Chapter 58. Obstacles
"Is this the mechanism you set up?" Adrian Wesson asked.
"Yes," Professor Flitwick nodded. "It's interesting, isn't it? Imagine it—someone comes in and faces a flock of flying keys, flailing about trying to catch the right one. That scene would be hilarious."
"If it were me, I'd probably prefer to use Alohomora," Wesson took a sip of Butterbeer and reminded him.
"Of course, that's one way," Professor Flitwick chuckled, then said, "So I also plan to place a spell on the door. Unless a very powerful witch or wizard comes along, no one will be able to open it."
Wesson raised an eyebrow, a little puzzled. "You're not planning to set up anything more lethal?"
Professor Flitwick shook his head and explained, "Absolutely not, Wesson. Professor Dumbledore specifically instructed me that the thing will be kept in a room on the fourth floor. And that place is very likely to attract some little mischief-makers to try their luck. We can't let curious students get hurt."
Hearing Professor Flitwick's words, Wesson thought for a moment.
That's true.
In the original plot, it seemed as if every professor's obstacle could be passed by some method, rather than being a complete dead end.
Judging from the final result, those obstacles were tailored entirely for Harry Potter.
"Professor Dumbledore must have made comprehensive preparations to protect that thing," Professor Flitwick drained the last mouthful of his drink and set the empty mug aside. He then explained, "I think what we should do is prevent the students from getting close to it."
"You're right, Professor Flitwick," Wesson nodded in agreement.
It looked like he also needed to train his Chinese Chomping Cabbages properly.
If other students really did break into the cabbages' territory...
At the very least... leave them in one piece, shouldn't we?
...
After chatting with Professor Flitwick for a while,
Wesson found that Professor Flitwick hadn't been exaggerating—he truly was a regular at the Three Broomsticks.
Most patrons who passed by greeted him warmly; evidently, his popularity in Hogsmeade was quite good.
Therefore, Wesson didn't continue discussing how to protect the Philosopher's Stone; after all, it wouldn't be good if outsiders overheard.
Just then, a familiar voice came from the door.
"Little Ade? And Professor Flitwick?"
Kettleburn had barely stepped through the entrance before he spotted the two of them in the corner and strode over at once. "Didn't expect to see you here. Good afternoon, you two."
Wesson was a little surprised; he hadn't expected to run into Professor Kettleburn here.
"Sit down, Professor Kettleburn," Professor Flitwick said with delighted surprise, quickly beckoning Kettleburn to the seat beside him.
"I'm not a professor anymore." Kettleburn waved to Madam Rosmerta at the bar and called, "Rosmerta, a glass of mead!"
After that, he walked over to Wesson and Professor Flitwick's table with a smile and sat down.
Wesson looked at Kettleburn curiously and asked, "Professor, what brings you here?"
Kettleburn laughed heartily, patted his leg, and said, "Didn't I mention it? I've always lived in Hogsmeade. After retiring, I moved here."
Then he looked at Wesson and asked, "Right—how's Torch doing?"
"Same as ever. Lately he's getting bigger and his appetite's growing too," Wesson said casually. "If you don't come take over soon, my little place might not be able to hold him."
Kettleburn smiled at that. "Soon, soon! I've already contacted a former student of mine. He works abroad in the field, specialising in taking in and caring for animals like Torch. Torch will live comfortably there, and I can visit often."
"I don't particularly mind," Wesson shrugged. "I'm not the one feeding him now, anyway."
Professor Flitwick, who hadn't been able to get a word in, finally found his chance. "Who is Torch?"
Kettleburn and Wesson exchanged a glance.
"A cute puppy."
"A big dog."
They spoke at the same time.
Professor Flitwick raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical of their answers, but he didn't press.
At that moment, Wesson seemed to notice something and turned his gaze to Kettleburn.
A fluffy little fellow poked its head out from Kettleburn's robes.
It had bright black eyes and a flat little snout; its nose twitched as if searching for something.
"You brought a Niffler?" Professor Flitwick asked in surprise.
The Niffler moved unbelievably fast.
Before Professor Flitwick had even finished speaking, it shot out of Kettleburn's robes like a streak of lightning and made straight for Wesson's pocket.
Wesson hadn't yet reacted when the Niffler's little paw had already slipped into his pocket and deftly fished out a silver-gleaming pocket watch.
"Hey! You can't have that, little fellow!" Wesson was quick-eyed and quick-handed; he grabbed the chain and took the watch back.
Seeing this, Kettleburn stood up, grabbed the Niffler by the tail, and restrained it in his hands.
"Ah, sorry," he said with an apologetic smile. "This little one's only just come of age and is still rather mischievous."
While Kettleburn was scolding the Niffler, Madam Rosmerta brought over the mead he'd ordered.
After thanking her with a smile, he lifted his glass, glanced towards the bar as if noticing something, then turned back and lowered his voice to say to Wesson, "By the way, Wesson, did Quirrell become the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this term?"
"Yes, Professor. Your news seems a bit out of date," Wesson waved a hand. "Has something happened?"
Kettleburn shook his head, then gestured towards the bar. "Is that Quirrell?"
Wesson and Professor Flitwick both looked over—and sure enough, they saw Professor Quirrell.
He was sitting on a high stool by the bar, cradling a glass of some unknown drink, looking rather nervous.
"Professor Quirrell! Over here!" Professor Flitwick called out a greeting.
Quirrell jerked his head around when he heard his name, a flash of panic in his eyes.
When he saw Professor Flitwick, Kettleburn, and Wesson, he seemed to let out a breath of relief.
He forced a smile, slid hastily off the high stool, and walked over to them.
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