Hogwarts Castle was steeped in tranquility on Friday night.
While most students were unwinding in their common rooms or eagerly anticipating the arrival of the weekend, Tamara Riddle walked alone along the fourth-floor corridor toward Professor Flitwick's office.
It was her first time attending the Charms Club.
As she pushed open the heavy oak door, a wave of warmth washed over her.
The room did not resemble a classroom filled with desks and straight-backed chairs. Instead, it felt like a cozy little salon. A bright fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. Small, glowing orbs of various colors drifted lazily through the air like captured stars. Several older students sat around circular tables, engaged in quiet but intense discussions.
Tamara immediately recognized several familiar faces.
Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclaw prefect, a composed fifth-year.
Percy Weasley, the Gryffindor prefect, also a fifth-year, sitting ramrod straight with a book neatly stacked before him.
A handful of seventh-year students were gathered in one corner, practicing non-verbal spells in preparation for their upcoming N.E.W.T.s—the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests.
When Tamara stepped into the room, the low murmur of conversation faltered for several seconds.
Every pair of eyes turned toward her in surprise.
An eleven-year-old first-year stood in the doorway.
"Oh! Come in, Miss Riddle!"
Professor Flitwick, standing atop a precarious stack of books arranged like makeshift stairs, waved at her enthusiastically.
"Everyone, pause for a moment! Let me introduce our club's youngest member ever—Tamara Riddle!"
"A first-year?" Percy Weasley pushed up his glasses, his brow furrowing. "Professor, is this… appropriate? The Charms Club usually discusses advanced theoretical topics."
"Rules are meant to serve people, Mr. Weasley," Professor Flitwick replied cheerfully.
"When you see Miss Riddle's control over the Levitation Charm, you will understand why I made an exception. Come, Tamara, sit here."
Tamara inclined her head politely to the room, calmly ignoring the curious and skeptical gazes directed at her. She took the soft chair beside Professor Flitwick with quiet elegance.
"Tonight, we have a special topic," Professor Flitwick announced, clapping his hands together.
From behind the stack of books, a large brass chest shot into view and landed with a heavy thud before the group. Its lid sprang open automatically.
Inside were hundreds of old, rusted metal keys. Each key bore a pair of delicate silver wings, thin and translucent like a cicada's. They buzzed frantically within the chest, as though desperate to escape.
"Flying keys?" Penelope asked with interest.
"Exactly!" Professor Flitwick beamed. "Professor Dumbledore has entrusted me with a particular task. I must apply Anti-Capture Charms and High-Speed Flight Charms to a collection of keys. Unfortunately, I cannot manage such a quantity alone, so I thought I would enlist the help of our talented club members."
Tamara's gaze sharpened.
Flying keys.
A special task from Dumbledore.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
So this was the third trial protecting the Philosopher's Stone.
The first had been Hagrid's Cerberus, Fluffy, guarding the trapdoor.
The second was Professor Sprout's Devil's Snare—she had overheard Sprout complaining in the greenhouse that the plant feared light but was otherwise terribly troublesome.
And now, the third: Professor Flitwick's enchanted keys.
"Professor, what exactly are we meant to do?" a seventh-year asked.
"It's quite simple!" Professor Flitwick replied brightly.
"Catch them!"
With a flick of his wand, the keys burst from the chest like a swarm of enraged wasps, scattering wildly across the office.
"I must test their agility. Any that are too easily captured will have to be re-enchanted!"
Chaos erupted instantly.
Wands flashed in every direction. Students shouted incantations—"Accio!" "Immobulus!"—as they attempted to seize the darting keys. Yet it proved far from easy.
The keys twisted and veered with uncanny precision, as though anticipating the trajectory of every spell cast at them. They dodged and spiraled with startling intelligence.
Percy Weasley was already perspiring heavily. After several strained attempts, he had managed to capture only two.
Tamara remained seated.
She was in no hurry.
Instead, she observed.
Her eyes traced the keys' flight patterns—their turns, their evasive arcs, the subtle rhythm of their motion.
What an exquisite magical circuit, she thought.
The keys' movements were not random. The Anti-Capture Charms seemed woven seamlessly into their propulsion spells, creating a predictive dodge mechanism that bordered on sentience.
Suddenly, a large silver key whistled past her ear.
Unlike the others, its wings were slightly bent. Its flight was uneven, unstable.
Tamara moved.
She did not reach for advanced spells she had not yet been formally taught. Instead, she raised her holly wand in a familiar, fluid stance.
"Wingardium Leviosa—"
She did not speak the incantation aloud. She merely formed it in her mind.
That was sufficient.
But she was not trying to make the key rise.
Instead, she extended her magic outward, enveloping the air around the key itself. In an instant, she generated a localized reverse drag—an invisible, dense resistance that opposed its forward momentum.
The silver key, which had been flying at remarkable speed, suddenly behaved as though it had slammed into thick, invisible syrup.
Its wings fluttered frantically.
It could not move.
Suspended mid-air, it struggled against the unseen force that bound it.
"Come here," Tamara murmured softly.
With a subtle flick of her wrist, she guided the immobilized key toward her. It floated obediently into her waiting palm.
Snap.
She closed her fingers around it. The fragile wings trembled weakly between her fingers.
"Perfect!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed in astonishment.
"Using the Levitation Charm to generate reverse drag and capture a high-speed object? Merlin's beard! That requires tremendous magical output—and extraordinary precision! Miss Riddle, you have captured the most difficult one of all!"
Tamara examined the key thoughtfully before speaking in an offhand tone.
"Professor, such a sophisticated defensive mechanism… Are these keys meant to guard something important? Perhaps a vault at Gringotts?"
Professor Flitwick, flushed with excitement, lowered his guard without realizing it.
"Oh, no, no, not Gringotts," he said, waving dismissively.
"They are for… well, you see… a certain corridor on the third floor. Professor Dumbledore has asked each of the Deans to contribute a challenge."
Each of the Deans?
Tamara seized upon the phrase immediately.
"Yes," Professor Flitwick continued absentmindedly, directing the keys with casual flicks of his wand.
"Professor McGonagall constructed an enormous wizard chess set. Professor Snape designed a Potion puzzle requiring logical deduction… Oh dear. I believe I have said too much."
He froze.
Slowly, he covered his mouth.
"Forget what I just said, Miss Riddle," he added hastily. "This is confidential."
"Of course, Professor," Tamara replied obediently, her expression perfectly innocent. "I did not hear anything."
She even activated her Harmless skill, enhancing her youthful appearance until she seemed almost impossibly pure and harmless.
Yet behind lowered lashes, a flash of comprehension gleamed.
How fascinating.
"Miss Riddle?" Professor Flitwick asked gently, noticing her distant expression. "Are you quite all right?"
"Yes, Professor."
She returned the silver key to the chest.
"I was merely thinking… With such rigorous protection, whatever lies beyond must be very secure."
Professor Flitwick nodded proudly.
"Indeed! No one could possibly overcome such carefully constructed defenses."
Tamara smiled faintly.
For the remainder of the evening, she refrained from displaying any further brilliance. She sat quietly, occasionally turning the pages of a book, appearing content to observe rather than participate.
But in her mind, the map was already complete.
Cerberus.
Devil's Snare.
Flying keys.
Wizard chess.
Potion logic.
Each challenge layered upon the last.
By the time she left Professor Flitwick's office, the path to the Philosopher's Stone had arranged itself neatly within her thoughts.
The corridor was dim and silent as she walked alone.
Through a narrow window, she glimpsed the night sky—vast, dark, and starless.
Halloween was approaching.
Her lips curved slightly.
What an interesting little game Professor Dumbledore had constructed.
And how unfortunate it would be if someone solved it.
She continued down the corridor, footsteps soft against ancient stone, her small silhouette swallowed gradually by shadow.
The castle remained peaceful.
For now.
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