Tom blinked, stunned for a moment, then looked around.
He was in an empty corridor, dominated by a painting of a "large bowl filled with fruit." Beyond that, there were only a pile of enormous wooden barrels stacked somewhat haphazardly.
If the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room was hidden behind a painting like Gryffindor's, then why had Dumbledore brought him here?
(So… where exactly is the Hufflepuff common room?) Tom wondered.
He shifted his gaze between the barrel stack and the distant painting, his expression one of confusion.
"It's right here. Follow me," Dumbledore said calmly, leading Tom to the bottom of the barrel pile and pointing at one in the middle of the second row.
"See this one? The second barrel in the middle of the second row," Dumbledore instructed.
Tom nodded, and the headmaster continued: "You just need to tap the bottom of this barrel to the rhythm of Helga Hufflepuff, like this."
Dumbledore tapped the barrel a few times with his wand, and, as if by magic, the lid rotated open, revealing a passageway leading to the Hufflepuff common room.
Tom frowned. (Wait, the rhythm of Helga Hufflepuff? I didn't hear any rhythm at all!)
To Tom, it seemed Dumbledore had simply tapped a few times and the lid had opened. Where was the rhythm? He couldn't detect any connection between the taps and Helga Hufflepuff's name.
Perhaps, he thought, his own high musical literacy was part of the problem. What sounded simple to a wizard "tone-deaf" like Dumbledore could be entirely different to a musically trained ear.
But Dumbledore didn't explain further. Years of experience had shown him that Hufflepuff students seemed to be naturally attuned to the barrel-tapping pattern—much like Ravenclaw students could always answer the questions of the eagle-shaped bronze door knocker.
"You must remember this tapping pattern. Hufflepuff is the only house in Hogwarts that has an anti-intruder mechanism. Tap the wrong barrel, or get the rhythm wrong…" Dumbledore picked up his wand and tapped randomly on a neighboring barrel.
"Bang!"
The lid exploded open, and a stream of black liquid gushed toward them. Dumbledore waved his wand, halting it midair and collecting it carefully.
He dipped a finger into the liquid and tasted it, his brow furrowing.
"Mmm… vinegar flavored like canned herring. My luck isn't great today."
Still, he collected the vinegar and winked at Tom.
"See? If you tap it wrong, you'll be drenched in vinegar. Students once tried tapping the wrong rhythm deliberately, hoping to collect it for resale."
Dumbledore chuckled. "But the Principal at the time adjusted the magic. Since then, the vinegar here has been like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans—full of bizarre flavors."
"I remember one time," he said nostalgically, "I tapped wrong, and it tasted like cockroach clusters. Funny thing, I actually added a bit of sweet vinegar to my tea once—it was surprisingly good. If you ever get your hands on some sweet vinegar, share it with me."
Tom kept his thoughts to himself, silently observing the "Old Bee" and his strange, sweet-tooth quirks. He was relieved that Dumbledore wouldn't probe his mind.
Noticing Tom's curious gaze, Dumbledore gestured toward a particularly unique painting.
"And there, behind that painting, is the kitchen you've been dreaming of!"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "The House-elves here take special care of Hufflepuff students. No matter when, you'll always find food prepared for you in the kitchen. Of course, this only extends to food—but having a late-night snack whenever you're hungry is quite a privilege!"
Tom's stomach growled in agreement. A week had passed since Hogwarts started, and he had spent much of it confined to a hospital bed. Despite Madam Pomfrey's nutrient solutions, hunger felt real—and right now, the kitchen was tantalizingly close.
(I want to rush in and feast immediately!) Tom thought, unable to resist.
Dumbledore chuckled at his pupil's reaction. "It seems our little Cat needs nutrition more than a dormitory visit right now."
With a knowing smile, he approached the painting and tickled a large green pear. The pear giggled, squirmed, and transformed into a green doorknob. A door materialized behind it.
Pushing it open, Dumbledore revealed a kitchen the size of the Great Hall. Tom's eyes widened at the sight. Busy House-elves scurried about, preparing meals, while a few small badgers sneaked late-night snacks.
As soon as the badgers noticed Dumbledore, they quickly retreated to their dormitories under the House-elves' guidance. Dumbledore, however, had no intention of punishing them and let them go.
"Mr. Wizard! And a Hufflepuff freshman! Welcome to the Hogwarts kitchen. Is there anything we can do for you?" a House-elf asked.
(No need to trouble yourselves—I can manage.) Tom thought, ignoring their offer. His attention was entirely captured by the bounty before him.
He dashed forward, left hand grabbing a jug of milk, right hand snatching a ham, gulping down both with fervor.
"You just go prepare tomorrow's breakfast, that's an order," Dumbledore instructed the House-elves, gently dismissing them. "And bring me some Lemon Sherbet while you're at it."
Watching Tom devour his meal, Dumbledore felt a twinge of hunger himself.
For Tom, the moment was pure bliss. The week of enforced rest, the hunger, and the strange routines of Hogwarts melted away as he indulged in the kitchen's offerings.
The warm light, the clatter of utensils, and the smell of freshly baked bread wrapped around him like a comforting cloak. It was more than food—it was freedom, a taste of life at Hogwarts, and a hint of the adventures yet to come.
As he finished his first round of food, Tom's mind buzzed with excitement. The Hufflepuff common room awaited, the lessons of Hogwarts lay ahead, and somewhere, hidden in these ancient halls, the rhythm of Helga Hufflepuff beckoned him.
But for now, the kitchen had won his heart.
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