The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in San Francisco, and you can visit it for free

Steve Pinetti shares the details of his creation inspired by "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets." Steve Pinetti shares the details of his creation inspired by "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets." Photo: Blair Heagerty / SFGate Buy photo Photo: Blair Heagerty / SFGate Image 1 of / 32 Caption Close The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in San Francisco, and you can visit it for free 1 / 32 Back to Gallery

From his Leavenworth Street doorstep, Steve Pinetti watches the world wander by.

Each day, he encounters hundreds of international visitors as they tromp up the hill toward Fisherman’s Wharf or down to Lombard’s crooked street. He waits for his cue — a knowing double-take from a fan, a shriek of joy from someone’s kid — as they take in the familiar scene: seven iron-wrought snakes slithering over a brass plate on his door, shrouded in ivy.

“Do you know your Harry Potter?” he asks them with a boyish grin.

This happens about three or four times when I visit Pinetti’s home for myself: an elusive icon overshadowed by other tourist attractions in the area, yet no less appreciated. The Chamber of Secrets door has made countless appearances on Instagram in the past year, but when I ask around, no one seems to know who, exactly, was behind the masterpiece.

With a bit of scrounging and admittedly creepy detective work (thanks, Google Maps) I narrowed down the exact location of the unofficial Russian Hill landmark.

On a fittingly misty evening, I finally come face-to-face with the expected door — but next to it is a beast I wasn't prepared for: a nine-foot-tall sculpted dragon with fiery glass eyes fastened over the front door as if to guard it.

I hastily tape a note to the latch of the gate. On it, I introduce myself, state my case, and apologize for the bizarre intrusion, leaving my e-mail address and my pride behind.

As I’m leaving, I look back at the mysterious house. I have a hunch the story won’t work out, that I’ll never hear back from this person. Who communicates via handwritten note anymore? I wonder. I squint my eyes, noticing something entirely new. There, perched on the roof and obscured in shadows, stands a tiny gorilla waving a flag.

A day later, I miraculously get an email back. He invites me to return for a visit and interview — no Parseltongue necessary.

HOW TO (BUILD) YOUR DRAGON

For weeks, Pinetti would go out on a Saturday morning, cup of coffee in hand, and stare at the large iron door, seeking inspiration.

“It was like a canvas staring at me every day,” he said.

Formerly the senior vice president of sales and marketing for Kimpton Hotels and Restaurants for 35 years, he had recently retired from his position and was continuing to pursue the craft of welding and metal art at The Collaboratory in Mesa, Arizona.

Before he left, Pinetti’s coworkers presented him with a gift certificate to take classes at the Collaboratory after learning he had a brief stint as a welder. In the 1980s, Pinetti repurposed old horseshoes and railroad spikes into pieces of furniture at a historic blacksmith’s office on 2nd and Folsom.

“It’s random but interesting that I had that experience and 30 years later, this opportunity for me to weld again comes along,” said Pinetti. “Normally I don’t read too much into these kinds of things, but somewhere along the line, I think it happened for a reason.”

At the Collaboratory, he rediscovered his passion for art, and developed a close bond with his instructor, Cari Jones. Now, the pair work on a variety of creative projects together.

“She taught me it’s not always so much about what we end up with, as much as it’s about the process and working together. It’s art, but not for art’s sake. It’s almost a metaphor for the importance of collaboration in every aspect of life,” said Pinetti.

The pair lingered in front of his door one Saturday, tossing around project ideas. Then, it came to them: Why not a dragon?

His wife was skeptical. He had recently crafted a romantic 25-foot-tall metal rose for the garden in the backyard; before that, a sentimental family tree. Was a nine-foot-tall dragon hooked up to a butane tank so smoke would spew from its nostrils really necessary?

“She told me, it’s bad enough you have the welding stuff in the garage. Don’t burn off someone’s eyebrows,” he said.

Unfortunately, his request to attach a motion sensor to the dragon's head so it would move ever-so-slightly in front of unsuspecting passerby — "I love to mess with people's heads," explained Pinetti — was also denied.

So, they settled on a compromise: Pinetti and Jones could weld a dragon for the front door as long as no fire hazards were involved. During the summer of 2017, they spent ten hour days designing its cascading scales, twisted horns and fearsome eyes.

Five weeks later, they mounted the 450-pound beast to the door. The neighbors loved it. Strangers took pictures. It became a Segway tour stop. Once, Pinetti had to explain the story behind it to a gaggle of tourists in a hippie van.

“The response was off the charts,” he said.

OPENING THE DOOR

It was time to make something else. The side door to his garage looked bare next to his spectacular front entryway, but he wasn’t sure what would complement it.

One evening, when his granddaughter came over to visit, he became intrigued by the movie she was watching: “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.”

On a quest to defeat the basilisk that has petrified several Hogwarts students, Harry, Ron and Ginny Weasley come upon a bewitching, vault-like door surrounded by snakes. Harry speaks in Parseltongue, and the door begins to open.

At that moment, Pinetti looked over at his daughter, entranced by the impact of the pivotal scene.

“That’s where it hit me, just sitting there with my granddaughter,” he said.

The new project took one giant piece of sheet metal and a week and a half to design. The serpents — representing the seven horcruxes in the franchise — were crafted from pipes, with scales layered over the metal, and finally eyes and tongues. The door stands eight feet tall.

While I'm there, Pinetti shares this story with a family of tourists, visiting from Maine. “We were gazing at your serpents!” the friendly mom explains, her two boys shyly grinning beside her. Pinetti asks them a bit about themselves, and sends them on their way.

Turning back to me, he says, “I could do that all day long.”

Amanda Bartlett is an SFGATE associate digital reporter. Email: amanda.bartlett@sfchronicle.com | Twitter: @byabartlett