Chapter 16
The group descended the stone steps into a broad underground corridor. Despite being below ground, it didn't feel cramped at all—the ceiling was high, and the walls were lined with softly glowing torches that cast flickering shadows across the worn stone.
They turned a corner, following the two prefects deeper into the passageway. A still-life painting of a fruit bowl passed by on their left—so realistic that the grapes seemed to glisten—and finally, they stopped at a small alcove near the end of the corridor.
"Everyone gather 'round. See those big wooden barrels over there? The ones sitting on the stone shelf?" Kenneth gestured casually, though there was a hint of smugness in his voice. "This is the entrance."
He paused dramatically, then added, "Sheila will demonstrate—since clearly none of you want to see me do it."
In the nook Kenneth had indicated sat a stack of enormous wooden barrels, the kind used for aging wine, resting on a trough carved into the wall. The barrels were arranged in rows, horizontally stacked, each one gleaming with the dull luster of old oak.
Sheila nodded, unfazed. "To enter the Hufflepuff common room, there's a bit of a trick to it. Watch closely. See this one?" She pointed. "Second row from the bottom, second barrel from the left."
Raising her wand, she tapped the bottom of the barrel in rhythm: Hel-ga Huff-le-puff. Four precise knocks.
At once, the bottom of the barrel swung open like a secret hatch, revealing a gently sloping earthen tunnel beyond.
Kenneth grinned. "Fair warning—get the rhythm wrong, or tap the wrong barrel, and you'll be doused in vinegar. Don't ask how I know."
"Don't worry," Sheila added with a chuckle. "It's really quite simple. The rhythm doesn't change often, and if it does, the prefects will let you know."
One by one, the first-years climbed through the barrel's tunnel. It wasn't long, and soon they emerged into a cozy, round room that felt more like a burrow than a basement—a perfect homage to the house mascot, the badger.
Stepping inside was like walking into a warm greenhouse.
Plants were everywhere—cascading ferns, twisting ivy, blooming flowers in every shade imaginable. Cacti perched on curved wooden shelves along the walls, occasionally wiggling or waving their stubby limbs at passing students.
Copper-bottomed plant racks dangled from the ceiling, trailing vines that brushed gently against heads like curious fingertips.
The décor echoed the house colors—warm yellows and deep blacks—but the dominant theme was circular: rounded shelves, round windows, arching walls. Wizards believed the circle symbolized harmony and nature, and nowhere was that more evident than here.
Despite being underground, the room was flooded with soft starlight. Dozens of round windows were set high in the walls, just beneath the ceiling, revealing the night sky swaying beyond. Sainz guessed that this side of the castle must be built into a hill—partially underground, but not entirely buried. By day, those windows would surely show sunlight, grass, and wildflowers.
Across from the entry tunnel stood a large brass fireplace, rounded like everything else, casting a golden glow over the room. Above the mantel hung a magical portrait of a rosy-cheeked witch with kind eyes, raising a tiny golden goblet in a silent toast.
Helga Hufflepuff.
The mantelpiece beneath her was carved with dancing badgers, and the honey-colored wood gleamed like fresh beeswax.
Clusters of squashy armchairs and velvet sofas filled the space, upholstered in cheerful yellows with black trim. The entire room radiated warmth, comfort, and quiet welcome.
Kenneth and Sheila led the group on a brief tour of the common room, pointing out study nooks, bulletin boards, and a bookshelf stocked with both magical texts and Muggle classics. Afterward, they split the students into boys and girls and directed them toward their respective dormitories.
The entrances were tucked to either side of the fireplace, marked by round wooden doors.
The boys followed Kenneth into a low-ceilinged corridor that branched off the lounge. There were seven of them in total, and Kenneth divided them without fuss.
"Rob Dane, Franco Henriques, Joshua Cadwallader, Cedric Diggory—you four will share one dormitory.
Sainz Autumn, Ben Stebbins, and Adam Summers—you three are in the other."
He pointed to the nameplates on the doors. "Your things have already been brought up. If there are no questions—" he paused for effect "—I'll leave you to it."
The two groups exchanged goodnights and parted ways.
Sainz's dormitory was as circular and inviting as the lounge. Three four-poster beds stood evenly spaced along the curved wall, each one curtained in soft velvet and covered in patchwork yellow-and-black quilts. The mattresses were wonderfully thick, and the sheets crisp and clean.
A copper lamp glowed on each bedside table, casting a warm, golden light. At the foot of each bed sat a copper bed warmer, polished to a mirror shine—an old-fashioned touch, but welcome in the Scottish winters.
Built into the wall was a tidy wardrobe, and every bed had a nameplate above it. Their trunks had already been unpacked and stored neatly inside.
A familiar sound broke the quiet—one that brought a smile to Sainz's face.
Speedy.
The peregrine falcon chirped softly from his cage, fluttering his wings at the sight of his owner. Though he'd only been apart from the bird for a few hours, Sainz still felt the old thrill at seeing him again.
"Whoa," Ben whispered, inching closer. "Can I... can I touch him?"
They'd already gotten to know each other on the train, so the question wasn't too forward.
Adam Summers hovered behind them, a little more reserved. Sainz turned to him with a smile.
"Hi, Adam. Let's do this properly. I'm Sainz Autumn. Just Sainz is fine. I hope we get along."
Adam nodded, relaxing a bit. "Nice to meet you—again. I'm Adam Summers."
Ben straightened. "Let me introduce myself too. I'm Ben Stebbins. You can call me Ben."
The three of them looked at one another and suddenly broke into laughter.
"Hahaha—!"
"This is Speedy," Sainz said once they'd calmed down. "He's a peregrine falcon, originally from Asia. The shopkeeper told me he's got some Golden Snidget blood—extremely fast."
"No way!" Ben's eyes went wide. "You named him Speedy?"
"Yup."
Sainz opened the cage, and the falcon shot out like a dart, circling the room once before perching on the curtain rod.
Both boys immediately dug through their bags, pulling out biscuits and chocolate frogs.
Speedy gave them a withering look and turned his head away.
"He's a bird of prey," Sainz explained, amused. "He doesn't eat sweets. Just meat."
The two boys chorused a disappointed "Wow..." as if struggling to understand how anything could resist cake.
Sainz retrieved a pouch of dried rat meat—specially treated for magical birds—and let his roommates feed Speedy themselves. It was enough to satisfy their curiosity, though they still hesitated to touch the falcon directly.
Afterward, Sainz changed into his pajamas, washed up, and slipped into bed.
It had been a long day—the train ride, the sorting, the feast—and classes hadn't even started yet. He decided to let himself relax, just for tonight.
No pressure. No ambition. No need to roll up his sleeves just yet.
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