A golden goblet sat before them, its wide, sturdy base tapering upward to support a gracefully curved body, shaped like a chalice with two ornate handles. The aged gold gleamed with a muted, coppery hue. Its surface was adorned with delicate badger carvings, surrounded by faint floral and vine patterns, exquisitely crafted.
A sleek-scaled young snake coiled on the table, its head raised to meet the gaze of the badger relief. Its vertical pupils gleamed like polished obsidian, utterly focused. Behind it stood the young professor, equally absorbed, staring at the goblet in deep thought.
Several open history books lay nearby, including Hogwarts: A History, with a passage about Helga Hufflepuff:
"Helga Hufflepuff, born in 10th-century Wales, carried Nordic blood. Her name, derived from Old Norse, means 'holy blessing.' Raised in vast valleys, she was taught magic by her mother, focusing on practical spells, especially those tied to daily life. The serene natural landscapes and her joyful childhood shaped her gentle yet strong character."
"In the late 10th century, Helga met the other three founders and together they established Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Unlike the other founders, Hufflepuff didn't select students based on courage, intellect, or ambition. Her house welcomed any child with magical potential, especially those who didn't fit elsewhere. Skilled in food-related charms, she created Hogwarts' iconic feast recipes and arranged for house-elves to work in the kitchens, providing them a safe, peaceful environment."
"Friendly, humble, and compassionate, Helga was a charming mediator among the founders. Her deep friendship with Rowena Ravenclaw was particularly notable, described as the closest of bonds."
A portrait of Hufflepuff accompanied the text: a slightly plump witch with brown hair, blue eyes, and a gentle smile, radiating warmth and kindness.
She was the only founder to spend her entire life at Hogwarts. Compared to the other three legendary wizards, Hufflepuff's traits were less flashy, her house less prominent, yet she carried an equally enigmatic aura.
The goblet, a founder's relic, had been kept by Hufflepuff's descendants, valued merely as a collectible antique. Over centuries, its magical properties were largely unexplored. It eventually fell into Tom Riddle's hands. To Voldemort, its historical significance made it a perfect vessel for a Horcrux, created through murder and soul-splitting. He entrusted it to Bellatrix, who locked it away in Gringotts' vaults.
Wizards like Melvin, probing the goblet's inherent magic, were a rarity in the wizarding world.
Yorm, the young snake, stared at the goblet for ages but found no clues. It turned and barked, "Woof?"
Melvin chuckled. He didn't speak Parseltongue, but the dog-like bark carried clear emotion. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't know what magic the goblet holds either, but we can experiment…"
Gryffindor excelled in dueling, Ravenclaw in knowledge, Slytherin in dark magic, and Helga in practical magic, particularly cooking. She was said to enhance food's flavor and nutrition through spells.
Recalling the book, Melvin rummaged through a cabinet and pulled out some nougat from last year. Unwrapping the sticky, damp candy, he tossed it into the goblet.
Yorm stretched its neck to watch.
The honey, cream, and nut nougat wasn't spoiled, just poorly stored, losing some flavor and fragrance. The rainy season's humidity had made it tacky, sticking to the goblet's walls and sliding slowly, trailing thin syrupy threads.
After a moment, the candy's appearance and smell remained unchanged.
The goblet, now smeared with sticky syrup, would probably only attract ants if left outside.
"Want to try it?" Melvin patted Yorm's head as the snake leaned closer.
"Hiss…" Yorm replied in incomprehensible Parseltongue.
Melvin picked up the nougat through its wrapper—neither human nor snake was tempted to taste it. With no beetles or rats around to test it, he tossed it in the bin, wiped the syrup off the goblet, and marked the first attempt a failure.
"Mythology has plenty of goblets and vessels…" Melvin sat at his desk, exploring other angles, muttering, "The Christian Holy Grail grants eternal life, heals diseases, and brings endless wealth. Amalthea's horn holds infinite food, Dagda's cauldron fulfills all desires…"
Muggle myths offered no useful insights.
His past-life memories also gave no hints about the goblet's purpose.
"Guess I'll have to figure it out myself," Melvin sighed, rubbing his temples. With no leads, he grabbed a teapot and poured water into the goblet. Yorm shot him a puzzled look, but he didn't explain.
Goblets were meant to hold liquids, after all.
The water rippled faintly, with oily specks from leftover cream floating on top.
Still no change. Second attempt: failure.
For the next half hour, Melvin tried every detection spell he knew, even some offensive ones—smoke, fire, water, ice—but the goblet gave no response. Every test failed.
He began to consider another possibility: Voldemort might have damaged the goblet while making it a Horcrux. Perhaps it now existed solely as a container for his soul.
The diary could communicate through writing, the diadem could be worn. How would the goblet… interact with Voldemort?
Melvin sank into thought.
---
Lunchtime, Headmaster's Office
The portraits of past headmasters clustered together, all staring at the round table below. Dumbledore sat at the head, calmly slicing a steak with knife and fork. The silver-laden desk, usually cluttered with papers, was cleared for steaming dishes.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat nearby, heads bowed, chewing cautiously. Dining in the headmaster's office felt bizarre.
Dobby was even more uneasy, squirming as if pinned to his chair, silently screaming inside. Why did Miss Granger invite me to eat with them!? This isn't a place for house-elves! Why did Dumbledore agree!?
The torment—physical or mental—was unbearable. He was starting to regret leaving Malfoy Manor.
"If the food isn't to your taste, Dobby, you can eat in the school kitchens," Dumbledore said gently, noticing his discomfort. "I've approved your work here, with a salary matching Filch's when he started: one Galleon a week. How's that?"
Joy burst across Dobby's face like fireworks. He leapt off the stool, squeaking, "Dobby has no complaints! Dobby is thrilled! Thank you, Mr. Dumbledore!"
With a snap of his fingers, he vanished from the agonizing office.
"Hogwarts has never done this—paying a house-elf!" barked a portrait of Headmaster Black. "Dumbledore, you shouldn't have agreed."
The portraits erupted, whispering and arguing, opinions clashing. Most wizards disapproved of paying Dobby, though a few—mostly Hufflepuffs—found it reasonable.
"Shh, it's lunchtime. We'll discuss this later—don't disturb the children," Dumbledore said, waving his hand. His magic, laced with headmasterly authority, flipped the portraits face-down, muffling their clamor.
"Magical portraits are like that," he said to the young wizards, his blue eyes kind. "They retain fragments of their living selves' memories and personalities, making them resistant to change. If Melvin were here, he'd probably lecture them with Muggle logic. I'm not so skilled, so I procrastinate. Their temporary memories fade, and they'll forget this soon enough."
"You approve of Professor Levent's methods?" Hermione asked, eyes sparkling.
"Don't you?" Dumbledore countered.
"We… aren't entirely sure," Hermione admitted quietly. "We planned to lure Mr. Malfoy to Hogwarts and trick him into giving Dobby a sock or tie to free him, but Professor Levent didn't approve."
"Oh?" Dumbledore looked at Harry. "What did Melvin say?"
Harry scratched his head, looking sheepish. "He said as a professor, he couldn't conspire to deceive a student's parent and told us to figure it out ourselves."
"Professor Levent said that, but he went to Malfoy himself and made a deal to free Dobby from that slave manor," Hermione added, defending her tutor. "What we don't understand is why he didn't just free Dobby outright. Why make him earn some vague 'redemption fee' that can't be measured in money?"
"I think Melvin's suggestion is excellent," Dumbledore said, smiling faintly at the trio. "Freedom isn't a commodity or currency to be bought. Freedom gained through trickery or charity is just self-deception. True freedom must be earned."
The three exchanged glances, sensing the weight of his words. Harry and Hermione looked thoughtful; Ron, shoving a piece of Dumbledore's special roast chicken into his mouth, shrugged. He got the logic, but reality didn't always play fair. To him, freedom—whether begged, tricked, or earned—was freedom. Why complicate it with rules?
"But Dobby said Professor Levent told him to decide when he's earned his freedom," Hermione pressed. "With no clear method or standard, how will he know when the time's right?"
"Hmm… that's a philosophical question," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard with a theatrical squint.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, staying silent. The headmaster's theatrics were too obvious—lousy acting. He knew the answer but wasn't sharing.
Hermione dropped it. She'd ask Professor Levent directly at Saturday's tutoring session.
For now, the matter was settled. Dobby was free from Malfoy Manor's cruelty, and Harry and Hermione relaxed, enjoying their meal. The clink of cutlery filled the quiet. The food, though the same as the Great Hall's, tasted better here—maybe because it was the headmaster's private stock, or maybe just their imagination.
The silence felt heavy, so Harry swallowed a bite of potato and asked softly, "Sir, can you tell me about my parents?"
"James and Lily…" Dumbledore paused, his voice softening. "Seeing you reminds me of James at school. He had a tight group of friends, too…"
---
That Evening, Saturday
After dinner, Harry and Hermione knocked on Professor Levent's office door as scheduled.
The room hadn't changed much. The shelves held more books, with Hogwarts: A History sticking out slightly, recently thumbed through. Hermione's eyes lingered on it, then caught a golden goblet on a shelf where a glass jar used to sit.
Badger motifs, gold handles, and the recently read history book… it was hard not to think of Hufflepuff's goblet.
Melvin looked up from his desk, gesturing them to sit. "Dobby came by before dinner, saying you helped him secure a job. I'd have preferred he negotiated it himself," he said with a light chuckle.
Hermione was still eyeing the goblet, wondering if it was the goblet. Harry, mustering courage, asked, "Professor, when will Dobby truly earn his freedom?"
"When he feels it's time," Melvin replied simply.
Harry frowned. What kind of answer is that?
"Alright, enough about Dobby. Let's check your progress," Melvin said, waving his hand to clear space in the office. "Standard wizard duel rules: no restrictions on tactics or spells, until one yields or loses their wand."
"Ready! Three… two… one!"
Their focus sharpened instantly.
For the next forty minutes, the two young wizards threw themselves into dueling practice. Harry won all three rounds.
The gap between them had widened. Though Hermione knew more spells and could choose them strategically, Harry's combat instincts were near-flawless, his tactical decisions almost intuitive. Last term, they were evenly matched; now, it was one-sided.
His magical growth was striking. Melvin's gaze drifted to Harry's forehead, to the lightning-shaped scar hiding a fragment of Voldemort's soul.