BFH# Chapter 41: Even Voldemort Would Take Half a Day to Get Through!

Dumbledore fell silent, deep in thought.

He took a step back, carefully avoiding the grains that spilled and gathered at his feet.

The room was originally designed by Professor Flitwick, lit by magical candles burning in every corner, casting their glow across the space. Overhead, the faint rustling of wings came from countless tiny, flying keys, glittering like gems as they darted about under the vaulted ceiling. These animated keys vividly showcased Flitwick's exceptional skill in charms.

—But compared to Viktor's 9,999 cursed grains, Flitwick's arrangement seemed like child's play.

“...I wasn’t aware that you had such advanced expertise in curses, Professor Viktor,” Dumbledore remarked after a moment’s silence. “The spell you mentioned earlier for aging—is it an Aging Charm?”

“No, it’s a different common curse from my homeland. With the right potion, it’s reversible,” Viktor explained.

“The curse hasn’t activated yet, Headmaster. You don’t need to stand so far back. It only takes effect when the clock strikes midnight.”

“I see... Quite ingenious...”

Dumbledore observed the grains thoughtfully for a while before asking with interest, “You mentioned this was just the first step? Are there more to follow?”

Viktor nodded, moving to the bag that continued to spew grains. Reaching inside with a slight effort, he pulled out an enormous, gold-framed oil painting.

The painting depicted an ugly goblin with a wrinkled face, its features scrunched together around a long, pointed nose. Its beetle-like eyes gleamed maliciously as it tugged at its hair in a rage, stomping its feet against what appeared to be the wooden floor of a tavern.

“This painting is called Rumpelstiltskin's Failure,” Viktor explained casually as he mounted it on the door leading to the next room. “It was a gift from a bard who thought it amusing to depict a foolish goblin.”

“Ah, old age makes one curious about everything. Why is this goblin foolish?”

“He helped a farmer’s daughter spin straw into gold, enabling her to become queen. In return, he demanded her firstborn child. But when the queen gave birth, she refused to honor the deal, so he gave her a second chance.”

Viktor paused, but Dumbledore immediately understood. Granting a second chance in a deal like that wasn’t exactly wise.

The mention of “child” in the story made Dumbledore frown slightly, sensing the underlying cruelty of the tale.

“The second chance involved guessing his name. He believed it was unique and unguessable. Yet, in a drunken revelry, he boasted about it in a tavern, where someone overheard and told the queen. Thus, he foolishly labored in vain. In his fury, he tore himself in half.”

As Viktor spoke, he carried the painting to the door, hung it in place, and stepped back.

At that moment, the goblin in the painting sprang to life. Its twisted features contorted with anger as it shrieked, “That’s not true!

“It was the devil who told her! The devil!”

Its eyes, however, glared directly at Viktor.

In a fit of rage, the goblin stomped its foot, driving it into the tavern’s floorboards. It let out another angry cry as it tried to yank its foot free. Dumbledore watched as gray smoke began to rise from the goblin’s body in the painting, as though it might split in two.

“If you move another inch, I’ll ensure you never move again,” Viktor said calmly.

The goblin’s shrieking ceased abruptly.

It froze, staring at Viktor with a mix of fear and resignation. After a long pause, it withdrew its foot and stood upright, its composure seemingly restored.

Once it stood still, the tavern’s floor in the painting repaired itself, the wood regrowing seamlessly, as though nothing had happened.

The goblin straightened and asked respectfully, “My apologies. What do you require of me?”

Viktor’s tone was icy. “Guard this room. Do not let anyone pass until they present a grain from the pile. Even then, challenge them with riddles. Only those who solve fifty-six riddles in a row may proceed. If anyone attempts to force their way through, provoke them into attacking you. The enchantments on the frame will activate automatically.”

“Pardon me,” Dumbledore interjected with a polite smile. “What exactly do the frame’s enchantments entail?”

“They’re protective runes inscribed during the painting’s creation. They retaliate against anyone who casts a spell on it.”

“For reassurance, I should clarify—safe and harmless retaliation?”

“Of course,” Viktor replied, adding pointedly, “just an enhanced Stupefy spell. I read through Wizarding Law thoroughly when I first arrived in England. I’d never do anything against the rules.”

“...That puts my mind at ease.”

Dumbledore rubbed his temples, as though reluctant to ponder why Viktor had immediately read Wizarding Law.

After a moment, he added, “I may need to revisit this room later to adjust the protective spells with the other professors. Fifty-six riddles might be a bit... excessive.”

“I can instruct the painting to allow you through, Headmaster.”

“No,” Dumbledore shook his head. “That could be exploited by someone using Polyjuice Potion. Let’s set a passphrase instead.”

“How about... ‘Open sesame’?”

Viktor’s expression remained impassive as he stared at Dumbledore for a long moment. Finally, he turned to the painting and gave a slight nod.

“Very well.”

“Settled then,” Dumbledore said cheerfully, turning to leave with Viktor.

Before departing, he couldn’t help but remark, “I must say, your protective enchantments might be the most challenging of all the obstacles—so formidable that even Voldemort himself would need half a day to get through.”

“At that point, Voldemort might very well shout, ‘Riddler, get out of Hogwarts!’”