Harry Potter: The Legend of Nero Ravenclaw

"What an absolute monster."

The room was stunned, though many students were now in awe rather than disbelief.

Nero, still composed, felt his chest swell with joy. This was his element. Creating barriers was as natural to him as breathing. He loved this process of creating, analyzing and adapting on the fly.

At last, Verkor could no longer suppress his admiration.

The proud, austere professor suddenly shifted his demeanor completely.

The imperious, detached instructor had been replaced by someone far more akin to Flitwick, a passionate, over-excited professor on the verge of an existential revelation.

"Mr. Ravenclaw, no, Nero!" he began, almost giddy, "You are a prodigy. A true prodigy. I must speak with Professor Dumbledore immediately. Such a talent of barriers cannot be wasted here. You must be nurtured, properly, for the greater good of magic itself."

Without another word, Professor Verkor turned and sprinted out of the room, his hands shaking with excitement.

The students exchanged confused glances.

"Uh… what are we supposed to do next?" someone called after him.

"I think… I think we just… wait?" another replied hesitantly.

A few students whispered nervously, fearing that something had gone terribly wrong.

Many students in the castle would remember this day for the rest of their life. 

It was supposed to be a peaceful weekend at Hogwarts. Students were lounging in the common rooms, some catching up on homework, others enjoying a well-earned break.

That peace was shattered.

A loud, ear-splitting voice echoed through the corridors, a voice that carried madness.

"DUMBLEDORE! DUMBLEDORE! DUMBLEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"

Students jolted upright, books went flying, and a first-year let out a strangled shriek before diving under a bench for cover. The echoes rattled through the stone walls, and more than one portrait shrieked in alarm, scrambling to other paintings for safety.

In the Transfiguration classroom, Professor McGonagall nearly dropped her teacup. She stood abruptly, alarmed.

"What in Merlin's name?"

In the Astronomy Tower, several students peering through telescopes nearly fell over.

At that moment, a group of Gryffindors in the common room were deep in discussion about which Hogwarts ghost would win in a fight. Suddenly, the entire tower shook.

"That… that sounded like someone escaping from Azkaban." 

"No…all of you hide! It's the Dark Lord! He is back and wants to attack the headmaster!"

A third-year clutched his chest. "Is it him?" he whispered in horror. "Is the Dark Lord really back!?"

Back in the corridor, Professor Verkor was sprinting, robes billowing, hair disheveled, eyes wild with the kind of manic intensity usually reserved for mad inventors or people who just found out the library was closing in five minutes.

"OUT OF THE WAY!" he bellowed, shoving past a group of Ravenclaws who barely had time to scream before he vaulted over a suit of armor.

A second-year student blinked. "Did…did he just parkour?"

The suit of armor, clearly not accustomed to being part of someone's training routine, teetered violently before collapsing into a heap. Peeves, who had been lurking nearby, let out a delighted cackle.

"Ooooh, the old bat's gone bonkers! That was even better than when McGonagall tried butterbeer last Christmas!"

Verkor, undeterred by the destruction in his wake, slid around a corner so fast he nearly wiped out. He had one mission and one mission only: to reach the Headmaster.

"DUMBLEDOOOOOOOOORE!"

Just then, the entrance to the Great Hall burst open, causing multiple students to choke on their food. A Slytherin prefect screamed.

"WHO LET THE DEMENTORS IN?!"

Down in the dungeons, Snape's quill snapped in half from the sheer volume of the sound. His eyes twitched. He set down his potion ingredients very slowly, stood up, and glided out of the room, his expression one of growing murder.

And in the main corridors, a certain squib caretaker had had enough.

Argus Filch bolted upright from his chair, gripping his broom like a knight grasping a sword. His cat, Mrs. Norris, hissed in agreement.

"Not again. Not again!" he seethed, storming out of his office.

He knew the sound of a poltergeist's mischief when he heard it. He had suffered years of Peeves' nonsense, and this time, the poltergeist had gone too far.

"Wait until I bang you with my broom damn poltergeist". he muttered, storming off in search of the noise.

"PEEVES! PEEEEEEEEEEEEEVES!" Filch howled, brandishing his broom like a weapon.

His boots clomped aggressively against the stone floor as he charged toward the source of the noise, students leaping out of his way.

Meanwhile, Verkor had reached Dumbledore's office, panting. He threw himself in front of the gargoyle statue blocking the entrance.

Taking a deep breath, he roared:

"I DEMAND AN AUDIENCE WITH DUMBLEDORE!"

A second-year Hufflepuff, passing by at the wrong time, shrieked and bolted in the opposite direction.

Verkor's eyes gleamed with feverish devotion. "This student, Nero Ravenclaw, is the second coming of Merlin for barriers! No, wait!" He suddenly gasped, clutching his chest as if struck by divine revelation.

"There was no Merlin-level specialist in barriers!" He whirled back to the statue, pointing dramatically. "Nero will be the first coming of Merlin!"

The gargoyle statue remained unmoved.

"DUMBLEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"

For ten minutes, Verkor ranted at the stone guardian. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to convince the gargoyle to open, he started resorting to some rather creative insults.

"You stubborn, enchanted lump of stone! Have you been dipped in wax? Open the door!!"

Silence.

"You stone-brained, winged doorstop! If I had a Knut for every time you failed at your job, I'd be rich enough to buy your replacement!"

More silence.

"Come on, you overgrown paperweight! Is your activation phrase 'Verkor is a genius'? Because if so, I will gladly repeat it until you open up!"

At this point, even the gargoyle statue seemed to visibly judge him.

The voice that interrupted him was sharper than a freshly-brewed Wit-Sharpening Potion.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Verkor?"

From the shadows emerged none other than Severus Snape, his black robes billowing as he approached, his face carved from pure, unamused disdain.

"Are you fighting with a gargoyle, Verkor?"

Verkor turned, still breathless. "Forget the blasted gargoyle! I must speak to Dumbledore immediately!" He pointed a trembling finger. "Nero's talent… it cannot be wasted here. If necessary, I will stay all day!" He slammed his foot down. "ALL DAY LONG!"

Snape's expression did not change. His gaze, however, sharpened.

"The Headmaster," he said very slowly, "is not here this weekend."

Silence.

The tension in the air was palpable. A passing first-year tripped over their own feet in the oppressive awkwardness.

Verkor's chest deflated. His excitement crumbled into dust.

He glanced back at the gargoyle, and muttered something under his breath, likely aimed at the gargoyle, his lips twitching in betrayal.

"Well," he muttered, clearing his throat. "That… is unfortunate."

He turned stiffly, straightening his robes, and marched away as if nothing had happened.

At that moment, Filch arrived, brandishing his broom.

He stopped dead, eyes locking onto Snape.

"Professor Snape… So it was you?" He scowled. "I thought it was Peeves! I nearly smacked you with my broom by mistake."

Snape's glare intensified.

Filch scratched his head. "What's all this racket about?"

For a long moment, Snape considered explaining. Then, wisely, he chose not to.

Instead, with a long, suffering sigh, he muttered, "I assure you, Filch, whatever it is, it is certainly not worth your broom."

Filch, oblivious to Snape's sarcasm, hummed thoughtfully. "Ah! Is this a new way of asking the Headmaster for a raise, that you devised? Maybe I should try it."

Snape paused. For the first time that day, something in his expression cracked, an almost imperceptible flicker of disbelief.

Then, without another word, he turned sharply, robes sweeping dramatically behind him as he fled the conversation.

Filch watched him leave, rubbing his chin.

"I should ask him next time if this method actually got him a raise…"

Mrs. Norris meowed.

Filch nodded solemnly.

"Exactly, girl. Maybe I'll start with 'MINISTER BAGNOLD! MINISTER BAGNOOOOOOOLD!'"

Somewhere in the distance, Hogwarts collectively braced for another disaster.

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