"Argus, these are my old school notes," Lupin said, pulling a stack of notebooks from his desk drawer and handing them over. "They might spark some ideas for you."
He'd originally planned to share them with Harry, but as a professor, owing a student a favor felt off. For now, they'd go to Argus instead. Harry could wait.
"Thank you, Professor Lupin," Argus replied, already flipping through the pages. He'd amassed plenty of notes on his own, but these wouldn't unlock any achievements—pity, as they could've netted him a tidy sum of points.
"You haven't eaten dinner yet, have you?" Lupin asked. The Wolfsbane Potion had steadied him; even the scars on his face were fading. He eyed the empty vial with a pang of regret before his gaze softened into a grin. "Come on, let's grab a proper meal."
He led Argus downstairs, past the Hufflepuff common room, and into a concealed stone corridor. They stopped before a portrait of a fruit bowl.
"It's been over a decade since I last came here," Lupin said, a fond chuckle escaping him. "Watch closely, Argus. Don't blink—this place is brilliant."
He tickled the pear in the painting. It giggled absurdly and morphed into a doorknob. Lupin twisted it, revealing the Hogwarts kitchen.
"After you, Mr. Grindelwald," he said with a theatrical bow.
Argus smiled and stepped inside. As they walked, Lupin explained, "The kitchen's right by the Hufflepuff lounge—that mural's the key. Scratch the pear, and you're in. House-elves run the show; just tell them what you fancy. They rarely say no."
The space mirrored the Great Hall: four long house tables gleamed under warm lights. "They prep the feasts here and magic them up to the hall," Lupin continued. "Prongs, Padfoot, and I used to sneak in all the time. Wonder if the elves still remember me."
They'd barely crossed the threshold when a cluster of house-elves dropped their tasks and turned, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.
Lupin, oblivious to Argus's rapport with them, assumed the attention was his. He exhaled in relief—no awkward snub after his boasts. Nostalgia hit hard; he and his Marauder mates had ruled Hogwarts once. A decade later, the world had shifted, leaving echoes of those wild days.
He nudged Argus. "Order whatever you like. You're a guest of honor." Then, to the elves: "Carry on, everyone. Don't mind me—I won't disrupt your rhythm."
The house-elves ignored him entirely, their focus locked on Argus.
"Mr. Grindelwald, you've finally come to see us!" one squeaked.
"It's been ages since your last visit," another chimed in. "Too busy? No matter—next time, just signal us magically, and we'll deliver straight to your common room."
"Absolutely! We've got new recipes brewing. You must taste them!"
The elves swarmed Argus, chattering like overexcited pixies, ready to whip up a banquet on the spot. Lupin stood frozen, his triumphant reminiscing shattered. He'd hyped this place as his old haunt, only for it to unfold like Argus's personal canteen. No need to even show up—just a mental nudge to a house-elf, and dinner appeared. Even Dumbledore rated that perk; deans like Lupin had to beg for scraps.
Argus greeted the familiar faces with a warm smile, sparking cheers. He realized this was his first kitchen visit since term started—schedules had him crashing straight after classes, too drained to think of food.
"Sorry I've been absent," he said apologetically. "The timetable's been brutal."
"No apologies needed, Mr. Grindelwald!" they insisted. "Studies come first at Hogwarts. Late-night cramming? We'll bring midnight fuel."
One elf beamed. "I've crafted a stargazer's delight—celestial flavors. Care to sample?"
Before long, the elves piled a table high with dishes: roast beef, buttery mashed potatoes, treacle tart, and exotic creations like glowing pumpkin pasties that shimmered like stars. Lupin gaped; his usual visits yielded spartan fare—maybe potatoes and sausage if he was lucky. This spread could feed the staff lounge twice over.
Argus raised a hand. "Lydia, hold off the others—this is more than enough. We'll burst."
Lydia, the lead elf, nodded reluctantly and reined in her kin. The group hovered nearby, eyes wide with anticipation, as Argus and Lupin dug in.
Lupin shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, wolfing down a few bites before setting his fork aside. Argus, accustomed to dining amid Slytherin stares or coordinating with acolytes, took it in stride. He sampled each dish, offering genuine praise that sent the elves into delighted squeals.
Bellies full, they finally departed. Lupin itched to question Argus's fame but swallowed his pride—face lost, mouth shut. He offered to walk Argus back, but they hadn't gone far when a lantern's glow pierced the shadows.
A squat figure hurried toward them, Filch by the look of it. Then, a sharp meow echoed from the darkness.
Meow!
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