"They shouldn't have followed us," Luna breathed, letting out a long sigh as she swept her damp hair behind her ear. "That was close!"
Catching her look of delighted relief—like someone who'd just escaped a near disaster—Wyzett couldn't help but chuckle. He nodded, playing along. "Yeah, we were this close to being caught by Mr. Filch."
"This is it!" Luna announced, turning to the enormous painting before them. "Let me think… which fruit did Hannah say it was?"
Like the other paintings lining the stone corridor, this one showed a massive silver bowl, brimming with all sorts of familiar fruit.
"That's the one!" Luna's eyes sparkled as she pointed to a large, emerald-green pear.
She gave the pear a tickle. Instantly, it shivered and let out a squeaky giggle, clearly ticklish, then morphed into a gleaming green doorknob.
With a tug, the door swung open, revealing a whole new world beyond. Through the threshold, they glimpsed a kitchen almost as vast as the Great Hall itself.
Wyzett took it all in—the kitchen was a perfect, one-to-one replica of the Great Hall's footprint.
Along the stone walls, rows of pots and pans gleamed, polished to a high shine. At the far end, a huge fireplace blazed, banishing the chill that seeped up from the castle's foundations.
But most striking of all were the four long tables in the center of the kitchen, and the curved table in front of the fire—arranged exactly like the ones in the Great Hall above.
Each table was set with gleaming cutlery and plates, all spotless and ready for tomorrow's meals.
According to the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, food was the very first thing that couldn't simply be conjured from thin air.
Now, Wyzett finally understood the secret behind all those magical feasts that appeared at Dumbledore's command—they didn't just pop into existence, but came from here.
The wizarding world was full of such mysteries, and that was what fascinated Wyzett most.
This hidden kitchen, for example, wasn't even mentioned in Hogwarts: A History.
As Wyzett and Luna stepped inside, dozens of house-elves looked up at them in unison.
For a castle with a thousand years of history, it made sense there would be so many house-elves tending to every corner.
Each elf wore a crisp tea towel emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest.
They hurried over, beaming and bowing deeply to Wyzett and Luna.
An elderly house-elf stepped forward, his voice deep and gravelly with age, but full of respect. "Sir, what can we do for you? We are delighted to serve in any way!"
The other house-elves blinked up at them, faces radiating warmth and eager anticipation, as if ready to grant any wish.
Faced with such genuine kindness, Wyzett smiled. "Would you mind helping me gather some flour, water, salt, oil, tomatoes, and a few eggs?"
The old house-elf's eyes widened in curiosity and mild confusion. "Sir, are you… planning to make noodles?"
After centuries spent preparing meals for Hogwarts, they could guess his intent from the ingredients alone.
"That's right. I'd like to make noodles," Wyzett answered. Even before he finished, the other elves had already darted off, returning with every ingredient he'd asked for.
The elder elf bowed again. "If you wish, sir, we would be honored to make them for you."
"I want to do it myself—just this once. It's… a special kind of memory for me," Wyzett said. "Would it be alright if I borrowed some cookware?"
"Of course, sir!" The house-elves looked positively thrilled, forming a ring around him, craning their necks to watch every move.
Worried he might run short, they piled up bags and boxes of ingredients—no hint of stinginess.
"If I use up all these, is that alright?"
"Certainly, sir! Please, help yourself! Are you sure you don't want any help?"
"No, thank you. I'd just like to borrow the kitchen for a little while…"
"Please, sir, don't even mention it! The kitchen is yours to use as you wish!"
Wyzett quickly counted the elves, then snapped his fingers with a smile, casting a series of household spells with practiced ease.
Salt dissolved into water, then flour was mixed in to make dough. With a little magical help, everything went smoothly and efficiently.
While the dough rested, he set a large cauldron over the fire to boil water, and used another to make a tomato-and-egg topping.
Magic made the dough rise faster, too.
A slicing charm turned the dough into neat strips, which he tossed with oil and flour—ready for the noodle-pulling stage.
Not only was Luna mesmerized, but even the most experienced house-elves stared, wide-eyed, at every magical detail.
The elves knew how to make noodles, of course, but their method was to roll out the dough and cut it into shapes—none of them "pulled" noodles by hand.
If Wyzett had tried it without magic, he would probably have ended up with a tangled mess. But with magic, everything changed.
Under his spellwork, the dough stretched and danced in mid-air, spinning into long, even strands.
With a flick of his fingers, the noodles twisted and looped gracefully, then, with a downward motion, dove into the boiling water like dragons plunging into the sea. They cooked, then floated out into waiting bowls.
The tomato and egg topping was ready, and Wyzett ladled it over each steaming bowl.
"Scourgify!" With a wave of his wand, the kitchen was spotless once more.
He turned to the elves. "If I remember right, you're all busy at night—cleaning the castle and everything."
The old elf's voice grew hoarse, eyes glistening with tears. "Kind sir… it's our duty, and our honor."
Wyzett called out, "You all work so hard—please, have some too!"
He filled a small bowl and pressed it into the old elf's hands, then took another for himself—this one with an extra fried egg.
"This one's yours." He handed a bowl to Luna, hers also crowned with a fried egg.
Luna's eyes softened. "Today must be an important day."
Wyzett smiled gently. "It's a day for craving noodles."
Luna blinked. "I'll remember this day. I won't ever forget it!"
"Mhm." Wyzett nodded.
Sometimes, between the two of them, there was no need for many words—they simply understood.
He took a bite of the fried egg—the yolk was soft and runny, with a subtle sweetness.
A wave of nostalgia washed over him: the taste of his very first bowl of longevity noodles, the sweetness of the yolk perfectly matching the sweetness of the memory…
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