The night was deep, the moonlight glowing softly.
Hogwarts had strict rules: students weren't allowed to leave their common rooms after lights-out, nor could they wander the corridors, classrooms, or other areas. Breaking these rules meant severe consequences, and Filch, the caretaker, patrolled the castle's floors every night.
Aside from a few redheaded students who saw sneaking out as a thrilling way to challenge Filch's authority, the castle usually grew quiet soon after lights-out.
The stillness of the ancient castle was a wellspring of inspiration.
Melvin sat behind his office desk, eyes closed, head tilted back, sifting through distant memories buried deep in his soul, searching for ideas about an escape room.
The space should be dimly lit, just bright enough to spot nearby clues but shadowy enough to keep the corners mysterious, creating a constant sense of tension.
The enclosed area should block out stray noises, letting them hear their own heartbeats and breathing, amplifying the pressure. That way, they'd notice anything out of place—like an extra breath, an unfamiliar heartbeat, or even another Harry's voice.
It'd be best to split them up. Being separated from the group would spark panic, and when they reunited, they'd start doubting their companions, wondering if someone had been replaced, planting seeds of fear…
Melvin clicked his ballpoint pen, frowning suddenly. He glanced toward the door as hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor outside, growing louder before fading into the distance.
"Hm?"
Melvin closed his notebook, stood, and pushed open the wooden office door.
He'd definitely heard those footsteps heading toward the staircase, but there was no one in that direction. Instead, in the opposite direction, he spotted two familiar faces. Melvin called out in surprise:
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr. Filch?"
In the open space by the corridor's window, Dumbledore stood in deep blue velvet pajamas, embroidered with silver stars and moons, his half-moon spectacles catching the light. His smile was gentle, devoid of the legendary wizard's gravitas—more like an old man out for a late-night stroll because he couldn't sleep.
Argus Filch, the caretaker, stood opposite, holding a dimly lit oil lamp. His hunched frame was gaunt yet sported a double chin, loose skin twitching slightly. His brows were furrowed, his pale face eerie in the moonlight, and his bulging light eyes were a bit unsettling.
"Headmaster, I'm certain some students are breaking the rules, sneaking around the castle at night. Peeves said so too—first-years wandering about in the dead of night. I've got to catch them!" Filch's voice was harsh, his expression almost feral.
Dumbledore's tone was slow, unruffled. "Please, Mr. Filch, stay calm. This might just be one of Peeves' pranks. Don't fall for his tricks."
"Even if it's a prank, I should check!" Filch snapped, too impatient to wait for Dumbledore to finish. "Headmaster, they're getting away!"
"If you insist…" Dumbledore stepped aside.
Filch stormed toward the staircase, followed by his cat, Mrs. Norris, who gave Melvin a slight nod as she passed, as if saying hello.
Melvin blinked, amused.
Once Filch's figure disappeared, Melvin strolled over to the headmaster. "Good evening, Headmaster."
"Good evening."
"Those students sneaking around—it's Potter, isn't it?"
"Hmm…" Dumbledore paused, as if genuinely considering the possibility. "It's possible. Or it could be Peeves playing a trick on Filch. They've never gotten along."
"They've already slipped into the fourth-floor corridor, haven't they?"
"You mean the students sneaking about?" Dumbledore mused, still playing coy. "If they were being chased and got flustered, they might've stumbled into that corridor."
"They've already entered the room and met Fluffy, haven't they?"
"…"
Dumbledore adjusted the glasses on his nose, realizing he couldn't let Melvin keep probing. "Perhaps it's all just Peeves toying with Filch. I'm not entirely sure what's going on. I'm just an old man with insomnia, out for a walk to admire tonight's moon."
"Hah!"
Melvin chuckled. "I worked in a theater for half a year and saw plenty of professional actors. Your performance, Headmaster, is a tad unpolished."
"Is it? Professor Kettleburn said the same thing…"
Dumbledore's smile grew warmer, seamlessly shifting the topic. "He used to be the advisor for the school's drama club and roped me into helping with productions. We once put on Beedle the Bard's classic The Fountain of Fair Fortune…"
"Those were the days," he continued, eyes twinkling with nostalgia. "I was still a Transfiguration professor back then, vying for the role of the unlucky knight. But my acting was outdone by a fourth-year, so I ended up handling stage effects instead."
Melvin raised an eyebrow. "So we're peers, then?"
"Indeed."
Dumbledore grinned widely, his demeanor carefree. "Melvin, if I may call you that, Professor Marchbanks once said you remind her of me in my younger days. But I must say, you're far more impressive than I was. Your presence has brought a fresh spark to the castle."
"And here I thought you'd say I'm handsomer than you were."
"Oh, I was quite the dashing figure back then."
"I'm skeptical."
"Your lessons aren't just about teaching knowledge—they're about guiding students through life's lessons."
Dumbledore stroked his beard, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "I passed by the courtyard today and overheard your talk with the Weasley twins. It was brilliant, especially your insights on the boundaries of pranks. None of us professors had ever thought to approach it that way…"
His blue eyes shimmered with memories. "The Weasley twins have caused their fair share of chaos. Sometimes their pranks go too far. Gryffindors who know them might laugh it off, but students from other houses in their year often find it tiresome, and it's even sparked conflicts."
"Molly—their mother, Mrs. Weasley—has sent several Howlers about it. She's even written me a few letters filled with complaints."
Melvin knew Dumbledore was steering the conversation away, but seeing as they were once peers in a sense, he let the acting critique slide. "Their goal is to bring laughter to a dull life. Even without me, they'd figure out the balance eventually and discover the true art of a good prank."
"Not as smoothly as they will now. Without you, it might've taken them until after graduation—or a few hard lessons."
Dumbledore shifted gears. "Speaking of earlier today, you were asking them about prank props. That's for setting up protections for the Philosopher's Stone, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"I happen to know a place where old props are stored. You might find what you're looking for there."