What is the answer to the riddle?
Turning nothing into something... the foundation of all magic...
In the tidy kitchen, Harry frowned in thought for a while before looking up hesitantly and asking, "Wisdom?"
"Not exactly right, but not exactly wrong either," Viktor said. "As I mentioned before, the riddle is actually a trial. It's not just about whether you can guess the answer, but also about your own understanding of magic."
"Think about it again, Harry. Don't rush to give an answer."
"...But how am I supposed to think about it?" Harry asked, bewildered.
He was clearly confused, because solving riddles was not his strong suit—that was something for those puzzle-obsessed Ravenclaws who had to answer a riddle just to enter their common room.
Harry had no interest in such things. Even after racking his brain, he couldn't come up with anything more.
Without giving him a chance to protest, Viktor stuffed a plate of blackened food into one of Harry's hands and a plate of cake into the other before pushing him out of the kitchen.
As he directed Harry toward the living room, Viktor added, "Think about the things you've encountered recently."
Harry abruptly turned back to look at Viktor. Viktor was still wearing his tall top hat, its brim casting a shadow over most of his face. Yet within that shadow, his hollow eyes seemed to hint at an even deeper darkness.
But he merely glanced at Harry indifferently, as if nothing had happened, and continued to push him out of the kitchen.
Then he said, "Go on. The food is ready. The banquet is about to begin."
--
Harry quickly realized that carrying the plates out had been entirely unnecessary. Because as soon as he shakily placed them on the dining table, Viktor strolled out leisurely, hands completely empty. Behind him, five or six plates of food floated through the air, bobbing as if they were swimming.
The dishes gracefully arranged themselves on the table in a circular pattern, even shifting the two plates Harry had brought to the appropriate spots.
Thus began the dinner that none of the students were particularly eager to partake in.
Despite their reluctance, Viktor was having none of it. He simply compelled the food from each plate to pour itself into their bowls.
This included the Flobberworm Soup that Fred and George had personally prepared.
Several students—including Harry—were forced to stare at the floating, lifeless Flobberworms in their soup. The worms had been chopped rather unevenly...
Gulp.
The sound of someone swallowing nervously echoed in the room.
Then, under the expectant gazes of the others, Fred bravely took the first sip of the Flobberworm Soup.
"Hey, it's not bad?"
A few seconds later, Fred actually said that.
Harry could hardly believe him, so he clenched his eyes shut and forced himself to take a sip as well—surprisingly, it was tolerable.
For a moment, all he could taste was a rich, savory flavor with just the right amount of saltiness. The worm bits blended seamlessly into the soup, so much so that he didn't even notice them as he drank.
As the warmth spread through his body, he thought in amazement: It's really not bad!
But just as he had that thought, a sudden wave of sour spiciness surged from his stomach, sending a fiery sensation across his tongue—Harry felt like he could breathe fire!
A second later, Ron actually did.
"Pfft—!"
Ron frantically shook his head, trying to dispel the burning sensation, but the only result was that more blue flames spewed from his mouth.
Harry and George also opened their mouths, and in an instant, the dining table was ablaze with flickering blue fire—thankfully, Viktor's table seemed to be fireproof.
Fred, meanwhile, was grinning wickedly.
...This was just like eating an incredibly sour orange. If you warned others about its sourness in advance, who would be foolish enough to suffer alongside you?
The dinner continued in this treacherous atmosphere.
Oddly enough, as time passed, Harry started to find the meal rather entertaining. The dishes weren't actually terrible; in fact, they each had their own unique effects. Harry watched as Hagrid, after eating a bat wing, became partially transparent, while George, after eating a plate of stewed lamb, suddenly gained a mature and charismatic face.
The only mishap occurred when it was Harry's turn to eat the Ageing Wine-Braised Lamb. The dish seemed to malfunction—two ghostly projections of his face flickered over him, shifting and blurring in and out of focus.
Upon seeing this, Viktor raised an eyebrow.
--
"Alright, clean up."
Late at night, Viktor clapped his hands over the nearly empty dishes, signaling the students to prepare for their return to school.
By this point, a few students were reluctant to leave—after all, where else would they get to eat food that made them breathe fire?
But they had no choice but to return.
Before leaving, a clearly tipsy Hagrid cheerfully grabbed Viktor's arm and slurred, "I... ah... I think yer place would be great for raisin' animals... My little Aragog would love it here..."
"Oh, really?"
Viktor didn't seem to take Hagrid's words seriously, but Harry, standing nearby, silently felt grateful for Viktor's indifference—because Hagrid's little darlings were never anything normal. Even the three-headed dog had been one of them!
With that thought in mind, Harry returned to the castle.
The next morning, something unexpected happened.
That night, when Harry went to bed, all he had wished for was another hearty meal or a fun-filled day. He hadn't expected to receive any presents. Yet when he woke up, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.
"Merry Christmas," mumbled Ron sleepily from his bed.
"Merry Christmas to you too," Harry replied. "Look, I actually got some presents!"
"What, did you think you'd get a cabbage?" Ron joked, though his own pile of gifts was significantly larger than Harry's.
But Harry didn't feel envious. To be honest, he hadn't received any gifts for the past ten years, so even this small pile was enough to make him happy.
Among them, three stood out in particular.
He picked up the first one—a square red package tied with a bow. It wasn't very large, and its shape suggested it contained something long and slender.
When Harry opened it, a peculiar object rolled out.
It was a thin wooden rod, about the length of his forearm, wrapped in a delicate, rather feminine white ribbon. A small white star adorned the tip.
"What is this?"
Harry examined it in confusion before noticing a small note that had slipped out of the package.
The note was signed by Viktor and Baba Yaga.
"Madam Yaga wished for me to give you this wand. Use it quietly, and you will experience a different kind of magic."
"Perhaps it will help you solve the riddle."