Friday night where all the pent up stress due to school turned into bacchanalian revelry. The livelihood of the cliques that united to fight along with procrastination to defeat their common enemy of schoolwork was unparalleled in its determination and ambition. In this sprightly atmosphere constructed unknowingly as a defense mechanism some students were left awry, caught with ambiguity in their social standings. This left an unsafe niche with no outlet for emotional self soothing. A dangerous seclusion where, if left alone, one could be abandoned with their own self destructive mannerisms.

This unnerving idea of isolated teenagers who can bend magic at will, who suffer from an intangible and invisible pernicious mentality, propelled Rigel into a reverie dedicated to solutions. Relented, no one would want to talk to Rigel due the idealization of thoughts perceived onto him, added to that perception was the history of his house’s most prominent and zealous ideologues. The negative connotations of where he resided counteracted his agency in the ability to carry out this one deed (and most likely many more to come). Rigel would elicit ill intentions at knowing others secrets and insecurities, inviting no sympathy towards his cause of students opening up directly to him. Along with the idea of students being outed for wanting help by those who prey upon the perception that asking for help is a sign of weakness. Effectively attracting no one to the idea of having an open face discussion about the complexities and intimate emotional labyrinth constructed in their head wanting so eagerly to be untangled and deciphered.

He sat up out of his bed, sleep deprived since this thought and schema have ruled his days and determined his itinerary, paced through the dormitories making it to the common room. Absorbed in this poisonous idea of students suffering alone unable and scared to cry out for help that they so desperately needed or craved.

Pensive in his thoughts and calculated with his movements to not get caught while roaming the halls,
 he made way towards the spiral staircase and headed up to the ground floor. Sneaked through the entrance hall, found himself at the base of the stairs in the great hall. He traveled the stairs and found himself at the seventh floor. Knox’s office was opposite of him, all he had to do was walk past the astronomy tower and past Ravenclaw’s common room, take a right and then a left. A path he was so sadly familiar with due to, once again, the social climate that he has constructed for himself to show no vulnerability and only a cold heart casted in stone.

He opted for a new unconventional route instead of the auto piloted, myelinated pathway which he was so eerily intimate with. He went to go see the paintings that were famous on the Seventh Floor. Rigel found himself admiring Barnabas the Barmy in its attempt to teach trolls to dance the ballet. The impression and vivality of the painting was immediately and inordinately replaced all the troubles that the seemingly cold and pompous teenager  was experiencing.

He turned around and his newly found smile on his face vanished and instead presented a tightly taut jaw. Instead of a normally cobbled wall, in which the light that passed through its rough edges of rock created a chiaroscuro, there was a door.

“No,” was all Rigel could muster. Appalled at why fate might even attempt to tease his virtuous intentions. Afraid to even engage with the apparition and to be found wanting making fate, with all its guile, withdraw the door.

He approached with prudence. First he touched the door, taking in the texture of the wood laced with metal as support. Seeing the metal brandished in new fashion suggested its newly minted purpose. Devoid of rust and imperfections, running smoothly and parallel with the grain of wood. His throat started to tighten, slowly moved up to its entrance and upon then encountered the opposite reaction, where it moved down again to the middle of his throat. He forced a swallow, braced himself for disappointment and for fate to once again show its contempt for the man it has adapted and formed through its cold and apathetic hands.

He grabbed both the door handles and with one swift motion opened up the room. He clenched his jaw.

What he saw ahead of him was a sight that could ease all of the guile done unto him in which sculpted his perception in this closed ecosystem called Hogwarts. Fate’s hands were no longer cold and apathetic, but warming and maternally caressing as one would upon holding their child for the first time.

Rigel’s internalization of this fact showed, his smile was markedly improved by his dimples. Pulled into the room by the gravitas of its appearance and his visit sustained by the altruism of the deed he wanted to be carried out in this room.

Here in this room lay two doors, spaced six or seven feet apart. In this common room there lay two couches that lay to the right of each door. A painting hung up on the wall perpendicular to the two doors and directly facing the entrance of the room. Rigel conceded that he would study the importance of the painting later, as of right now it was of an angel kneeling down paying homage to a light that shone through the clouds.

He first opened up the left door, which presented an immensely comfortable chair and a screening where the light barely reached the other side and another door. Anonymity. Having sat in the chair almost succumbing to the lack of sleep that chaperoned this idea, he got up and peered through the other door. All he saw was darkness.

“Lumos,” he whispered.

He saw his clothes neatly organized in his wardrobe closet. He closed the door.

He exited into the common room and in front of him, as we said, lay the other door. He passed the painting and capitulated to his curiosity and gazed again adroitly. What? The painting has changed. Instead of an angel being thankful for divine intervention, it was a man with two faces.

The man stood on a pedestal elevated above a crowd. Arms agaped which seemed to welcome the onslaught of the pedestrians that lay beneath him. Whichever side was observable by the crowd was subjected to being carped and cavilled with prelustration.

The face that was presented to a crowd was being pointed at, laughter and contempt was visible on the audiences faces. Most turned to each other engaged in a palaver about the horrendous face that was a revetment for their anger.

The other face was of a sad and neutral demeanor which faced only the observer of the painting. Rigel tilted his head, which allowed his tear to slowly fall down the right side of his face. He understood perfectly.

He entered in the right side of the room, saw the same layout and proceeded to exit the room all together.

With all the aforementioned caution he proceeded back to his room. Grabbed the pen gifted to him by the head of an italian family and paper, sat and stared at the grain on his desk being interrupted by the pure white of his paper. He dipped his old fashioned pen in ink. Calligraphy took over, tied each word together like a weaver intricately threading yarn to structure their cloth. Consumed by the effort and dexterity that this skill was so effortlessly entitled to, Rigel’s mind was enfranchised from time. Allowed it to pass as soon as his pen hit the paper, seemed to start it again when he lifted the pen only to allow time to aid his thought that preceded the next words that were so artfully constructed. Having let it dry for some time he sealed the paper. Folded it as neatly as he wrote. Addressed it to be read and submitted in the next Howler. 

“If you need anyone to talk to, or need anything from advice to listening, come to the room of requirement. Enter either one of the doors and I’ll be there to listen. Open after dinner for 3 hours on weekdays and 3 hours after lunch on weekends. Anonymity guaranteed.”


Saturday morning he awoke with a newfound sense of purpose. He grabbed his muggle bought psychology textbook, and headed to the seventh floor.

He entered a door, not mattering which door since the room picked it for you, and sat for an hour before he said the room would be opened. He opened up his book prepared for a long wait. Rigel was excited and happy, he started to love this part of himself, with the want for nourishing it and accepting it he’d decided to slowly integrate this new dogma into his life.

At an hours wait, there was a knock at the door. He stood up and replied, "Come in!" Excitement in his voice being palpable through however many walls it traveled. He sat down, closed his book and shoved it under his seat and waited eagerly. He wondered what the painting looked like for this student?

He sat patiently.

Friday evening.



After dinner, Eirene completed her revision in the library, or at least, the acceptable amount of revision she'd decided to tackle on a Friday night after a long and grueling week. She was still catching up after her bout of magical measles. Terrible measles, terrible timing!

Eirene checked her watch. She had about an hour left till curfew. On most evenings, she'd hurry to the Ravenclaw common room and continue studying for a few hours there.

Tonight, however, she had a plan. It had been brewing in her mind since lunchtime, when she'd pored over every word in The Hogwarts Howler, looking for a clue as to who had sent in that horrible rumor about her love life.[1] They were going to get into so much trouble! She'd make sure of it!

That was when the strange advert had caught her eye in the Classified section. It looked new to her. What sort of person had posted this? It couldn't possibly be sincere, but perhaps they knew who had sent in the rumors, or would know more about the workings of The Howler than she did.

With a pep in her step and prim smile on her face, Eirene left the library, ascended the stairs, and started roaming the corridors, thinking hard.

Hello Room of Requirement! She required it!

She thought about her plan of revenge, her wish to avoid the common room. She adjusted her full schoolbag on her shoulders, and fiddled with her braided dark hair.

The walls remained bricked up, the portraits offering comments on her pacing.

"Are you trying to wear a hole in the floor, miss?"

Eirene came to a halt, frowning. She did not want to go to the common room. She did not, even if she ran straight to her dorm room, because she might, she just might see Frank Sellaphix by the fire or studying at the table, and he might, he just might, want to continue their conversation from the dreaded window nook.[2]

Or he might not. Which would be worse.

Her shoulders sagged. She sighed, her breath hitching in her throat. What would she do if they weren't friends anymore?

"Miss," the portrait nearest her pointed.

Eirene looked up. In front of her, a door.

Inexplicably, she knocked on it. Just as inexplicably, a voice replied.

Eirene walked in.

She spotted a comfortable armchair, like one might find in the common room of Gryffindors who didn't study. A screen in front of it. And behind the screen, a mysterious figure.

"Hello," Eirene stood next to chair, glancing around and above her suspiciously. "You're the one who posted the advert? This had better not be a prank," she crossed her arms. "All my housemates know where I am."

Well no, actually, none of them did.

1.	The Hogwarts Howler
2.	A Friend in a Hand is Sweeter

Rigel couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re safe, no prank - I honestly just want to help you with whatever it is you came here to ask of me. Have a seat, they’re quite comfortable.”

He did his best in order to quell the girls anxieties. He truly had no idea who she was, the screens etchings were too fine to see through other than a shadowy figure that was made clear by the fine lighting.

He wondered if she took a look at the restylable painting that fit its image into whatever the observer needed advice on, or possibly felt. He wouldn’t ask, this “session” (if it could be called that) was not for Rigel to seek and pursue his immeasurable curiosity.

He thought of a name to call himself.

“Now you don’t have to tell me who you are, in fact, I encourage that you don’t but you can call me “Rah” if you’d like.”

Fitting since, R.A. were his initials.

As the student laughed, Eirene squinted up at the ceiling, in search of a bucket primed to slosh something unpleasant on her. A few of the muggleborn students who didn't like her much had warned her that she'd meet her end by bucket someday. Someday, when she was on stage accepting a great award, she would look up to find a bucket full of pig's blood, and down it would fall, ruining her clothes, her books! Her books and her clothes and the new planner she'd just created.

No bucket this evening. She did not require it. It seemed the student was correct and she was perfectly safe.

She smiled. He offered to help her, having no idea of what she was going to ask. How wonderful!

Eirene walked around the chair and continued inspecting the room, deciding to avoid the screen to maintain his anonymity. He sounded like a boy. He laughed like a boy. Could he be a boy she knew? Could this really be the fabled Room of Requirement?

He called himself 'Rah'. Curious.

"Hm," she slanted the screen a skeptical look. "Ra, as in, the sun rises and sets where you are?"

How presumptuous! Of course, Eirene's given name was that of a Greek goddess. Eirene, goddess of peace. Eirene, goddess of springtime. She sometimes wished her parents had named her for healing or knowledge, as she rarely felt peaceful and she rarely ventured outside to brave the wilds of nature even in spring, but one could not choose the goddess one was named for.

Until now.

"You may call me Maat," Eirene perched on the arm of the comfortable chair, crossing her legs at her ankles. "Also from the Egyptian pantheon. She's the goddess of order and justice," she chirped, not sounding at all righteous just yet.

She dropped her bag on the floor beside her.

THUMP - dozens of books landed on the floorboards. She'd charmed her schoolbag to be light on her shoulders, not light on the floor. The Hogwarts castle had endured worse.

“I only want to help illuminate the people who need to shed light on their problems.”

Rigel marked her proclivity to recognize his name as an Egyptian god and returning the acknowledgement and naming herself as one. He took out his pen and paper and began the record of his thoughts and his conversation with Maat. He titled it after her at the top right of the page. He noted that she sounded quite possibly younger than him. This was not a fact so it was marked with an asterisk.


Maat, January 20th, 2012

Female, quite possibly 15-16^* and of unknown ethnicity.
She was cautious of me at first, natural skepticism or nurtured in Hogwarts beforehand.

Interpreted my initials as an Egyptian god. Not a god complex, however it hints at pretentiousness and quite more likely piousness. We maintained anonymity to promote honesty and forthcoming.


He went with the happy coincidence. Maybe it would stick allowing him to engage in the conversations about this mysterious Ra.

“Nice choice, I’m vaguely familiar with her, she weighed her words truthfully and carefully among other things. Hopefully you can do the same and follow her dogma with honesty.”

He smiled to himself, still curious about what she came here for. Intrigued by her and the way she spoke.

“Now that we have established ourselves as gods, how’re you feeling?”

He asked sincerely, the sincerity of his voice surprised him. Rigel had the prior knowledge of who he was, or still is, so this was a new tact for him. An apt place to try it out with seemingly no repercussions, he realized that the person sitting behind the screen being talked to would not be the only beneficiary.

Just beyond the screen sat another student who had studied the belief structures of ancient civilizations! Eirene nodded, happy to have found a kindred ba willing to share knowledge with her. She couldn't promise to follow anyone's strict dogma, nor could she promise to do so honestly, but she could discuss theories and ideas until they were blue in the face. Like Osiris!

"I'm well! How are you?" She said automatically, then laughed a little.

"How I'm feeling actually depends on how familiar you are with the inner workings of the Hogwarts Howler. I'd like to know who submitted those terrible, unfounded rumors," she huffed, her mood dipping instantly.

The student had seemed sincere enough, though she could swear she heard the sound of - was that a quill? - scratching against parchment. Not a quill, but similar. Her ears picked up on all things remotely studious. If he were working on his revision for class while speaking to her, then he wasn't paying proper paying attention.

Or was he paying too much attention?

"Ra. Are you writing an article as we speak? About me?"

Eirene leaned forward in her seat, peering at the tiny gaps in the screen, her voice aghast and the slightest bit curious.

Rigel perked up, surprised by her astute observation. He smiled to himself as she peered closer.

“Oh Maat,” he wrote down the four female names written (mentioned along with his name) in the Howler under the gossip column.

He crossed off Ayla since he is intimately familiar with her voice and could recognize it anywhere. Maat’s identity was not a priority however it may help him help them.

He laughed, “I am only writing my observations and documenting our conversations. It would stay strictly between us; however, if you’d prefer I won’t document anything.” He silenced his pen as she must of heard it in the closed environment they were discussing in.

He finished writing how concerned she was with libel, clearly it was a personal statement and he may go over the howler to sort out who’d be concerned with such a slanderous statement.

“What did the article say about you? If I may ask Maat, however I feel compelled to tell you, this may expose your identity to me.”

Whoever Ra was, Eirene appreciated his total focus on her and her problems. Professors didn't do that, friends didn't do that, her parents didn't do that, they were their own people and all too used to hearing her wax on about her marks in school or the hairballs her cat threw up on her bed.

"I don't mind," she lifted her nose in the air. "More students should take notes on what I say."

1% joking!

His next question gave her pause. What about their nicknames, their secret identities, the idea of starting fresh? She had a whole plan in her head! A plan that, the more she thought about it, wouldn't quite work for several reasons.

Perhaps, in true Ravenclaw fashion, she'd offer him a riddle to solve instead.

"That's a good suggestion, Ra," she told him primly, emulating her favorite professors. "I'd like to first gauge your opinion on a few of the other rumors, which should then point you to the most horrible rumor of the bunch."

She opened her bag and drew out the offending section of this morning's Hogwarts Howler, smoothing out the wrinkled page on her knee. Waving her wand, she lit a minor Lumos spell over the article. The light, if one looked very closely, illuminated her dark braided hair and Ravenclaw tie.[1]

"For example!" She directed her wand light over the first line. "Rigel Acrux got bit by a vampire at Christmas."

Dramatic pause.

"How ridiculous! Whoever wrote this shouldn't comment on something that actually happens to people in the real world, and could have happened, as everyone knows, around the new moon, when vampires are hungriest. But the Howler doesn't care about real world problems. It doesn't care that there are dodgy, dangerous sorts lurking near smelly outhouses, ready to target weary students who are just trying to get to school safely," she huffed. Oh very specific example![2]

"Besides, it's clear to me that nothing can sap Acrux's ego, not even vampires."

Eirene skimmed the list of rumors silently. Ayla Collins had always been nice to her and she didn't need to put anything special in her brownies. Noriko Wakahisa could most certainly best Professor Storm in a duel. Her best friend could do anything she set her mind to!

It was very possible that Akira Hericho had never eaten a vegetable.

Which left...

"And this one! Magical Measles is a muggle studies experiment. I think not! I know not. The proper name is Praecantatio Deliquus, and once again, it's a real world problem that's affected us all. We poor, affected students only recovered because of Elixa Mordent's healing and the Headmaster's quarantine."[3]

Eirene finally glanced up, curious to hear if he'd guessed who she was, and what he thought about the silly rumors.

1.	Totally up to you if he sees anything!
2.	Though Rigel wouldn't know about the danger that Eirene and Frank faced in Slandermouth, he might have heard that Eirene and Frank got lost on their way to school.
3.	Eirene has not been able to shut up about the measles and her suffering since she got out of the infirmary, so it's very likely he's heard about this

He felt a sense of importance in her nod of scribability.

To Rigel’s interest she seemed to allude to something, he was not sure what. A test, maybe. He admired her sentence structure and the way in which she spoke. It was unique to say the least. He wondered if he could figure out who the woman on the other panel was. A sort of personal challenge.

He saw the light grate through the hatched wood. He was leaned close enough to the panel to see her braided hair and Ravenclaw tie. Smirked to himself, it all made sense.

At the mention of his name, eyes widened. Why did she pause?

There was absolutely no way she could know who he was. He had been so careful!

Oh. Right, she’s gauging his opinions on rumors. She just happened to pick the right one.

Her speech at the end of that sentence was oddly specific, he jotted that down only because of a gut instinct to do so. He had no idea what it meant to the other student or if it meant anything at all.

Then he laughed at what she said about him, “True, the kid sure needs to learn humility.” He smiled in acknowledgment of his own journey towards that goal.

She knows not? Interesting. So she’s had measles, is what Rigel has figured. A Ravenclaw who’s had measles and a very specific knowledge base of egyptian mythology. A tiny bit of piety too.

“Rumors are silly, I see you care about others' opinions of you?” He sat back in his chair.

“I don’t very much care for gossip, in fact I think its another form of entertainment. You could think of it like reality TV if you wished.  Students who are stressed, which they often are here, like to take to gossip for some benign fun. Some use it as a tool for manipulation, like Rigel, and others use it for fun.”

“How does it make you feel when you have no control over what others say about you?”

The muggle reference went a bit over Eirene's head, but she'd heard enough about television shows to relate it to the wireless. Of course she cared what people thought of her! That was reality. She liked it when someone like Ra laughed at her jokes and she disliked it when students made up rumors about her.

He mentioned Rigel specifically. Was Rigel Acrux that manipulative? Eirene normally wouldn't care, as he hadn't yet bothered her personally, but Ayla seemed fond of him, and she cared about Ayla. Hm. Eirene made a little note of her own to look up from her books once in a while and step in with her best future prefect voice if she detected any impropriety.

"Annoyed," she huffed at his question, feeling for a moment like she were talking to someone much older.

"I have other things to think about, Ra. Important things. Everyone's always trying to get me to focus less on class and studying, but then I do and people are snots, so it's impossible."

Eirene sighed. That wasn't exactly it. Not the root of the problem.

"It just doesn't seem very fair," her tone softened. "Whoever sent in that rumor has no idea what they're talking about. We're friends. We thought we were, and then someone goes and starts a rumor like that. We could have remained friends forever or maybe not, but if anything had changed it would have been up to us and not them."

Eirene straightened in her seat. That was exactly it. The problem. She'd figured it out! Without Frank! Frank was good at that sort of thing, better than she was at handling emotions.

She smiled a bit in surprise, though it faded fast.

She answered Rigel’s question with one of his expected answers, annoyance. Then she went on to provide further explanation, which Rigel responded with writing keywords.

”...very fair…” The words echoed in Rigel’s head, a theme in this conversation; fairness. He understood now. She didn’t want the rumor to tarnish her relationship with the other party mentioned. The more she said the more he understood, she lost control of the relationship of her friend. She wanted the ending to be up to them and not the other way around, being ended by a rumor.

“I understand completely Maat, it must be hard to lose someone over something you can’t control. Frustrating, annoying and unfair. But have you talked to your friend? Have you told them that the rumors have no truth in them, that they’re just for petty fun?”

That was nice of him, Eirene thought absently in the back of her mind. Though it must be obvious which rumor she was referring to, he still called her Maat, not Eirene.

She hesitated for only a moment. No one ever let her talk this much, ever!

"Not since this morning, in the dreaded lover's nook. Did you know there's such a thing as a lover's nook? It's a window with a nook and apparently that makes it romantic and doomed."

Who decided these things! Eirene took a deep breath.

"When he told me about it, it was just all very confusing. He said he didn't like me but then he offered to be my boyfriend but then he said I was his best friend. His best friend! No boy has ever called me his best friend. I told him, I want to be with somebody who likes me, and then we had to run off to class because it's class, Ra. It's very important. I haven't seen him since. I've been studying in the library."

Eirene frowned down at the offending Howler article, and shoved it back into her bookbag.

"I don't even know if there's no truth to it. Can you imagine? Not knowing?"

Her voice wavered uncertainly. Could an older student possibly relate?

He smiled. Eirene’s tangent about the lover’s nook was an interesting glimpse into her personality. She had a really interesting way of talking. He knew who she was but he was terribly afraid to breach anonymity. He wondered if informality would suit her better? Talking quite formally is so tiresome but it’s often well articulated. He sat for a moment.

Slumped back into his chair, interlaced his fingers and sat them on his lap. Rigel had respect for a straightforward approach, especially with significant others. If Frank did that here, it would lessen Eirene’s worry and anxiety. It would let her focus on school or him, but she would regain control. He hated waiting for another person to decide if they liked him or not, partially his answer was to serve his past malice and chances.

“It's not doomed, neither are you and Fr- uh… Thoth. Right, moon god… I understand the importance of class to you. It is important. It sounds like this boy is also important too. You need to hear what he says when you ask him if he likes you. I can imagine not knowing. It’s not fun, anxiety filled and twitching. I’m sure it affects your studies unless you escape with your studies which it seems to me that’s what you do. Either way, it’s not a fun place to be emotionally, when you’re in Hogwarts.”

Eirene nodded. Yes, Frank needed to decide and tell her how he really felt. Then they could go back to being friends or something else, once she decided how she felt, too.

She had no idea how to start doing that, but she felt better than she did when she'd first found the room of requirement. Someone was listening, and relating to her, and agreeing that 'not knowing' was an unfun emotional place to be.

"Hm, do I really escape with my studies? I don't think so. I merely care a lot about school," she latched on to the one point she disagreed with, nudging aside her full bag of books that she'd spent the past few hours poring over in the library to avoid going to the common room where Frank might be.

Eirene stubbed her toe. Ow! Those were a lot of books!

Hm. Well, no matter.

"Next steps: analyze, then talk to Frank again, then burn all remaining copies of the Hogwarts Howler," she listed, ticking each task off her fingers, and even smiling at the end when she made a joke. A little joke. Perhaps she was still a bit sore about the Howler. Perhaps she'd recycle the paper into parchment scraps instead, to pen drafts for Arithmancy problems. She'd share with Frank.

“Yes!” He blurted after she completed her todo list. He was excited. She could see it, he helped someone. It felt good.

“Very good Eirene. Well I don’t know about the pyro show, but rumors are a nasty game.”

He thought for a moment. Rigel realized he said her name and felt bad, did she want her anonymity exposed?

“I mean. Maat, of course you have control of your response right, if Thoth doesn’t like you in the way you want him to all you can do really is control your response.”