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The next afternoon, under a bright Sunday sun, the Hogwarts grounds basked in warmth and silence. It was a peaceful day—apart from a few diligent young wizards still buried in the library, most students had chosen to rest and enjoy the rare lull in academic intensity.
Archer carried a suitcase as he made his way to the meadow near the Black Lake. The grass shimmered in the sun, dotted with dew and the occasional lazy insect hovering above. After surveying the area, he found a flat patch of ground and opened the suitcase.
With a firm shake, he tipped its contents out.
One by one, round, lively vegetables tumbled out onto the grass, each one fresh and vibrantly green. They were Biting Cabbages—dozens of them—recently harvested from the plantation.
The moment they touched the earth, they began to twitch and writhe restlessly, some rolling on their own like living marbles, others revealing rows of sharp teeth hidden beneath leafy layers. Several of them even gnawed the soil, leaving behind tooth marks like some rabid rodent infestation.
"All right, fellas, line up," Archer commanded, blowing a sharp whistle.
The cabbages immediately froze. In the next second, they rolled back and formed a tidy line in front of him, as if responding to a military drill.
This was the special defense he had designed to guard the Philosopher's Stone—a formation of seven highly-trained Biting Cabbages.
Although these were ordinary compared to the unique cabbage Plant Poison was nurturing—one imbued with rare mutative abilities—they were still powerful enough to pose a threat. Archer believed that, if left unchecked, these cabbages could probably bite through the hide of an adult mountain troll.
To maintain order, Archer had crafted a magical whistle. Infused with his magical essence, the whistle responded to his thoughts, allowing him to issue basic commands to the cabbages through intent alone.
"Time to test you all," he said.
From his pocket, he produced a fist-sized mannequin. With a flick of his wand, the dummy expanded to human height, its expressionless face staring straight ahead.
Archer didn't hesitate. He blew the whistle.
Instantly, the Biting Cabbages sprang into action. Their rounded forms spun toward the mannequin with startling speed, their leafy bodies rolling with purpose. They reached the target in seconds.
"Crunch! Crunch!"
Sharp teeth tore into the mannequin's limbs, torso, and head, filling the air with a spine-tingling chewing noise. The poor dummy didn't last long—within moments, it had been shredded into bits. Limbs were scattered across the grass, stuffing spilled like snow.
Archer nodded with satisfaction. These training mannequins were magically reinforced, and damaging them required significant force.
He blew the whistle again.
Obediently, the cabbages stopped chewing, regrouped, and lined up neatly.
"Well done, team."
Just then, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. Archer turned to see Professor Flitwick approaching from across the field.
"Archer," Flitwick said, waving. "What happened here?"
"Just training the little guys," Archer replied, pointing toward the Biting Cabbages.
Flitwick squinted at them and raised his eyebrows. "I heard your whistle and thought something serious had happened. But they look... quite healthy."
He stepped closer and, with amusement, reached toward one of the cabbages.
In response, the cabbage lunged, trying to clamp down on Flitwick's finger.
Reacting swiftly, the Charms Master twisted his wrist and launched a spell without drawing his wand. A beam of magic lifted the biting cabbage into the air, where it snapped at the air angrily.
"Whew, that was close. I almost lost a finger," Flitwick said with a chuckle. "You've trained them to be fierce!"
Archer grinned. "Impressive wandless casting, Professor."
Flitwick waved it off. "Just a party trick."
Archer raised his wand and guided the airborne cabbage gently back to its place. Then, he gave another command.
"Go back."
With that, the cabbages began rolling again, bouncing neatly into the suitcase one by one.
"You've done excellent work," Flitwick said approvingly.
Archer nodded modestly. These cabbages had been exposed to his unique magic for weeks. They were no longer mere plants—they were loyal, battle-ready soldiers.
He sealed the suitcase and slung it over his shoulder. "Where were you heading, Professor?"
"I was on my way to the Three Broomsticks," Flitwick said, stroking his beard. "Thought I'd relax with a drink. Care to join me?"
"With great pleasure."
With no other plans, Archer accepted.
As they walked, Flitwick chattered amiably about his weekend habits.
"I like to go there on quiet afternoons like this. Good drinks, good music. When I'm not grading essays, of course. You wouldn't believe how many students turn in homework that looks like it was written in the dark!"
Though Flitwick's legs were short, his pace was quick, even outstripping Archer's at times. His gait was precise and rhythmic.
Archer surmised that Flitwick had trained his movement specifically—after all, a dueling master needed swift and steady footwork.
Before long, the pair arrived at the Three Broomsticks. The warmth inside welcomed them as the aroma of butterbeer and roasted nuts filled the air.
Flitwick expertly ordered a "Sherry Fruit Juice Soda with Ice and Umbrella Snail" and led Archer to a quiet corner.
Like Archer, he preferred the edge of the room where the view was open, and one could observe without being observed.
"Seems everyone's busy today. Couldn't find anyone else to join me," Flitwick said, taking a sip of his whimsical drink. "Glad I ran into you."
Archer nodded, then mentioned the events of the previous night. "I imagine most Professors are still preoccupied with the Headmaster's assignments."
Flitwick chuckled slyly and leaned closer. "Ah, yes. You know, I spent all night enchanting the key room. Now, there's only one correct key that opens the door, and it's hidden among dozens of enchanted ones. They fly—darting and dodging in midair. Should make for quite a challenge."
Archer smirked. That meant Flitwick had finished his part of the protective enchantments. The trap sequence was nearly complete.
Somewhere else in the castle, Plant Poison was surely still modifying her mutated vines, while Godric was probably testing his runic arrays in the dungeons.
Their efforts weren't just for show—each trap around the Philosopher's Stone was layered with intense magic and purpose. Archer knew Dumbledore wouldn't trust just anyone with such a task. Only those he deemed truly capable.
He looked around the bar, seeing students, villagers, and professors alike chatting, sipping, laughing. It was easy to forget the dangerous magic brewing in secret beneath the school.
But Archer never forgot.
For now, though, he leaned back and lifted his mug. Today was a rare moment of calm.
"Cheers, Professor."
"Cheers, Archer."
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