It was a Sunday morning in early March.
The rainy season in the Scottish Highlands hadn't let up yet. It wasn't a fierce, fleeting storm, but a gentle drizzle that started at dawn and lingered until dusk. The air was neither cold nor warm. From the top of Hogwarts' Astronomy Tower, the Forbidden Forest and distant mountains looked especially vivid, sometimes cloaked in a light mist, like a scene from an oil painting.
Hermione, clutching a cloth bag, hurried into the library.
The night before, she'd stayed up late. After washing up, Lavender and Parvati had kept her awake with their endless gossip about scandals. Meanwhile, Hermione lay in bed, her mind racing with thoughts of Dobby's wages, Professor Lupin's cryptic remarks, and the use of Transfiguration in dueling. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, and sleep had eluded her.
Over breakfast in the Great Hall, Hermione had mapped out her plans for the coming months. With final exams less than three months away, her revision schedule was packed, and she still had to squeeze in time to practice dueling. The pressure hit her hard.
"Take care of the books!" Madam Pince barked sternly from the library entrance.
Hermione nodded quickly, clutching her bag as she dashed inside, only to pause in front of the bookshelves, momentarily dazed.
It was raining outside, so outdoor activities were limited. The library was busier than usual, and since she'd arrived a bit late, most seats were already taken.
There were a couple of empty spots, but they were next to unfamiliar older students who were chatting and laughing in tight-knit groups. Sitting there uninvited would only make things awkward for everyone.
Hermione scanned the room, books in hand, and moved deeper into the library, searching for a good spot. Hogwarts' library was spacious enough that she wasn't worried about finding a seat—it just meant walking a bit farther.
As she passed the seats near the Restricted Section, her gaze caught something, and she froze. There, at a table, was a young professor casually flipping through a book.
The young witch hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, softening her steps. "May I sit next to you, Professor?"
Melvin looked up, a bit surprised. "Of course."
Hermione set her books on the table, carefully unpacking her textbooks and homework without making a sound. Her eyes flicked to the titles on the professor's table.
Cutting-Edge Dark Magic
Helpo: Vile and Wicked
The Dark Secrets of Magic
Books from the Restricted Section. Was the professor researching dark magic?
Hermione's brow furrowed slightly as she glanced at the other titles.
Hogwarts: The Founders' Legacy
Exploring Helga Hufflepuff
When We Talk About Badgers
Why was the professor reading such a wide range of books?
Hermione's frown deepened as she sank into thought, her curiosity piqued.
Half an hour later, Melvin closed his book and tapped Hermione's head lightly. "If you're revising, focus on that. Why do you keep glancing over here? Your book's been open to the same page on the General Counter-Spell for the last ten minutes. Did Professor Flitwick skip something you don't understand? Or do you have a question? I'm right here—ask away."
"No questions. Professor Flitwick explained it well," Hermione said, rubbing her head. After a moment's hesitation, she ventured, "Are you researching dark magic, Professor? Something to do with Hufflepuff?"
"It's about Harry," Melvin replied.
"Oh."
Hermione wrinkled her nose. That was clearly a brush-off. Did the professor think she was some clueless first-year?
"Focus on your reading and revise properly," Melvin said, waving a hand to send his books back to the shelves. "I'm meeting a friend, so I'll head out now."
"Goodbye, Professor," Hermione said politely, watching as he left the library. At the entrance, a ghost was waiting, and the two left together.
"I thought it was some friend from outside the school, but it's just the Fat Friar from Hufflepuff," Hermione muttered to herself, her expression thoughtful. She recalled the badger-shaped goblet on the professor's shelf, strikingly similar to Hufflepuff's Cup. He'd been reading about Hufflepuff, and now he was meeting with Hufflepuff's house ghost.
Could Helga Hufflepuff have been a dark wizard?
---
### The Basement
Melvin stood in a corner of the kitchen corridor, to the right of the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, chatting with the Fat Friar.
This was the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. The candlelight was dim, and a pile of old, blackened barrels sat in the corner, filled with vinegar that had been fermenting for who-knows-how-long. The sharp, tangy smell seeped into the air.
To research Hufflepuff's Cup, it only made sense to visit the Hufflepuff common room and talk to the house's ghost.
The Fat Friar was unlike the other Hogwarts ghosts. In life, he'd been a healer, later becoming a priest in the Muggle church. He often helped farmers and villagers with their ailments and shared food with the poor.
Unfortunately, he lived during the witch hunts. When people noticed he healed by poking folks with a thin stick and had a habit of conjuring rabbits from chalices, they hanged him.
After death, he returned to Hogwarts as a ghost. Cheerful and lively, he was never bitter, always kind and warm to everyone—even Peeves couldn't ruffle him.
"The Hufflepuff common room doesn't use a password," the Fat Friar explained. "Back in the day, a Hufflepuff prefect played a prank on Helga Hufflepuff. They set up a trick where you have to tap the second barrel in the middle of the second row to the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff' to open the lid and reveal the passage to the common room."
"And if you tap it wrong?" Melvin asked.
"The lid still opens—but it douses you with the vinegar inside."
"That prank's still around after all this time?"
"That's Hufflepuff for you," the Fat Friar said, lifting his chin with a touch of pride.
Melvin tapped the barrel in the correct rhythm, opening the passage to the Hufflepuff common room.
It was a cozy, circular hall with a low ceiling—so low Hagrid wouldn't be able to stand upright. The walls were covered with climbing plants like ivy, and grapevines wound along copper frames up to the ceiling before cascading down. Despite being underground, sunlight streamed through the windows, and outside, you could see swaying grass and dandelions.
"This sunlight?" Melvin asked, glancing at the Fat Friar.
The ghost grinned. "The magical ceiling was crafted by Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw together."
Melvin sank into a soft yellow-and-black sofa, noticing the underfloor heating. "No wonder this is the coziest common room in all the houses," he remarked.
"No one ever regrets joining Hufflepuff," the Fat Friar replied.
For the next two hours, the Fat Friar proudly shared everything about Hufflepuff, from the copper foot-warmers in the dorms to the fruit trees in the courtyard, from the house's values to its notable alumni. His smile radiated pride the entire time.
Hufflepuff had produced more Ministers of Magic than any other house. Most founders of wizarding communities were Hufflepuffs, as were nearly all the directors of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and its renowned healers.
Melvin gained a deeper appreciation for the house symbolized by the badger.
During the conversation, students returning to the dorm greeted Melvin warmly, recognizing him. Faces like Hannah, Rolf, Justin, Ernie, and Susan popped up, some even offering to drag him outside to pick unripe peaches from the courtyard.
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