"So, what do you reckon the new professor and Filch are up to, sneaking around in an empty office?"
George lowered his voice suddenly, and the trio paused in the middle of the stone-arched entrance hall, their long shadows stretching across the floor in the dim glow of the wall sconces.
The torches that usually blazed along the walls had quietly gone out, leaving faint wisps of smoke curling upward. The flickering candlelight from a few remaining sconces barely illuminated the intricate carvings on the nearby columns.
"Probably just asked Filch to clean out his office," Adam said, glancing toward the passage leading to the dungeons. The stone floor still bore the faint, smudged footprints from their hurried retreat.
Twenty minutes earlier, they'd been creeping through this chilly corridor, heading toward the Slytherin common room near the Black Lake. As they neared the Potions classroom, a faint glow flickered through the frosted glass, accompanied by the muffled sound of an argument—someone hissing in a low, angry tone.
George, peering through a crack in the window, instantly recognized Snape's silhouette. They were about to tiptoe away when Fred accidentally bumped into a low table, making a loud clatter. Panicked, they bolted, but thankfully, no one from the classroom followed.
"Of course we know it's probably nothing," Fred said, spreading his hands. "Otherwise, those water-activated fireworks wouldn't have gone off so fast."
"But that's such a boring guess," George added, clapping Adam on the shoulder with a mischievous grin. "Every Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has some wild story. Come on, Adam, give us your wildest theory!"
Adam paused, then glanced at a nearby suit of armor.
"Maybe he's borrowing some of Filch's old torture devices to use in Defense class—pick a student at random for a demonstration?"
George and Fred froze, exchanging a quick look, their mouths half-open to respond.
Adam blinked innocently and continued, "Or maybe he's scouting the castle's layout, planning to break into the Headmaster's office from the seventh floor and assassinate Dumbledore in his sleep?"
The redheaded twins fell silent again. George wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and managed a dry, "Er… you don't have to be that bold."
"Yeah," Fred chimed in, "I think you need a good rest. The corridor to the kitchens is just over there. Hufflepuff's common room is hidden behind a stack of barrels. As for how to get in…"
Fred shuddered, recalling his last attempt. He'd followed the exact rhythm to tap the barrels, yet somehow ended up drenched in vinegar. That night, he'd scrubbed himself three times in the dorm, but the faint tang of vinegar lingered in his dreams.
"Just wait by the entrance," Fred continued. "Plenty of Hufflepuffs sneak to the kitchens for a late-night snack. Follow them, and you'll get in."
Adam didn't linger. He turned toward the corridor, calling back softly, "See you next time. If you run out of fireworks, come find me—but bring some Galleons."
The twins watched his figure fade into the candlelight, glancing at the fireworks in their hands.
"He's a decent guy," George said, hesitating, "…but…"
"…a bit too dangerous," Fred finished quietly. "I mean, who even thinks about using torture devices like that?"
He silently vowed never to cross this seemingly harmless, always-smiling young wizard.
…
Adam strolled down the corridor, where more torches flickered to life along the walls. Unlike the castle's other portraits, these were all food-themed, turning the hallway into a gallery of culinary art.
One painting of a perfectly roasted veal chop stood out, its detail so vivid it was almost lifelike. The golden-brown crust glistened with oil, and you could practically see the juices sizzling under the heat, the aroma almost wafting from the canvas.
No wonder, Adam thought, George said Hufflepuffs sneaked to the kitchens at night. Staring at these paintings every day would tempt anyone, and there was always a portrait to match your cravings.
He even wondered if Helga Hufflepuff herself had hung these paintings as a sort of magical menu.
Adam paused before a massive still-life painting of a silver bowl brimming with fresh fruit. He could sense a faint magical hum emanating from it.
"Adam? You're finally back!"
A small, fuzzy head popped out from the right side of the corridor, wine-red hair swaying slightly. Beside her was the older student who'd offered him a handkerchief earlier.
"Hi, Adam. I'm Betty Harria, Hufflepuff prefect," she said with a smile. "Shirley's been worried sick. This is her sixth time running out to check for you."
She chuckled, shielding a blushing Shirley, who was playfully waving a tiny fist.
"You two seem close," Adam said, grinning.
"Of course! Shirley's dorm is right next to mine," Betty replied. "My roommates are busy with homework, so I tagged along to check on you."
She waved him forward, leading them to a shadowy alcove lined with massive barrels.
"Pay attention," Betty said. "Count up from the bottom, second row, second barrel. Tap out the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff,' and the lid will open. Get it wrong, and the other barrels will burst, dousing you in vinegar. Trust me, you don't want that."
She demonstrated with her wand, and the barrel swung open, revealing a wide passage.
They climbed a sloping earthen path into a cozy, circular common room decorated in warm black-and-yellow tones. Bright flowers and lush plants filled the space, with cacti waving cheerfully from wooden shelves embedded in the walls.
Copper planters hung from the ceiling, trailing ferns and vines that gently brushed your hair as you passed.
"If you sprinkle some fertilizer on them, they'll even style your hair," Betty said. "Last Halloween, I got a great—"
She stopped mid-sentence, glancing back to find the corridor empty.
Puzzled, she retraced her steps to the earthen path and found Adam digging vigorously into the soil with a small trowel, inspecting a handful of dirt with fascination.
Shirley stood nearby, covering her face in embarrassment, her cheeks redder than ever, looking like she wanted to dive into the hole Adam was digging.
"What are you…?" Betty started.
"Betty!" Adam's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Does this soil grow back?"
Betty scratched her head, confused. "Yeah, it does. Some students take dirt to grow flowers in their dorms, and it always regenerates by the next day. They say it's the castle's magic at work…"
"Just for flowers?!" Adam's bewildered question threw her off.
"Uh, yeah? What else would you use it for?"
Under her puzzled gaze, Adam pulled a shovel and pickaxe taller than himself from a small bag, his eyes gleaming as he swung at the earthen wall.
"Wait, no, stop!" Betty's mouth twitched as she shouted to stop him.
After much pleading from Shirley and Betty, Adam reluctantly put away his tools and followed them into the common room, casting longing glances at the dirt.
Betty wiped the sweat from her brow, realizing this seemingly sweet younger student was going to be a handful.
"Adam, you're here!"
Cedric, who'd been slumped over a honey-colored wooden table, looked up. Several other Hufflepuffs, buried in homework, stood to greet him.
Cedric rushed forward, grabbing Adam's hand, ignoring the scattered parchment in front of him.
"That quill! Do you have any more?"
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