Harry and the others stepped through the only entrance into the venue. The opening snapped shut behind them. Darkness and a bone-chilling cold washed over them. The ground was uneven, every little scuff and footstep echoing down the passage and feeding the creeping dread that settled in their chests.
Up ahead, a faint glow drew them forward. Bastian stuck close behind Hermione. When they reached it, they found themselves staring at a grotesque, shadowy creature.
"Hinkypunk!" Harry breathed.
"And… Boggarts," Sirius added under his breath.
...
The haunted house had just welcomed its first visitors, but the top floor was a bright, spotless café. Melvin and Christine sat by the window, the rich aroma of coffee rising from their bone-china cups.
The place had that elegant European feel—Victorian tree-pattern wallpaper, solid wood tables and bar, chairs and sofas stamped with the Terror Tour and Mirror Club logos. Nothing about it felt spooky.
Melvin had swapped his Muggle coat for the park's opening-day uniform: a dark-green wide-sleeved robe trimmed in silver snake patterns, the club emblem glowing faintly on his chest and hat brim.
Terror Tours had commissioned the outfits from Twilfitt and Tatting's. In the dark they gave off a soft phosphorescence—elegant, a little sinister, like something a vampire count would wear in an old adventure story.
Christine had been curious about this haunted house from the moment they walked in. As a Rosier witch and active member of the pure-blood faction, she'd seen every kind of business venture—including the magical theme park in Paris. She could tell right away this place wasn't built to turn a profit. At least, not the kind Melvin cared about.
"Tickets only for wizards?" she asked. The location was way out in the sticks—the Ministry had chosen it specifically to keep Muggles away.
"That's the plan for now."
Melvin dropped a sugar cube into his cup and stirred slowly. "Originally we wanted to build it in Hogsmeade, using the Shrieking Shack as the base. But that spot's… special, and way too close to the school."
Christine nodded, thinking it over. "You're the Muggle Studies expert. You created a haunted house that doesn't let Muggles in. Doesn't that cut your customer base in half?"
"This venue isn't here to serve customers and rake in Galleons."
"Then what's it for?"
"Think of it as a ranch. The whole point is to grow enough feed."
"A ranch… feed?" Christine blinked.
Melvin met her curious gaze, took a sip of coffee, and smiled. "It's a mix of Muggle haunted-house tricks and wizard-style terror. We've stocked it with plenty of creatures that aren't deadly but can still scare the pants off you—Hinkypunks, Boggarts, Sphinxes. Even if we ran it like a regular zoo, it'd make decent money."
He paused. "I handed day-to-day operations over to Terror Tours. They keep all the profit except what goes back into maintenance. The Club takes nothing."
"Completely different from the Paris magical park—no Muggle tickets, no profit motive… all because of this 'ranch' you mentioned."
Christine chose her words carefully. "So your real goal from the start was… the feed?"
Melvin gave a small nod, not hiding anything. "The walls are double-thick with hidden service corridors. One reason is to let staff move around easily. The other is to give the Dementors a place to live. Their main food is the happiness and fear the guests bring in…"
"Just like the Azkaban ranch?"
"Sounds like you read that paper of mine."
"Anything with your name on it—papers, news—I read it."
Christine didn't bother pretending. She studied the café walls; they really were thickened, the whole structure altered from its old Quidditch-stadium days.
"Why go to all this trouble to keep Dementors fed?"
"It ties into my research. Magical theory stuff."
"The secrets of the soul you mentioned before?" Christine looked into those dark eyes.
Melvin nodded. "For centuries, plenty of brilliant witches and wizards have noticed the same pattern: teenage wizards with unstable emotions grow their magic faster than adults. And grown wizards who suffer a major life shock sometimes have sudden magic awakenings."
"Ever since Hogwarts was founded a thousand years ago, Salazar Slytherin had already started studying where magic comes from. He touched on the link between emotion and the soul. Even though he left Hogwarts in his later years over the founders' disagreements and vanished without leaving notes or papers, every relic he left behind carries traces of emotion and soul magic."
"His snakewood wand ended up with a blood relative who took it to Mount Greylock. It took root and grew into Ilvermorny's snake tree. That tree's magic awakened a long-lived Horned Serpent, and the serpent passed the gift on to me—letting me tap into that strange realm where I can turn certain emotions into magic."
"Not long ago I found Slytherin's locket. It lets wizards literally see and feel emotions…"
He spoke more slowly, driving the point home. "The soul is the source of a wizard's magic—or maybe the treasure vault. Emotion is the key that opens it."
"That key doesn't have one fixed shape. Most wizards can't find the right way to turn it on their own. But some magical creatures are born knowing exactly how."
Melvin glanced up at the café ceiling. Crystal lamps hung there, each one decorated with carvings of different magical beasts.
Christine followed his gaze and caught on. "Like Dementors and Boggarts."
For the next half hour the two professors talked shop—how your own emotions affect your soul, how other people's emotions can be turned into magic. It sounded more like a teacher giving a private lecture than two equals chatting. Christine listened, completely absorbed in a line of magical research that stretched back a thousand years.
When the morning mist finally burned off the forest outside, the brass wind chime by the window tinkled.
Melvin drained the last of his coffee and smiled. "Looks like the first group of visitors just reached the exit. Come on. Let's go hand out their clearance gifts and congratulate them on beating their fear."
...
Harry, Sirius, and the Granger sisters stood in front of the door marked "Safe Exit." They hesitated for a long time, none of them quite brave enough to step through.
Their clothes told the story of the night. The kids' pant legs were muddy. Harry had grass stains on one knee and a perfect boot print on his backside—Bastian had stepped on him when they were all scrambling to get away. Hermione and Bastian's matching light-blue summer outfits with pink accents were now streaked with mud and hanging crooked. Cold sweat had soaked their hair; strands stuck to their faces. Bastian still looked a little shell-shocked.
"No wonder they built this thing way out here…" Sirius muttered, eyes wide like he'd seen a ghost.
Which, to be fair, they had.
After Hermione's little lecture about the entrance corridor, the four of them had felt an unnatural atmosphere settle over them, like they'd stepped into a forgotten world. Harry sensed the chill of Dementors and broke out in goosebumps.
There were no clear signs, so they followed the faint glow deeper into the venue. That's when they ran into the Hinkypunk trap.
Before they knew it they were waist-deep in a swamp. Crocodiles lurked under the mud, jaws wide. They didn't even have time to draw their wands. The creatures clamped onto arms and waists and started death-rolling, dragging them through the muck. Everyone was screaming. Sirius was the first to snap out of it. He fought free, pulled the rest of them out, and they ran—slipping, stumbling, covered in mud.
Only later, once they'd calmed down, did they realize the crocodiles were enchanted props. The bites hurt but never broke skin. The death-rolls were just the ride's way of yanking you out of the swamp.
Every section after that followed the same twisted logic.
The venue was a maze of changing terrain. Every time they spotted what looked like a helpful sign and relaxed, some dark creature or black-magic trap would spring from nowhere.
In the quiet woods they heard the eerie, trembling call of a Boggart that matched the frantic beat of their own hearts. Around corners, a banshee would suddenly lunge out screaming. Hermione had warned them it was a classic jump-scare, but seeing that pale, white-haired figure up close still made their blood run cold.
Gaps between rocks and bushes were crawling with Doxies and Red Caps—those sharp-faced little monsters cackling in swarms that made your skin crawl.
The whole place had this heavy, oppressive feel. Walk a straight path too long and you'd start imagining something following you. Look back and you'd only see your own shadow.
Hermione explained in a shaky voice that it was a Big-Headed Bone Burier hiding in the ground, the kind that could slip into your shadow.
They finally figured out they had to stick together. That only made things worse…
Harry still shuddered at the memory. "Whoever came up with hiding Portkeys under flagstones and in treetops—touch one and you get yanked somewhere else, alone for half the course—that person is evil."
Especially since Harry still hadn't found his lost wand. The whole night had been rough on an underage wizard.
"Should we go through that safe exit?" Sirius asked quietly. He'd thought Grimmauld Place and Azkaban were as creepy as magic got. This place had proved him wrong.
"No other way out," Hermione said, gripping Bastian's hand tight.
"Bastian doesn't sense any traps ahead…" the little girl whispered. She sounded the calmest of all. Her Obscurial senses were sharper than ever; she could feel things the others couldn't, and even when a Portkey had whisked her away she'd found her way back to Hermione in seconds.
Harry and Hermione shared a look, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the opening.
Bright daylight poured in. Open sky, green trees. The four of them stood there, still a little dazed. Harry glanced around, half-expecting another trick, then finally let out a shaky breath.
"Congratulations… you're the first group to finish the haunted house," a warm, familiar voice said from the side.
Melvin and Christine walked up together. Hermione pressed her lips together; right now neither professor's smile looked quite as friendly as usual. There was definitely a glint of mischief behind it.
Melvin pulled out the holly-and-phoenix-feather wand and waved it in front of Harry. "Terror Tours didn't plan any prizes, so we'll let you keep this as a souvenir."
"Professor Levent! Where did you find it?"
Harry's eyes lit up with pure joy.
...
Late that night, the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry leaned on the windowsill of his second-floor room, staring out at the quiet street. Diagon Alley was peaceful under the streetlamps. London hummed faintly beyond Charing Cross Road—occasional car horns, the low murmur of the city.
Wizards hurried past below. The pub lights glowed warm.
After everything they'd been through in that haunted house, none of them wanted to go back to the gloomy Black family mansion. School was only days away and they still had to buy supplies, so they'd decided to stay at the Cauldron.
Sirius was downstairs watching the Quidditch World Cup replay and grabbing a couple of drinks. He'd told Harry to get some rest—no underage wizard allowed at the bar.
Harry found the protective dad routine both annoying and comforting.
His thoughts drifted. He could hear the muffled noise from the pub, the occasional car on the street outside, and the scattered footsteps along Diagon Alley. Through half-closed eyes he thought he caught a familiar figure walking past.
A young wizard.
Harry's eyes snapped open. "Professor Levent?"
They'd run into him earlier that day at the Dartmoor stadium when Levent returned Harry's wand. Hermione had introduced them to Professor Rosier from Beauxbatons, and after catching up on last summer's Paris trip the two professors had left together.
School was starting soon, so Professor Rosier had to head back to the Pyrenees.
Professor Levent was staying in London for a few days. He'd complained the Cauldron wasn't his style and taken a room at a Muggle hotel. So why was he here in the middle of the night?
The streetlamp was too dim to show his face clearly. Half of it stayed in shadow. He wore a cloak-style robe. His steps looked slow, but he covered ground fast. In a blink he was past the pub and heading down a narrow alley.
The alley that led straight into Knockturn Alley.