Ravenclaw Common Room

Silas left the Headmaster's office excitedly. The Levitating Cloak clung to his shoulders like an overly enthusiastic large dog, even attempting to nuzzle his face with its collar.

"Hey, you," Silas said, feeling a bit uncomfortable from being constricted. He reached out to pull the cloak off. "You're heavy! You look like cloth, but you feel so dense! Can't you float on your own? Or get lighter?"

The corner of the cloak's collar flicked up defiantly, shaking in the air as if protesting. (If it could speak, it would probably yell: "Big brother! My consciousness is derived from the first great mage Agamotto, you know! My status is quite high! And I'm just a piece of cloth, how heavy can I be? It's you who lacks exercise, little sprout!")

Silas rolled his eyes and gave up on reasoning with a piece of clothing. An idea struck him as he remembered the cloak's primary function.

"Forget it, I can't count on you. I'll just fly, then I won't have to walk."

With a thought, the Levitating Cloak immediately understood. A powerful buoyancy lifted him a few inches off the ground, and he glided silently along the empty castle corridors. The night wind blew in through the stone windows, carrying the castle's unique scent of ancient stone mixed with potion ingredients. Moonlight cast dappled shadows through the stained glass, and distant moving staircases slowly shifted their positions. This wondrous experience made him temporarily forget his fatigue and the slight unpleasantness from earlier.

However, flying still consumed mental energy. After an unknown amount of time, a strong wave of sleepiness washed over him. Silas glanced at an ancient clock face on the corridor wall; the hands pointed to nine o'clock. Today, he had experienced a magical awakening, memory fusion, a flying accident, an Auror pursuit, a meeting with the Headmaster, and half a day of magic practice. His seven-year-old body and his recently fused soul desperately needed some... high-quality sleep.

"I need to find a place to sleep," he yawned widely and controlled the cloak to descend at a crossroads. Primary objective: the common room, which surely connected to the dormitories!

He first tried the nearest entrance, which led to a warm and cozy-looking spiral staircase (Gryffindor Tower). But the Fat Lady's portrait was tightly shut. No matter what pleasantries he offered or what random guesses like "Lemon Drops" or "Cockroach Clusters" he made, the portrait remained unresponsive, even turning away impatiently.

"How pathetic," Silas sighed. "Why didn't Old Bee tell me the password!"

He had no choice but to turn in another direction, finding a bare, damp stone wall (Slytherin dungeons). He tried Slytherin keywords he could think of, like "Pureblood," "Ambition," and "Glory," but the stone wall remained silent, as if mocking his futility.

"Alright, Slytherins are indeed exclusive," he shrugged, undeterred. Following his vague memories, he found the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room—a pile of large wooden barrels stacked in a dark stone trough.

"I have to tap in rhythm..." he recalled the knowledge, but he was always bad at rhythm games in his past life, and it seemed he hadn't improved in this one. He braced himself and tapped the bottom of a specific barrel according to the rhythm of "Helga Hufflepuff."

"Dong... Dong-dong... Dong... Dong..." The rhythm was completely wrong.

With a "pop," the lid of the large barrel sprang open, not revealing a passage, but spraying him head to toe with clear liquid!

A pungent, sour smell filled the air.

Silas coughed repeatedly, choking. He wiped his face and licked his lips... it was vinegar! And a rather strong rice vinegar at that!

"Ptooey! Bad luck!" he cried, his robes wet, sticky, and uncomfortable against his skin. The loyal Levitating Cloak seemed to disdain the smell too, drifting a little further away.

Now, only one option remained—Ravenclaw Tower.

Dragging his soaked and vinegary body, he climbed the long spiral staircase, finally arriving at the oak door marked with a bronze eagle knocker. The eagle on the knocker was lifelike and asked in a calm, clear voice:

"What grows larger or smaller with a person's emotions?"

Silas's eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, his body reeked of vinegar, and his mind was practically shut down. Hearing the question, he subconsciously, groggily thought of certain unspeakable, adult things... but he immediately jolted, shaking his head fiercely to banish those unhealthy thoughts.

"Pupils! Yes, pupils!" he quickly shouted the correct answer, afraid that any delay might trigger some strange punishment mechanism, like being sprayed with ink again.

The bronze eagle seemed satisfied, and the oak door slid open silently.

Behind the door was a spacious circular room with elegant arched windows on the walls, draped with blue and bronze silk curtains. The starry ceiling was beautiful and serene, and the room was furnished with tables, chairs, and bookshelves, exuding an overall atmosphere of quiet wisdom. Most importantly, it was empty, and there was no vinegar smell!

"Finally..." Silas was almost moved to tears of joy. He didn't bother picking a dormitory with a good view, simply finding an empty room that looked clean and tidy, stumbling into it.

He didn't even have the energy to take off the vinegary robe. He just pulled off the heavy Levitating Cloak and tossed it onto a chair, then collapsed onto the soft four-poster bed like a puddle of mud.

The moment his head hit the pillow, overwhelming sleepiness engulfed him. The day's adventures, magic, complaints, and social blunders... everything faded away. He curled up, unconsciously mumbling, "System... Tomorrow... Remind me... to shower..."

Then, he fell into a deep sleep. Moonlight streamed through the Ravenclaw Tower window, gently falling upon the seven-year-old child with a complex past, strange powers, and who had just stirred up undercurrents within Hogwarts.

Two hours later

Silas was immersed in deep sleep, dreaming of sitting in the Kamar-Taj library, gnawing on fragrant roast duck while flipping through the Book of the Vishanti, with a cup of iced cola beside him... He wouldn't trade this life for anything!

Suddenly, an emotionless electronic voice exploded in his mind like an alarm clock:

[Ding! Good morning, Host! A new day has begun! Alright, stop lazing around, go take a shower.]

Silas jolted awake, sitting up groggily. Outside the window was pitch black, with only moonlight providing faint illumination. He fumbled for a simple, ancient-looking hourglass on the bedside table that he hadn't noticed before (likely left by a Ravenclaw predecessor). Under the moonlight, he saw the sand had just reached the top.

"It's freaking midnight!" Silas roared at the air (actually at the System in his mind), his morning grumpiness instantly exploding. "Midnight! I've only slept for less than three hours! You call this the next day?! Do you have a misunderstanding of time?!"

The System's voice carried a deliberately feigned innocence and obvious mischievousness: [From Greenwich Mean Time, it is indeed the next day, dear~ Staying up late is bad for your health, so shower early and rest early~]

"Rest my foot!" Silas was so angry he grabbed a pillow and threw it on the ground (though it didn't hit the System). Extreme anger made him feel the magic within him stir. He subconsciously raised his hand, aimed at the blank stone wall of the dormitory, and poured all that nameless rage into it.

This time, it wasn't a soft, bubble-like spark!

With a "whoosh" cutting through the air, a fist-sized, solid, dazzling energy projectile with a golden tail flame shot out, hitting the wall squarely!

"Bang!"

A dull thud, and stone fragments flew! A black, smoking pit the size of a washbasin was blasted into the wall!

Silas stared at the pit, then at his hand. His rage was instantly replaced by astonishment: "Wait? What is this?" The power was worlds apart from the one earlier today!

The System prompted with a triumphant tone of "You finally noticed": [Host's emotions detected to be in extreme fluctuation! Friendly reminder: Intense emotions, especially anger, fear, joy, etc., can significantly enhance the instantaneous power of magic~ Of course, control will correspondingly decrease, please use with caution~]

Before Silas could digest this "anger boost" setting, he stared dumbfounded at the conspicuous pit on the wall. If this was discovered tomorrow, how would he explain it? Say he was sleepwalking?

"Reparo!" He instinctively shouted the most practical repair spell in the Harry Potter world, reaching out to touch a non-existent wand.

His hand met empty air.

"Shit..." He finally remembered he was an anomaly who used "wandless magic" and didn't know any Harry Potter spells at all! "It's over, it's over, I've caused trouble..."

He frantically spun in place, then suddenly stopped, his eyes lighting up: "Right! Portal! I'll open a portal to Diagon Alley now, buy a wand temporarily, and then sneak back to fix the wall, leaving no trace!"

System: [...Host, has your brain been fried by anger? It's midnight! Are you going to drag Mr. Ollivander out of bed just to buy a wand to patch a wall? And how would you explain a seven-year-old child appearing alone in Diagon Alley in the middle of the night?]

Silas wilted as if doused with a bucket of cold water. The System was right; the idea was utterly stupid.

He sniffed himself. After several hours, the vinegar smell on his robes hadn't faded but had instead mixed with sweat, creating an even stranger, more unpleasant odor. His intense germophobia – did medical students have germophobia? – and discomfort finally got the better of him.

"At this point..." he sighed, resigned, "I'll just take a bath first. I really can't stand this smell."

System: [Going to take a bath during your night-time excursion? Interesting. Just a reminder, the lavatory in Ravenclaw Tower is at the end of the corridor~]

Silas found the prospect of carrying his spare clothes (which he didn't have yet) through the pitch-black corridors, where he might run into Peeves or Filch, to be incredibly troublesome. Moreover, how could an ordinary lavatory possibly match his current gloomy and urgent need for relaxation?

A bold idea (or rather, a suicidal one spurred by his morning grumpiness and the System's provocation) popped into his head. He forcibly suppressed the lingering anger, a hint of cunning and rebellion appearing on his face.

"I don't believe Filch and his cat can catch me if I can use Portals..." he scoffed, raising his hands again, concentrating. This time, the destination he envisioned was exceptionally clear and specific—

"If I'm going, I'm going to the best! The prefect's bathroom on the seventh floor!"

He remembered the luxurious bathtub, the bubble bath, and the mermaid stained-glass window there! It was practically a sacred place to wash away bad luck!

Golden sparks burst forth again, and a Portal, more stable and round than any before, opened before him. Through the opening, a spacious area was vaguely visible, paved with white marble, and the air was filled with warm, humid moisture...

Silas didn't hesitate. He grabbed the Levitating Cloak from the chair (which immediately wrapped around him excitedly, as if eager for the show) and stepped through.

The Portal closed behind him, leaving only the scorched hole on the wall in the dormitory, silently testifying to what had just happened. And Silas Cyril, the youngest "guest" in Hogwarts' history, was about to illegally enter the prefect's bathroom at midnight, beginning his "bath time," which was destined not to be peaceful.

As for Filch? Mrs. Norris? And Hogwarts' school rules? At this moment, in Silas's eyes, who was pursuing comfort and cleanliness, they were mere clouds. After all, for a "quasi-Supreme Mage" who could casually open Portals, a night-time excursion was nothing!