Unlike the other houses, where animated portraits often served as sentinels, Ravenclaw's common room entrance was protected by a bronze eagle-shaped door knocker. To gain entry, one had to solve its riddles—clever logic puzzles that tripped up even the house's own students. Whispers in the corridors claimed the knocker was so fiendishly smart that it frequently locked out its charges, turning the doorway into a nightly gauntlet. Far trickier than a simple locking charm or combination, its riddles changed with every visitor, forcing Ravenclaws into a peculiar habit: they carried everything they might need, lest an urgent errand leave them stranded outside.
Erwin stood beneath it, eyeing the gleaming bronze eagle with keen interest. He'd always been curious about enchanted artifacts like this—how did the magic weave the riddles? Did it draw from some ancient well of wisdom, or was it programmed like a self-aware golem?
He reached for the ring to knock, but before his fingers made contact, the eagle's carving stirred to life, its beak parting with a metallic clink.
"When it rains in the forest, where does the rabbit hide?"
Erwin blinked, caught off guard. Hide under a tree? The forest was full of them—which one?
No, that felt too straightforward, a trap to mislead. He smirked faintly. "The rabbit doesn't hide under a tree. It's in its burrow."
"Correct," the knocker intoned, the door swinging open with a soft creak. "Enter."
Just as he'd suspected—a classic misdirection riddle. Erwin's curiosity sharpened. He peered into the dimly lit common room beyond, stars twinkling on the enchanted ceiling, but he didn't step through. Instead, he grinned up at the eagle.
"Door knocker, you pose riddles to every Ravenclaw who passes—ever had one toss a question back at you?"
The eagle tilted its head, wings rustling faintly. "Never. I am steeped in the wisdom of Lady Ravenclaw herself. No student dares risk the embarrassment."
Erwin nodded, feigning thoughtfulness. "Fair enough. I've got a brain-teaser for you—not quite a riddle, more of a puzzle. Fancy a go?"
Boredom was the knocker's eternal companion, and this Slytherin—judging by the serpent crest on his robes—was a rarity. Few outsiders ever solved its puzzles at all, let alone engaged it like this. "Very well. Speak."
Erwin's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Right, then: There's a bar of chocolate and a tomato having a scrap, and the chocolate comes out on top. What's the name of the winner?"
The knocker didn't hesitate. "Child's play. The chocolate bar."
Erwin clapped his hands once, impressed. "Spot on! Not bad at all."
The eagle puffed up, preening. "As I said, mere basics. Nothing baffles me."
Emboldened, Erwin pressed on. "Brilliant. Here's another: The chocolate bar keeps going and bumps into an egg. They fight, and once more, the chocolate wins."
The knocker paused, beak working silently as it pondered. After a beat, it ventured, "A chocolate stick?"
Erwin laughed, genuine surprise lighting his face. "You got it! Sharp as a goblin's quill."
Wings flapping triumphantly, the knocker crowed, "Another? This grows intriguing!"
"As you like," Erwin replied, grin widening. "The egg, sore from the loss, teams up with the tomato. They challenge the chocolate—and get beaten again. Still a fight over food, mind you."
Now the eagle went still, its carved eyes narrowing in concentration. Minutes ticked by in the empty corridor, the silence broken only by the distant hoot of an owl. Finally, it sighed—a hollow, echoing sound. "You have me stumped, young wizard. The answer?"
"A food fight," Erwin said cheerfully.
The knocker's head jerked. "What on earth does that mean?"
"It's a Muggle dish," Erwin explained. "Because when food scraps, it gets tossed."
"That's hardly fair!" the knocker protested. "You slipped in Muggle slang I couldn't know. I demand a rematch!"
Erwin raised an eyebrow. "The chocolate bar and stick were Muggle terms too, and you nailed those. Going back on your word now? Sounds like sour grapes to me."
Silence fell, the eagle's expression almost comically sullen. Slytherins—always twisting words like a serpent's coil.
Erwin chuckled. "Fine, I'm heading in. Remember, you lost fair and square."
As he moved to cross the threshold, the door slammed shut with a resonant thud, the knocker's wings beating furiously.
Erwin jolted back. "Oi, really? Reneging entirely? Not even letting me through?"
"One more riddle," the knocker bargained, voice edged with desperation. "I'll solve it, I swear. Otherwise... no entry."
"Why bother?" Erwin shot back, crossing his arms. "I answered yours properly. You're bound by the rules—Lady Ravenclaw's rules. Uphold them, or what's the point of you?"
"But I must try one more," it pleaded. "Please."
Erwin glanced at the shadowed hallway, the castle's clocks chiming midnight. Exhaustion tugged at him; Charms revisions waited at dawn. "I'm knackered, and I've no time for games. Unless... you sweeten the pot. Something worthwhile."
The knocker considered. "I possess no gold—I'm an artifact, not a vault. But if you best me again, I'll share a secret. One concerning Lady Ravenclaw herself."
Erwin's interest reignited, fatigue forgotten. A secret about one of the four founders? The cleverest witch in wizarding history? That was worth a bit more banter. "Deal. Your move, then."
...
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