HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 142

Chapter 142: New Members​

Nearly all of Gryffindor was gathered at the Gryffindor table, including Harry and Ron.

They sat there eating whatever they could get onto their forks—bread, flatbread, mushrooms—while they brainstormed ways to boost their scheme’s chances. Most of these ideas were tough to pull off, but just talking about them somehow lifted their spirits.

Ron even started teaching Harry Wizard Chess. Wizard Chess was exactly like Muggle chess, except the pieces were alive, so it felt more like commanding an army on the battlefield.

Ron’s set was old, battered, and worn. Everything Ron owned had once belonged to someone else in his family, and this chess set had been his grandfather’s. But the age of the pieces did not matter at all. Ron knew them intimately and could direct them with effortless authority.

Harry was using the set Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and the pieces did not trust him in the slightest. Harry was not very good yet, and the pieces kept shouting conflicting advice at him until his head rang.

“Do not send me there. Cannot you see your knight? Send him instead. It does not matter if he gets sacrificed.”

“The knight cannot,” Harry said, rubbing between his brows, forcing the bickering piece forward anyway.

Scattered around them were books like Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Who’s Who of Contemporary Wizards, Major Discoveries of Modern Magic, and Studies in the Development of Recent Wizardry, making it look as though they were hunting for someone.

Unsurprisingly, Harry lost. When he and Ron looked at each other, they both knew it was time to face that maddening question again.

“I bet there has to be some kind of trial,” Ron said with certainty. “Remember that Secret Passage Club? Fred and George’s little clandestine thing. Officially it was the Castle Explorers Club, but really it was just sneaking around using secret passages.

“Their trial was running straight into a wall with your eyes shut. Nobody knows if there really is a passage behind that wall. Everyone who has done it says it is terrifying.”

Harry remembered. Back then, outside the changing room, Fred and George had waggled their eyebrows at the younger student and said, “Yes. If you do not shut your eyes and ram into it, you will never know there is a passage behind it.”

Determination flashed in Harry’s eyes.

“We will pass the trial.”

He thought, what could possibly be more frightening than homework that never ended?

Professor McGonagall had savaged their Transfiguration essay, and Professor Snape had coldly deducted five points for their paper.

At this rate, Gryffindor’s House points would disappear entirely.

They exchanged a look and saw the same resolve in each other’s eyes.

“What are they doing now?” Hermione muttered, finally recovering, only to see Harry and Ron striding over, looking positively stirred to heroism.

They reached the Great Hall doors, then quietly hid behind a suit of armour, as if waiting for something.

By the entrance, the four House hourglasses stood in silence. Ravenclaw, after one wild dip and climb, had remained firmly in first place ever since.

Even Ron had said in despair that unless Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup, they would never catch Ravenclaw.

Then he had brightened again. “But Slytherin will not either.”

Food gradually vanished from the tables, and the desserts that appeared later faded away as well.

Holding The Fifth Element: Exploration, Shawn was about to leave the Great Hall for the Hope Room when he spotted the two of them sneaking about.

“Harry? Ron?” Shawn asked softly. They had shown up too many times not to notice.

“Oh. Shawn,” Harry blurted, jolting in shock at the unexpected voice. “We want to join the trial. Whatever the organisation is, we…”

Only when he realised what he had just said did Ron’s face collapse into pure despair.

“Right. Agreed,” Shawn said, looking at them. In an instant, he understood exactly what they were trying to do. “You, Ron, and you as well, Harry. But you need to ask the others what they think.”

Shawn did not mind, not if everyone in the Hope Room agreed. And if Harry and Ron paid close attention, they might even bring news about that mysterious person. That was not bad at all.

“Ah,” Ron stammered, joy hitting him too suddenly for his mind to catch up. “You mean, ah, I mean… there is no trial? Like making us run into a wall or something.”

He dragged the conversation onto the topic they had prepared, and the more he spoke, the smoother it came out.

At the same time, his eyes inexplicably reddened. Shawn had said him, and Harry too.

“Run into a wall?” Shawn raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. Ron means we will go ask right away,” Harry said quickly, clapping a hand over Ron’s mouth and pulling him away.

“…Ron, why do we have to run into a wall at all?” Harry said helplessly once they were out of earshot. He had never seen anyone so eager to smash their own head into stone.

“Er,” Ron’s face turned red with embarrassment, and a touch of lingering fear. Why had he said everything out loud?

“We really lost our minds in front of Shawn,” Harry said.

They looked at each other, and both burst into laughter.

The next day, Wednesday.

In the Hope Room that morning, Shawn sat by the fire, organising his notes.

He had added a great deal to Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and when he placed the materials into the wooden cabinet by the entrance, the enchanted mirror started shouting, “Neat. Clean. But the style is a bloody mess!”

Shawn silently reviewed his outfit: scarf, jumper, gloves, robes, and the hat he had started wearing lately. Nearly everything came from a different source.

It was not wrong.

So he returned to his seat by the fireplace and went back to his Alchemy books, since he would be going to see Professor Tyra that afternoon.

Then a noisy commotion rose from outside the room.

“Mr Finnigan, do we really not need to do anything?” That was Harry’s voice.

“Oh, yeah, erm, we do not mind…” That was Ron.

“Do you think this place eats people?” Hermione’s voice followed, helpless and amused.

“Of course not. The important thing is to remember one thing: Mr Owl,” Justin said, greeting them warmly.

Only then did Harry and the others notice the owl with gold-rimmed spectacles painted on the wall.

“It is brilliant,” Ron whispered to Harry, his voice trembling with excitement.

“Little wizard. More idiots,” Mr Owl said, giving them a sideways look. This time he did not flap his wings. “Answer my question!”

“An owl in a painting that talks?” Ron jerked so hard he nearly fell over.