Melvin sighed at the sealed stone door. "I knew Hogwarts Castle was riddled with secret passages, including one leading to the Honeydukes cellar, but I had no idea you needed a password to open it."
Half an hour ago, he'd had a sudden urge to sneak into the passage from the candy shop's cellar. He'd trekked through the narrow, damp tunnel only to find himself stuck at a dead end.
The dim passage was thick with chilly mist, and a locked stone door blocked his way.
Melvin tapped his wand against the door, probing for any hidden mechanism, then tried a few unlocking and lock-breaking spells with practiced precision, clearly showing he'd studied such techniques.
The stone door didn't budge.
Bombarda or Depulso might do the trick, but how would I explain a blasted door to the headmaster…?
Melvin fell into deep thought.
No solution came to mind.
So, he tucked away his wand, ready to retrace his steps. But before he could turn, a sound came from the other side of the door.
He listened carefully, picking up slow, leisurely footsteps, and called out tentatively, "Headmaster Dumbledore?"
"Well, if it isn't Melvin…"
Two taps of a wand echoed on the stone door, followed by a clear "Dissendium." With a rumble, the door swung open, revealing Dumbledore standing outside.
"Headmaster, thank goodness you were right there."
Melvin felt a wave of relief as he stepped out of the passage, glancing back to see the entrance hidden within the hump of the One-Eyed Witch statue.
"My first time using this passage, and I didn't know the spell to open it. I nearly got trapped in there. If I hadn't been worried about the consequences of a professor destroying school property, I might've blasted the door with Bombarda."
"I don't think you'd have gone that far," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile.
"Maybe Transfiguration or Diffindo instead—those make less noise when breaking doors," Melvin said with a laugh, shaking his head. "Lesson learned from my first weekend at Hogwarts: a sensible wizard doesn't wander into unfamiliar secret passages."
"It took you only a week to find a hidden passage. I'm more curious about how you discovered it."
"Pure chance, just a coincidence," Melvin replied vaguely.
"Is that so…"
Dumbledore paused, giving him a knowing wink. "Please keep this secret. The castle's mysteries are meant for students to uncover on their own."
"I promise," Melvin said solemnly, then shifted the topic. "What brings you here, Headmaster?"
"I was delivering lunch to a guest staying in the fourth-floor corridor. It's nearly mealtime, and I happened to hear a noise nearby.
"I thought another student had found this passage to sneak off to Honeydukes for sweets… but since we've run into each other, come along. Let me introduce you to a friend."
"…"
Melvin followed Dumbledore, a suspicion forming in his mind.
Most of the fourth floor was abandoned, with only a few areas in use. The Charms classroom was in another direction, the Trophy Room was miles away, and the only other notable spot was the forbidden corridor.
Drawing on distant memories, Melvin recalled that the room at the corridor's end led to a hidden space housing the Philosopher's Stone, guarded by a three-headed dog and protected by obstacles set by the core subject professors.
Those protections, though, paled in comparison to the stone door in the One-Eyed Witch's hump.
Click…
The spherical doorknob turned with the creak of an old lock, and the door swung open.
Inside sprawled a massive beast: three heads, six glowing red eyes, and three gaping maws with yellowish, menacing teeth.
The three-headed dog looked ferocious and not particularly bright, lying motionless on the floor. Its six eyes swiveled, locking onto the two newcomers. Its pupils narrowed as it stirred, about to let out a roar—until Dumbledore interrupted.
"Fluffy, lunchtime."
Recognizing its keeper, Fluffy's eyes brightened. Its four paws scrambled, leaving shallow scratches on the floor as it charged toward Dumbledore, three heads nuzzling affectionately, thumping against him with dull thuds.
Melvin's eye twitched. With the headmaster's apparent physical resilience, if Voldemort weren't around, he'd probably live another few centuries.
Dumbledore nearly toppled over, rubbing his sore chest with a wry smile. Undeterred by Fluffy's slobbery enthusiasm, he patted its nose, beaming.
"Fluffy was bought by Hagrid at the Hog's Head. The plan was to keep him in the Forbidden Forest, but the centaurs objected…"
Dumbledore produced half a slab of raw beef from somewhere, feeding Fluffy while explaining, "So, he's staying at the school for now, helping with some guard duties. He's been quite diligent, and I've grown rather fond of the little guy."
"…"
Little guy?
Melvin stayed silent.
Whatever you say, Headmaster.
"Come, let's make introductions." Dumbledore stepped aside. "Fluffy, this is Professor Levent. Fluffy… Professor Levent."
Fluffy, engrossed in tearing at the beef, paused. Its leftmost head stretched over, sniffed Melvin, then extended a paw toward him.
"Woof…"
Melvin blinked, then shook the paw. "Hello?"
Fluffy wagged its paw as if shaking hands, signaling they were now acquainted.
Who says three-headed dogs are dumb?
This one's downright clever.
Dumbledore ruffled Fluffy's dining heads. "Fluffy, move aside. Melvin and I need to head downstairs."
Fluffy, muzzle deep in beef, didn't look up. Its hind legs shuffled, sliding its body to reveal a trapdoor beneath its belly. "Mmph…"
"Let's go."
Before Melvin could react, Dumbledore pulled him into the trapdoor, plunging them into a long free fall. Melvin realized just how deep Hogwarts' foundations ran.
No torches or lamps lit the way; the passage was pitch black.
It was eerily quiet, save for faint rustling sounds, like something small crawling slowly.
After nearly ten seconds, a gentle force cushioned their fall, slowing their descent until their feet touched solid, cold stone.
Looking around, they were in a carved tunnel, its rough walls lined with thin, blackened vines. Sensing intruders, the delicate tendrils crept toward them, brushing the walls with faint whispers.
Devil's Snare, a magical plant from the vine family, thriving in dark, damp places and shying away from light and heat.
"I didn't know there was a Herbology classroom under the castle," Melvin remarked.
He waved a hand, conjuring small blue flames that cast a soft glow, warm enough to repel the Devil's Snare without burning it.
"Pomona wouldn't dream of teaching down here. These Devil's Snare plants were just transplanted and need a few weeks to mature," Dumbledore said, leading the way. "This is an abandoned underground classroom, connected to the fourth-floor corridor. It's being repurposed to store the Philosopher's Stone, but the work's not finished yet."
"The Philosopher's Stone?"
"Over the summer, I met with Nicolas in New York to discuss this," Dumbledore's voice echoed in the tunnel. "For reasons we can't yet disclose, the Stone needs to be kept at Hogwarts temporarily. I've received word that a powerful and cunning dark wizard is plotting to steal it."
"These are the protections?"
"They were set up by a few of the core subject professors."
"…"
As they ventured deeper, the tunnel revealed four rooms, each with its own challenge.
Professor Flitwick's Charms room had only a heavy wooden door so far.
Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration room held just a few stone pillars.
Professor Snape's Potions room was already stocked with several bottles of poison.
Finally, Professor Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts room contained… stacks of hay.
"…"
Compared to these half-finished setups, Professor Sprout's Devil's Snare was leaps and bounds ahead.
Melvin eyed the final wooden door, knowing these obstacles were meant to test students. Still, he couldn't help but find the headmaster's acting a bit too obvious.
The four Heads of House were beyond reproach, their challenges placed on the outer layers.
Quirrell, newly promoted to a core professor and fresh from a summer in dark-wizard-heavy Albania, was suspiciously placed at the innermost layer.
This is what you're using to test the Dark Lord?
"Headmaster Dumbledore…"
Melvin pursed his lips, unable to hold back. "This powerful and cunning dark wizard must have some physical defect, right? Missing limbs, unable to wave a wand? Or maybe mute, unable to cast spells?"
Considering Voldemort's current state, that wasn't entirely inaccurate.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Which is why I'd like you to join in, to strengthen the protections for the Stone."
Melvin glanced around, halfheartedly suggesting, "How about a sign next to the Stone that says, 'This is not the Philosopher's Stone'? Maybe the dark wizard would see it and leave."
"An unexpected approach. If you designed it, it might actually work…"
Dumbledore, sensing his curiosity, met his gaze and softly asked, "Would you like to see the legendary Philosopher's Stone?"
"Can I?" Melvin's interest was piqued.
"Of course."
They pushed open the door and entered.
The room was a circular hall with tiered steps around a central pool. In the middle stood a crude stone platform, glowing with a faint crimson aura.
Melvin studied it for a moment before looking away. "Looks pretty ordinary."
"Nothing special about it, is there?"
Dumbledore's smile was radiant, his blue eyes crinkling.
…
"Sodium metal isn't strictly necessary…"
"We can handle the explosions ourselves."
"Exactly!"
"But ammonia is key."
Two redheaded students huddled together, whispering as they descended the stairs.
Autumn hadn't fully arrived, and the days were still long. At dusk, the castle's torches and lights hadn't yet been lit.
Students chatted in the courtyard in small groups, leaving the corridors quiet. As they neared the courtyard, a cool breeze swept through.
With summer homework submitted, the second week's classes were less intense, and young witches and wizards savored the lingering summer days.
A Hufflepuff student wobbled with a teapot, pouring iced pumpkin juice for friends, who were planning to play in the Black Lake with the giant squid tomorrow before the water turned cold in October.
The Weasley twins plopped onto a step, scribbling in a notebook. They were stressing over how to get sodium metal and ammonia—both Muggle chemicals, hard to come by even through Muggle-born classmates.
They needed the materials during the term; waiting until the holidays would be a hassle. If their mum caught them, a broken broom would be the least of their worries. Worse, their dad worked at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office—if he found out, he might turn them in himself.
As they fretted, a figure emerged from the staircase.
The twins perked up and rushed over. "Professor Levent!"
"What's up?" Melvin slowed his pace.
The twins closed in, grinning eagerly. "Professor, does Muggle Studies cover chemistry? Do you provide materials?"
"Well…"
Melvin paused. "Sixth-year classes touch on basic Muggle sciences, and I do plan to use some materials for demonstrations. But sodium metal and ammonia? No way. One's dangerous, and the other smells awful—you'd need more than a bath to get rid of it."
George and Fred exchanged a glance, their eyes glinting.
"I'd drop that idea now," Melvin warned. "Cause trouble, and Filch will have you scrubbing floors. Professor McGonagall won't stop him."
"Underestimate us?"
The twins puffed out their chests. "We've cleaned bathrooms, dealt with real muck. You think we're scared of that?"
"…Is that something to brag about?"
George and Fred chuckled, trailing behind him. "Cleaning's no big deal. Tell us more about chemistry…"
They followed Melvin, chatting about explosive reactions of active metals and the smells of various chemicals. When they heard indole was behind the stench of feces, their eyes lit up, giggling mischievously.
Minutes later, they crossed the courtyard to the Great Hall, which was unusually noisy. A crowd buzzed around the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, arguing loudly.
George and Fred peered into a crowd. "Is that Ron? And Harry? What's going on?"
They dove into the fray, leaving Melvin in peace. He glanced at the staff table—no sign of Professor McGonagall.
Those two weren't even in Muggle Studies. If they got into trouble later, surely the deputy headmistress wouldn't blame him?
"Did you hear about flying class this afternoon…?"
As Melvin passed the house tables, snippets of student chatter reached his ears. He pieced together the topic without drawing attention.
The second week of term had brought Quidditch tryouts for the house teams, and first-years had their first flying lessons on the schedule. This afternoon was their introduction to broomsticks.
Whoever scheduled it had paired Gryffindor with Slytherin, and, predictably, things went awry.
Potter and Malfoy had clashed, leading to an impromptu flying duel.
Rumor had it the match ended without a winner—because Malfoy was too injured to finish. Three broken ribs, a dislocated arm, and a fractured leg.