimed was "simply essential for proper note-taking."
"You know, Mr. Kael," Flitwick said as they walked through Diagon Alley's mid-morning crowds, "when I was your age, the idea of a first-year student conducting legitimate alchemical research would have been laughable. Yet here you are, with correspondence from Nicolas Flamel himself that would make most seventh-years envious."
Darius felt a complex mixture of pride and guilt. "I've had unusual advantages, Professor."
"Talent is an advantage," Flitwick corrected gently. "What you do with it determines whether that advantage becomes something meaningful." He paused at a shop window, apparently studying a display of self-inking quills. "The magical world has a tendency to suppress ambition in young people, to tell them to wait their turn, to follow prescribed paths. I've always found that rather limiting."
"Thank you, Professor," Darius said quietly. "For everything. Not just the trip, but... believing I could do more than what's expected."
Flitwick beamed up at him. "My dear boy, I'm simply following your lead. You've already proven what you're capable of. Now—shall we make one final stop before returning to the Leaky Cauldron?"
Darius raised an eyebrow. "Another stop?"
"Well," Flitwick said with a twinkle in his eye, "didn't Mr. Corner ask you to bring back some Muggle sweets? I believe we have just enough time for a quick detour into Muggle London. There's a rather charming confectionery shop not far from the Leaky Cauldron's Muggle entrance."
Darius blinked in surprise. He had mentioned Michael's request to Professor Flitwick yesterday, but hadn't expected the professor to remember—or to offer to help fulfill it.
"That's very kind of you, Professor."
"Nonsense! It's the least we can do after such a successful expedition." Flitwick gestured toward the brick wall entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. "Besides, I haven't had proper Muggle chocolate in ages. Consider it a personal indulgence."
Twenty minutes later, they emerged from a small sweet shop on Charing Cross Road, Darius carrying a paper bag filled with an assortment of Muggle confections—chocolate bars with names like "Mars" and "Twix," colorful hard candies, and something called "Skittles" that the shopkeeper had enthusiastically recommended.
"Your roommate should be quite pleased," Flitwick observed as they made their way back toward the Leaky Cauldron. "And I suspect you'll have to share those with half your house once word gets out."
Darius smiled. "Probably. Thank you again, Professor. This was thoughtful of you."
"Think nothing of it, my boy. Now—we should depart by early afternoon if we want to reach Hogwarts before dinner."
The Floo journey back to Hogwarts was as disorienting as ever—that spinning, lurching sensation of being pulled through magical fireplaces scattered across Britain. Darius stumbled out of the staff Floo connection with his bags, followed by Professor Flitwick who somehow managed to emerge without a speck of soot on his robes.
"Home again," Flitwick declared with satisfaction. "I trust you'll put your new equipment to good use, Mr. Kael. And do keep me informed of your progress with Mr. Flamel's assignments. I'm quite curious to see what you'll develop."
"I will, Professor. Thank you again."
They parted ways at the staff corridor—Flitwick heading toward his office, Darius making his way through the castle toward Ravenclaw Tower. It was nearly five in the afternoon, the Sunday evening exodus from the library just beginning as students reluctantly returned to their common rooms to finish homework.
The castle felt different after two days away. More familiar, somehow. The moving staircases, the portraits calling out greetings, the smell of dinner preparation drifting up from the kitchens—all of it felt like returning to something that had become, against all odds, home.
[Environmental scan: Castle magical field density consistent with baseline readings. No anomalous signatures detected in immediate area. Student population distribution normal for Sunday evening. Assessment: Secure return achieved.]
Darius climbed the spiral staircase to Ravenclaw Tower, answered the bronze eagle's riddle ("What breaks but never falls?" "Clouds"), and entered the common room.
The space was moderately populated—some students clustered around the fireplace, others occupying study tables, a few playing Gobstones in a corner. Emma Hartwell looked up from where she sat with Sarah Chen, her face brightening immediately.
"Darius! You're back!" Emma bounded over, Sarah following at a more measured pace. "How was London? Did you get everything you needed?"
"Successfully acquired," Darius confirmed, gesturing to his bags. "Professor Flitwick was incredibly helpful."
Sarah's observant gaze swept over him. "You look tired."
"The Leaky Cauldron beds aren't particularly comfortable," Darius said truthfully. "I didn't sleep as well as I'd hoped."
"Well, you're back in time for dinner at least," Emma said. "Terry was asking about you earlier—something about you promising to help with essays tonight?"
Darius groaned internally. He'd completely forgotten that promise in the intensity of planning the midnight operation. "I did say that, didn't I?"
"Don't worry," Sarah said with a small smile. "I already told him you'd probably be exhausted from traveling. He's prepared to suffer through Snape's essay on his own."
"I should at least check in with him," Darius said. "Let me drop these bags in the dormitory first."
The dormitory was empty when he entered—his roommates likely at dinner or still in the library. Darius set down his shopping bags on his bed, then carefully extracted the canvas bag from his trunk and tucked it into the bottom of his wardrobe, concealed behind his winter robes.
[Storage assessment: Adequate short-term concealment. Recommend transfer to more secure location at earliest opportunity. Room of Requirement optimal for fabrication work.]
Tonight, Darius decided. After everyone's asleep.
He changed into fresh robes, grabbed his school bag and the paper bag of Muggle sweets, then headed down to dinner.
The Great Hall was alive with the usual Sunday evening energy—students catching up on weekend gossip, comparing notes on incomplete homework, speculating about the upcoming Halloween feast. Darius slid into his customary spot at the Ravenclaw table, immediately flanked by Emma and Sarah.
"So tell us everything," Emma demanded. "What was Muggle London like? Did you see anything cool?"
Before Darius could answer, Michael Corner appeared at his elbow, eyes bright with curiosity. "Did you remember?"
Darius smiled and produced the paper bag. "As requested—Muggle sweets you can't get at Honeydukes."
Michael's face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. "You actually did it! What did you get?"
"Mars bars, Twix, Skittles, and a few others the shopkeeper recommended." Darius handed over the bag. "Professor Flitwick helped me find a proper Muggle sweet shop."
"Flitwick is officially my favorite professor," Michael declared, already examining the contents with fascination. "What's a Skittle?"
"No idea," Darius admitted. "But the Muggle running the shop was very enthusiastic about them."
Within minutes, half the nearby Ravenclaws had gathered around Michael's treasure trove, examining the colorful packaging with the kind of intense curiosity that characterized their house. Stephen Cornfoot was reading the ingredients list on a Mars bar with academic interest. Anthony Goldstein was attempting to determine the charm-work equivalent of whatever preservation magic Muggles used on their confections.
"This is fascinating," Stephen said. "They use something called 'glucose syrup' as a base. I wonder if that's similar to the honey reduction we use in Pepper-Up Potion."
"You're analyzing candy," Terry Boot said with amusement. "Only Ravenclaws would turn chocolate into a research project."
"Knowledge has no unworthy subjects," Anthony quoted primly, though he was grinning.
Emma managed to acquire a Twix bar and broke it in half, offering one piece to Sarah. "This is actually really good! Different from Honeydukes chocolate, but good."
"The texture is interesting," Sarah observed thoughtfully. "There's a biscuit layer underneath."
Darius watched the impromptu tasting session with satisfaction. Michael's simple request had turned into an unexpected moment of house bonding—very Ravenclaw, turning a treat into an opportunity for comparative analysis.
"Darius," Emma said after swallowing her bite of chocolate, "you were about to tell us about London before Michael's sweet emergency interrupted us."
Darius described the trip in carefully edited detail—the Gringotts vault opening, the legitimate shopping for precision instruments, Professor Flitwick's terrible Muggle fashion sense, and now the detour to the Muggle sweet shop. He omitted the midnight excursion entirely.
Across the hall at the Slytherin table, he caught a glimpse of Marcus Flint glaring in his direction. The fifth-year hadn't forgotten their library confrontation, apparently. Darius filed that away as a problem to address later.
At the High Table, Professor Quirrell sat hunched over his plate, occasionally glancing around the hall with his characteristic nervous manner. But there was something different in his posture tonight—a subtle satisfaction, perhaps? Or anticipation?
[Analysis: Subject Quirrell displays microexpressions inconsistent with typical anxiety presentation. Posture suggests recent success or progress toward objective. Recommend maintained surveillance.]
Add it to the list, Darius thought. Once I get the cameras operational.
Further down the High Table, Professor Snape appeared to be in an even fouler mood than usual, if such a thing were possible. He stabbed at his food with unnecessary force, and when a first-year Hufflepuff accidentally knocked over a goblet, his glare could have curdled milk.
"Professor Snape looks particularly murderous tonight," Terry observed, having temporarily abandoned the Muggle sweets. "Think someone brewed something catastrophically wrong in Potions class?"
"Or he's just being his usual charming self," Anthony said dryly.
"Darius!" Terry turned his attention fully to his friend. "You survived London! And more importantly, you promised to help me with Snape's essay on the properties of moonseed in poison antidotes."
"I did promise that," Darius admitted. "Though I'm pretty exhausted from the trip. How about we work on it for an hour after dinner? I can at least get you started in the right direction."
Terry's face lit up. "You're a lifesaver! I've been staring at my textbook for two hours and I still don't understand why moonseed counteracts the crystallization effects of some venoms but not others."
"Because of the alkaloid structure," Darius said automatically. "The chemical bonds in moonseed alkaloids interfere with the venom's crystallization process at a molecular level. You need to think about how the compounds interact, not just memorize their effects."
Terry blinked. "See, this is why I need your help. You just made more sense in thirty seconds than Snape did in an entire lecture."
Darius learned that he'd missed relatively little during his two-day absence—Gryffindor had won their Saturday Quidditch match against Hufflepuff (Harry Potter's spectacular performance was already the talk of the school), Professor McGonagall had assigned a challenging Transfiguration essay before the weekend, and someone had turned the Slytherin common room's tapestries temporarily pink, prompting a house-wide witch hunt for the culprit.
Normal Hogwarts chaos. It was almost soothing.
After dinner, Darius spent an hour in the common room helping Terry understand the fundamentals of poison antidotes well enough to write a passable essay. Sarah and Emma joined them, working on their own assignments while occasionally contributing to the discussion.
Michael appeared halfway through, still working his way through a Mars bar. "This is brilliant," he declared. "Thanks again, Darius. You've made my weekend."
"You're welcome. Though I think Professor Flitwick deserves most of the credit—he's the one who suggested the detour."
"Flitwick continues to be the best," Michael confirmed before wandering off to share his remaining sweets with some of the other first-years.
"You know," Terry said at one point, "you should really consider becoming a teacher someday. You're way better at explaining things than half our professors."
"I'll keep that in mind," Darius said with amusement. "Though I think I'd like to finish my own education first."
By nine o'clock, his exhaustion was catching up with him—not from magical depletion, but from the accumulated stress of the past forty-eight hours. The midnight operation, maintaining constant awareness around Professor Flitwick, and now the social performance of normalcy.
[Stress indicators: Elevated. Recommend rest period before initiating fabrication protocol. Optimal performance requires full cognitive capacity.]
"I'm going to head up," Darius announced, gathering his books. "The Leaky Cauldron really didn't provide good sleep."
"Get some rest," Sarah said, giving him a searching look. "You've earned it."
Emma waved cheerfully. "See you at breakfast!"
Darius climbed to the dormitory to find his roommates in various states of Sunday evening existence. Stephen Cornfoot was meticulously organizing his notes for the week ahead. Michael Corner lay on his bed reading a Quidditch magazine, a half-eaten Twix bar on his nightstand. Anthony was writing a letter, probably to his family.
"Welcome back," Stephen said without looking up. "Your bed's exactly as you left it."
"Comforting to know some things don't change," Darius replied, settling onto his bed and pulling the curtains closed.
[Recommended action: Rest period until 12:30 AM. Castle activity should reach minimum threshold by that time. Room of Requirement access optimal under cover of darkness.]
Darius lay back, fully clothed beneath his blankets, and focused on controlled breathing. Sleep would be useful—he'd need to be sharp for the fabrication work ahead. But he couldn't afford deep sleep, not when he needed to wake in a few hours.
[Sleep protocol initiated: Light sleep with programmed wake stimulus at designated time. This unit will monitor environmental conditions and alert host if necessary.]
Thank you, Nano.
[Partnership acknowledgment: You are welcome, Partner.]
The nano machine's increasingly natural language patterns were remarkable. Darius filed that observation away with all the others—evidence that his AI companion was evolving beyond its original programming, developing something that resembled personality.
Questions for another time. Right now, he needed rest.