The air in the underground sanctuary was thick with the scent of dried herbs and ancient magic, a heavy, comforting weight that seemed to settle in Allen's lungs. He and Luna moved through the space with the cautious curiosity of two explorers who had just stumbled upon a lost civilization. Every piece of furniture—the velvet-backed chairs, the sturdy oak tables—felt as though it had been waiting centuries for someone to finally sit down.
Fang, meanwhile, was far less interested in the decor. The massive boarhound was working his way around the perimeter of the room, his wet nose pressed firmly against the baseboards. He was sniffing with such intensity that his entire body vibrated, his tail occasionally thwacking against a nearby cabinet with the force of a hammer.
"It's almost too perfect, isn't it?" Allen muttered, his eyes scanning the shelves of gleaming copper pots. "Everything is clean. Everything is ready for use. But where is the host?"
"The Hufflepuffs live under the ground," Luna said suddenly. Her voice had that distant, melodic quality again, as if she were reading the words off a screen only she could see. "They like the roots of things. They say the Earth knows more secrets than the sky because it has to hold them all up."
Allen froze. His mind, usually a whirlwind of combat spells and defensive strategies, suddenly pivoted.
Hufflepuff. A hidden sanctuary beneath the earth. A door that only opened to the magic of the kitchen—the "culinary heart." The legends of the four founders began to click into place like the gears of a complex lock.
"The Chamber of Secrets was Slytherin's ego made manifest," Allen whispered, his eyes widening. "Ravenclaw left her diadem and her hidden statues. Gryffindor left his sword. But Helga... Helga was the one who cared about the foundation. The sustainer."
"Do you think she grew the mushrooms?" Luna asked, tilting her head.
"Luna, I think we've stumbled into something even the Headmaster might not know about," Allen said, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and adrenaline. "This isn't just a house. It's Helga Hufflepuff's private sanctum. A secret realm hidden right under the nose of the Forbidden Forest."
Luna didn't respond immediately. Her large, silvery-grey eyes were fixed on Allen's face, searching for something. For a second, the intensity of her gaze made him feel exposed, as if she were looking directly at his magical core.
"What?" Allen asked, feeling a bit self-conscious.
"Nothing," she smiled, her expression softening. "I just like it when your brain goes fast. It makes a humming sound in the air. But look—Fang has found a different kind of secret."
Allen turned. Fang had abandoned the walls and was now wedged behind a towering stack of porcelain dishes. The dog's tail was wagging so hard it was a blur, and the sound of frantic scratching echoed through the quiet room.
"Fang! Watch the plates!" Allen called out, rushing forward. Those dishes looked like they belonged in a museum; the last thing he needed was a clumsy boarhound causing a ceramic avalanche.
Fang didn't listen. If anything, he doubled his efforts, his massive paws digging at a specific patch of the floorboards.
"Is it a mouse?" Luna suggested, drifting over to join them. "Or perhaps a family of Gulping Plimpies?"
"Whatever it is, he's determined," Allen said. He gently pushed the stack of dishes aside, creating a path to the corner. He found Fang standing over a section of the floor that looked slightly different from the rest—the wood grain didn't quite match, and there was a faint, recessed brass ring tucked into a groove.
"Hey, Luna! Come look at this," Allen waved her over, his excitement flaring up again. "Fang didn't find a mouse. He found a trapdoor."
"How very clever of him," Luna said, her tone losing its ethereal edge for a moment. Her eyes sparkled with genuine, grounded curiosity.
"Good boy, Fang." Allen reached down and scooped the heavy dog up, hauling him away from the corner. "Let the humans handle the heavy lifting now."
The moment Fang was set down a few feet away, he seemed to completely forget the door existed. He gave his ears a vigorous shake and immediately trotted off to sniff a different corner of the room.
"His attention span is a gift," Allen muttered. "I wish I could move on from things that easily."
Above them, the magical storm continued its simulated assault. The roar of the rain on the enchanted ceiling was deafening, a constant reminder that they were sealed away from the rest of the world. Allen could even swear he heard the whistle of a gale-force wind, though they were dozens of feet below the surface.
He expected the trapdoor to be locked behind another complex riddle. He gripped his wand, preparing a series of unlocking charms, but as a test, he simply hooked his fingers through the brass ring and pulled.
Creeeeeak.
The crooked wooden door groaned but yielded easily. Allen hauled it back, the heavy iron hinges squealing in protest. Below the opening lay a well of absolute, ink-black darkness.
"Wait here," Allen said, his instincts screaming. He unhooked the door panel entirely from its hinges and leaned it against the wall.
"Why do that?" Luna asked.
"Insurance," Allen replied. "I haven't forgotten that feeling of being watched at the entrance. If someone is lurking up there, I don't want them slamming this shut and trapping us in a hole. At least this way, there's no easy way to lock it."
He didn't know if the "Invisible Man" from the System quest was a friend or a foe, but in his experience, invisible people usually had something to hide.
A vine-covered ladder led down into the dark. Allen went first, his boots finding the narrow rungs, followed closely by Luna.
"Lumos!"
Two twin beacons of light ignited, cutting through the gloom. The room below was small and cramped, a stark contrast to the spacious living area above. The air here was cooler, smelling of old wood and something metallic.
"It's quite cozy," Luna remarked, though her voice sounded thinner here, more distant. "It feels like a place where thoughts are kept."
"It's just a storage room, I think," Allen said, holding his wand high. He took a cautious step forward, his eyes straining to make sense of the shapes in the shadows.
Suddenly, a dark figure lurched toward him from the corner.
Allen's heart nearly leaped out of his chest. He stumbled back, his wand snapping up into a defensive position, a curse on the tip of his tongue. But as he jumped back, the shadow jumped back too.
"It's a mirror, Allen!" Luna let out a soft, tinkling laugh that echoed off the cramped walls. "I don't think your reflection wants to fight you."
Allen took a deep breath, willing his heart rate to slow down. He stepped forward again, the light from his wand revealing a massive, rectangular mirror. It stood nearly seven feet tall, framed in heavy, dark brown wood and mounted on a sturdy pedestal.
To his surprise, the glass was perfect. Despite the dust on the floor and the age of the ladder, the mirror's surface was as clear as a mountain lake. It didn't look like it belonged in a dark basement; it looked like it was being polished every single day.
Allen moved closer. The version of himself in the glass moved with him, every detail of his school robes and the tension in his face reflected with startling clarity.
"Revelio!" Allen tapped the frame. "Aparecium! Reveal your secrets."
Nothing happened. The mirror remained a mirror.
"Maybe it's not meant to be a puzzle," Luna said, standing beside him. She reached out, her fingers hovering just an inch from the cold glass. "Maybe it's just for looking. Though, it is a bit lonely down here, isn't it?"
"Who puts a mirror in a pitch-black room?" Allen asked, his brow furrowed. "Unless it's like the Mirror of Erised. Luna, what do you see? Do you see your family? Or maybe some rare creature?"
"I see a girl who needs a hairbrush," Luna replied simply. "And I see you looking very worried. Dumbledore moved the Mirror of Erised to a much safer place anyway."
She traced the edge of the wooden frame. "Perhaps it was just Helga's dressing mirror. Everyone likes to make sure their hat is straight, even powerful witches."
Allen wasn't convinced. His eyes wandered to the top of the frame, where he spotted something unusual. Bolted to the wood was a brass lamp, shaped like a flattened oval. Inside the metal casing, a clear crystal sphere hung suspended, flickering with a faint, internal spark.
"How do you turn this thing on?" Allen muttered, reaching up. "There's no switch."
"There's a chain," Luna pointed out. On the right side of the mirror, a thin, silver-colored chain dangled down, ending in a small pull-weight.
"Good eye," Allen said. He stood on his tiptoes, his fingers brushing the cool metal. He gave it a firm tug.
It didn't budge. It felt as though the chain were welded to the ceiling.
"Is it stuck?" Luna asked. "Maybe it's rusted."
"No," Allen said, frowning. "It feels... weighted. Like it's waiting for something."
"Maybe it doesn't want a hand," Luna mused. "Maybe it wants the light inside the wand. There are no Wrackspurts in this room, which usually means the magic is very focused."
Allen looked at her. He didn't know much about Wrackspurts, but he trusted Luna's intuition when it came to the "feeling" of a room. "You want to try?"
Luna nodded. She stepped forward and pointed her wand at the crystal sphere. Instead of a spark, a long, thin line of silver light flowed from her wand-tip. It didn't just hit the lamp; it seemed to be absorbed by it, flowing up the chain like water through a straw.
For a heartbeat, the room remained dark. Then, the crystal sphere erupted.
A brilliant, blinding white light filled the chamber, reflecting off the mirror and bouncing into every corner. It wasn't the soft, flickering glow of a candle; it was as bright as a summer afternoon.
"Whoa—Luna, you did it!" Allen squinted against the glare. "It's bright as day in here now!"
He turned to grin at her, expecting a triumphant look.
But Luna didn't answer.