It was one-thirty in the afternoon, well past lunchtime.
Melvin skipped the Great Hall and, at the Fat Friar's invitation, stayed in the Hufflepuff common room to share a meal with Hannah, Rolf, Ernie, and Justin.
No need to bother the house-elves for food delivery. Just step out of the common room, turn right, tickle the pear on the fruit painting, and push open the door to the kitchen. Whatever you're craving is right there—freshly cooked dishes, steaming cream of mushroom soup still bubbling, and sizzling roast beef with glistening fat.
If the rich meat and creamy soup feel too heavy, the greenhouse orchard's just outside the window, sprawling as big as Greenhouse Three. You can always find ripe, seasonal fruit—freshly picked, pesticide-free, crisp, and refreshing. Even the dew on them is drinkable.
To really soak in the Hufflepuff vibe, you've got to wait for Cedric and the crew to win a Quidditch match or for final exams to wrap up. That's when the prefects organize a bonfire party outside. Classmates with a knack for cooking handle the grilling, grabbing ingredients straight from the kitchen. If you're not in the mood to cook, just call a house-elf.
Sadly, Hufflepuffs aren't big on competing, so Quidditch Cups or House Cups are rare—years go by without snagging one. All they can count on is the end-of-term exams. In a way, they might love studying even more than Ravenclaws.
Guided by the Fat Friar and the students, Melvin explored nearly every corner of the common room—except the girls' dorms, of course.
Leaving the common room, he stepped into the underground greenhouse and followed a grassy path deeper in. About half a mile along, he came across a small canal, only knee-deep, fed by water from the Black Lake. It was mainly for irrigating the greenhouse, though students sometimes played there. By the canal stood a wooden bust of Helga Hufflepuff.
Melvin paused here.
Unlike the detailed wizard statues in the castle, this one was rough, almost crude. The facial features—eyes, nose, mouth—were blurry, barely discernible. You could just make out the shape of a short, stout witch. No motto or inscription adorned the base.
If the Fat Friar hadn't mentioned it was Professor Sprout, Melvin wouldn't have thought twice.
Maybe it was being on Hufflepuff turf, but as Melvin quietly mused to himself, he got the feeling the head of house sensed his thoughts. The moment a slightly cheeky idea crossed his mind, Professor Sprout appeared behind him.
"Melvin!" she called, dressed in brown-and-green gardening gear, a wicker basket in hand. She waved cheerfully. "Are you visiting our common room?"
"It's my first time here. The Fat Friar's been my guide," Melvin said, glancing at her basket. It held a plant specimen with lance-shaped leaves and a root vaguely resembling a human figure. "Is that a Mandrake?"
"Spot on! I'm bringing it to spruce up the common room," Sprout said enthusiastically. "It's not fully prepared yet. Once it's dried and soaked up some solar magic, it'll come alive again, singing and dancing. But the weather's been lousy lately—too much rain—so I brought it here to dry."
She pointed at the greenhouse's domed ceiling, which, like the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, mimicked the weather. Here, though, it was always sunny.
Melvin couldn't help but notice how different Hufflepuff was from the other houses. Other house heads tended to steer clear of their common rooms, treating them as student-only spaces. Hufflepuff had no such barriers.
"The school's Mandrakes are almost mature," Sprout went on. "The ones you bought last time are still around—I transplanted them to Greenhouse Three. They're showing signs of bonding…"
As Sprout rambled about her greenhouse adventures, Melvin listened with a polite smile.
By the canal, a girl named Hannah held some freshly picked strawberries, still pale green. Unfazed by the professor's presence, she greeted both Sprout and the Fat Friar, rinsed her unripe berries in the water, and skipped off.
"Friar, Professor, do you know much about Helga Hufflepuff's life?" Melvin asked.
"Only what's in the school's history," they replied.
"What about the Goblet? You know, the founder's relic?"
"You mean the artifacts," Sprout said, not surprised by his curiosity. She fiddled with her Mandrake. "The Goblet was originally used by house-elves to serve food. Maybe it makes meals taste better?"
The Fat Friar nodded thoughtfully, as if that made sense.
Compared to the other founders' creations, the Goblet was like Hufflepuff House itself—welcoming students other houses might overlook, lacking flashy traits but radiating a quiet, steadfast strength that was hard to ignore when you really looked.
Standing by the canal, sunlight streaming through the clouds and reflecting off the water, Melvin glanced at the blurry statue. For a moment, he could almost see a kind, powerful witch from a thousand years ago, smiling across time.
Something stirred in him—maybe a hint from the statue, or maybe he'd just found the right path.
…
That evening, the Hufflepuff Goblet sat on the young professor's desk, its polished surface catching flickers of candlelight.
The Goblet held clear water, reflecting a young snake sticking out its tongue and Melvin standing steady, hands braced on the desk, staring at the snake's reflection.
Yulm, the snake, glanced back at him, tilting its head with a soft, "Woof?"
"When I was touring the Hufflepuff common room, something clicked," Melvin said softly. "Normally, the Sword and Diadem don't show their magic either. I don't know much about the Diadem, but it's probably tied to wisdom. Gryffindor's Sword only responds to true courage."
He continued, "So I figured, to unlock the Goblet's true magic, you need its approval."
Hufflepuff wasn't like Gryffindor—its essence couldn't be summed up in one word. Hardworking, loyal, fair, inclusive, tied to the earth and food… Melvin wasn't a wizard like Sprout, but he knew an animal with similar traits, and he carried that animal's blessing in his blood.
Breathing steadily, he placed both hands on the Goblet's base, channeling the unique magic of a unicorn into it.
The Goblet glowed with a cascade of colorful light—dazzling but gentle. The light melted into the water, turning it a milky white. The clear liquid transformed into something smooth and silky, like milk but lighter, its texture barely changed.
Melvin caught a faint scent, like Essence of Dittany, and guessed it was some kind of healing liquid. But before he could examine it further, thin black tendrils sprouted from the Goblet's base, slithering up the sides like tiny snakes.
As the darkness spread, the milky liquid began to bubble, turning into a murky, pewter-colored substance. It smelled faintly rancid, like fermented cheese.
Yulm recoiled, backing away from the Goblet.
"Voldemort…" Melvin muttered, frowning.