PBD ~ ROUND THREE ~, Mission & Submissions Options

[evlpez]

Congratulations to our Round Three winner, StarWalker!

For Round Two:
Starwalker recieves 10 Ferret Points!
Anhaire recieves 8 Ferret Points!
Timeturner recieves 6 Ferret Points![/color]

Total thus far for all Rounds:
Anhaire - 26 Ferret Points
TimeTurner - 16 Ferret Points
StarWalker - 10 Ferret Points
Andi - 8 Ferret Points
Cherabela - 6 Ferret Points

Go Ferrets!!!




In the winning chapter The Shadow of Resentment by Timeturner, Harry elists Hermione and Ron to help him with the Prefects' Bathroom dilemma. Hermione believes there is a powerful witch or wizard working some Dark Magic and Ron suspects Draco Malfoy has some part in it. Harry asks Dobby to keep an eye on Malfoy before the trio go to Hagrid for help. In Hagrid's hut, a large snake from the Forbidden Forest tells Harry that Dolores Umbridge is behind it all. What happens next?



For your convenience, this mission is posted in the Guidelines & FAQ Topic as well as here.

~ Round Three Mission: ~

• The Trio return to the castle with the intention of telling Professor Dumbledore everything they've learned.
  
  
• They're prevented from doing so by the person responsible for the parchment found in the Prefects' Bathroom (your choice of character). This person may or may not be aiding Umbridge in some way.
  
  
• At some point, the trio become trapped and in danger. Save them.
  
  
• At some point, Umbridge's Plot is revealed and the mysteries surrounding the bathroom clues and the portraits are solved.
  
  
• Dumbledore must make an appearance and say/do something suitably logically illogical as he is wont to do.
  
  
• This is the final chapter. The following additional points must be tied up by morning: What's wrong with Peeves? What happened to Harry's broom from Chapter Two? What becomes of Dobby's mission from Harry? How do the bathroom and portraits return to normal?
  
  
• The following words must be used in context: fetor, eidolon, revenant, thaumaturgy, transmogrification

The deadline for Round Three submissions is noon Central Time, Wed. Sept. 29.

All submissions posted in the submission topics will be anonymous. The identities of the writers will only be revealed after voting has concluded and prizes and Ferret Points are awarded. You won't have to do anything special to post anonymously, it will be automatic.

Good Luck, Fellow Ferrets!




Re-read and rate the submissions HERE.

This post has been edited by McGonagall's Cat: Jun 21 2006, 06:44 PM

[anhaire]

Umbridge Undone

“Umbridge?,” breathed Harry. “Umbridge is back? But how...”

“Ssshe wanted revenge,” hissed the snake. “But the csentaursss proved ssstronger than her. They ussse poisssoned arrowsss, but sssomehow ssshe sssurvived.”

Harry turned to his friends. They avoided his eyes. Harry suddenly realized how the conversation must have seemed to them. He gulped, and looked down. Hagrid broke the silence.

“Well, ‘arry?” he said. “Does ‘e like bein’ called Wilbur?”

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t ask. He says that Umbridge is in the forest. She came back to get revenge, and the centaurs attacked her. I’m not sure how she lived.”

Harry looked up. Ron and Hermione were now looking at him.

“We’ve got to tell Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione said.

“Dobby will get in trouble!” Ron protested.

Hermione shook her head. “This is more important.”

Harry was relieved that they believed him. “I think you’re right,” he told them. “Whatever Umbridge is doing, we’ll need help to stop it. Let’s go back to the castle.”

“What are you three planning now?” Hagrid demanded suspiciously.

“We’ll explain later, Hagrid,” Harry said as the three walked out the door. They set off at a trot towards Hogwarts castle.

“It wasn’t Malfoy, after all,” Hermione remarked to Ron as they entered the entrance hall.

“There’s still a prefect involved,” Harry told her, gasping for breath. “C’mon, we’ve got to go-”

“Harry Potter, sir!” A squeaky voice interrupted him. All three looked around for its source. “Harry Potter!”

Harry looked around. “Dobby, where-”

Hermione’s gasp cut him off. “Dobby! How-”

Ron and Harry looked in the direction towards which Hermione stared. Harry looked, closed his eyes, and opened them. Nothing changed. On the left wall of the entrance hall was Dobby, looking pleadingly at them out of a portrait frame. He beckoned frantically, and the trio approached. Halting before his portrait, they stared, openmouthed. None of them said anything.

“Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby repeated, his large eyes even larger than usual. “Dobby tried to watch him for you, sir, but Dobby was...Dobby was...”

The house elf broke into sobs, gesturing to the frame which surrounded him.

“Who did it, Dobby?” Harry asked. “And how?”

Dobby, sobbing into his hands, did not answer. After a moment, though, he lifted his head and looked not at Harry but beyond him and down the corridor. If he had looked frightened before, he looked terrified now. After a moment, the three realized why. They could all hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew their wands and aimed them at the corridor. “Stunning spells,” Harry muttered. “We all need to hit her together.” They held themselves tensely; ready to attack Umbridge the moment she appeared. The footsteps halted just before their owner became visible. The three heard a low voice hiss an incantation from around the corner. Before they could react, a wide beam of deep red light engulfed them. The three flinched and covered their eyes. They found themselves forced backwards, unable to resist. The light changed in quality, shining through them, rather than around them. Ron fainted as he felt his body change. Harry and Hermione screamed in pain. Then, suddenly, it was over- the light was gone. Harry and Hermione opened their eves. Malfoy walked around the corner, a small globe emitting light a few shades deeper than the color of human blood resting on his outstretched palm. As he approached them, the light shrank back into the globe and its glow went out. Malfoy tucked it into the pocket of his robes, and then bent to pick up three wands. He leered at the trio.

“Potty, the Weasel, and the Know-it-all. Going off to tattle to Dumbledore, were you Potty?” Malfoy laughed. The sound was a bit eerie.

Harry lunged to hit Malfoy. He didn’t care that Malfoy had four wands and he had none; his only intent was to cause him as much pain as possible. He stretched out his hand, and then stretched it farther, and farther, but the distance between them did not lessen. Still chuckling, Malfoy turned and walked away.

“What happened?” Harry demanded angrily. “What did he do to us?”

Hermione gulped. “I think we’re in a picture,” she whispered.

Harry stared at her. She looked solid and three-dimensional. He stretched out his hand and examined it. It was not flat, and it felt just as it had a minute before. He glanced at Ron; he also looked normal.

“A picture?” he asked, unbeleiving.

“Look around,” whispered Hermione.

Harry obeyed, and saw he was in a living room. The walls were painted blue, and there was a cheery rug on the floor. It looked as though he had discovered a new room in Hogwarts.

“It looks normal to me,” he said.

Hermione sighed. “Oh, Harry. Look! See the dark space over there? And over there? I bet they’re the ends of our frame.”

Now Harry looked more closely. He saw that distortion marred the walls and furnishings, the pleasant room ended strangely, as if cut off, and beyond that was darkness. As he stared into it, two pinpricks of light appeared and grew until they were the size of tennis balls. Harry blinked as Dobby stepped into the room.

“Harry Potter, sir! He is putting you here, too! Dobby is sorry he could not watch him...” The house elf looked at Ron and gasped. “Your Wheezy, sir! Your Wheezy!”

Dobby ran over to Ron and shook him. To Harry’s relief, Ron stirred and sat up.

“What happened?” he asked. “All I remember is red light.”

“We’re in a picture,” Hermione replied.

“Why can’t we get out?” he demanded. “I saw portraits that left their frames - why can’t we?”

“Portraits?,” Ron whispered, “We’re portraits?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied.

Dobby tugged on his robes. “Harry Potter, sir, Dobby thinks we should go to the bathroom.”

“The Prefect’s Bathroom. Of course,” Harry said, looking to the darkness on his left. “But how do we get through?”

“Just walk,” Hermione replied. “The portraits do it all the time, after all.”

Harry advanced nervously through the darkness, but only a few paces on he came to a flowery meadow. Another dark passage, then a ballroom; then a study; then the branches of an oak. Their surroundings changed so frequently and completely that Harry was amazed at the variety of this new world, a diversity he had never before considered. Although the portraits’ thickness was at most an inch, when observed from the outside, inside they formed a space at least as large as the Hogwarts he knew. The four walked on until Dobby stopped them.

“We are below the bathroom now,” he told them. “We must go up!”

Taking a deep breath, Dobby jumped. Instead of coming back down, he drifted into the darkness above them. The other three followed warily, but learned that they could now float upwards easily when they wished to. Finally, up five floors and over three portraits, they arrived in a landscape all four recognized. Standing on the beach where the mermaid used to live, they looked out and saw the large bathtub and gleaming marble of the Prefect’s Bathroom.

Harry reached forward. The air in front of him felt strange, almost liquid.

“I think we might be able to get out here. Dobby, what do you think?”

For answer, the house elf stepped forward and fell out of the picture. The other three were about to follow him when Dobby exclaimed, “Wait!”

Hearing him, the other three paused and looked.

“Oh no,” Hermione said. “Dobby, you’re flat.”

“Why is he flat,” Harry demanded, “When the portraits were three-dimensional?”

“Maybe they came out in a different way- I’m not sure.”

“Dobby has turned into a painting,” the house elf said in his shrill little voice, then burst into tears.

“Can you come back in, Dobby?” Harry asked.

Dobby tried, but he was much to short to reach the painting.

“We’ll never be able to get out of here,” Ron complained. “We’re trapped for life!”

“Wait,” Hermione said. “I have to think. There must be a way.” She sat down on a rock and stared off into space for a few minutes. Finally, she stood up.

“Harry- you said Peeves looked scared when you were here first?”

“Er- yeah,” Harry answered. He had almost forgotten about Peeves.

“So Malfoy must have put him in a portrait. I can’t think of anything else that would scare him. Peeves came out of a tap, so I think we have to also.”

And how are we going to get there? Jump?” Ron wanted to know.

“There’s a lake in this portrait, and it may lead to the castle’s plumbing.”

“This is portrait water, not real water! It can’t possibly take us there!”

“Have you a better idea?” Hermione asked, looking a bit affronted.

At Ron’s silence, she turned to Dobby.

“Dobby, we’ll try to fix you, but we need to get out of this painting first. Do you remember which tap Peeves came out from?”

“Yes, miss,” Dobby sniffed.

“Then turn it on, please.”

Hermione looked down and gulped. They had entered this portrait through the side, so none of them had any idea what lay at its bottom. She took a deep breath, and then plunged into the lake in the picture. Harry and Ron followed. They swam down until they came suddenly to a space as dark as the passages between paintings, then fell through this until they hit still more water- different water. To Harry it felt more real, cooler, more full of life.

He kicked out and drew ahead of Hermione, nearing the source of a tug on his body and the water surrounding it. In a few seconds, he felt a curious feeling, as his body lengthened to fit through a tube. Feeling air on his face, he gasped for breath. Hermione and Ron came out of the same faucet, and landed next to him on the floor of the bath. When the three had caught their breath, they examined themselves very carefully. They were solid and three dimensional.

“I’m pretty sure it worked,” Harry announced. “Good thinking, Hermione.”

Harry walked over to Dobby, who was still trembling, and lifted him up into the mermaid’s portrait frame. The house-elf entered it as if the canvas didn’t exist, but when Harry tried to stick his arm into the canvas, it stopped at the surface. Reassured, Harry returned to the bathtub to wait for Dobby. Only a minute later the house elf emerged from the tap.

“Thank you Harry Potter, sir!” he squeaked, and his eyes filled with tears of gratitude.

“You were the one who led us here,” Harry replied. He then turned to Ron and Hermione.

“Malfoy’s still out there somewhere, and so is Umbridge. We’ve got to do something about them.” Remembering something, he pulled the Marauder’s Map out of his pocket. Miraculously, it didn’t appear damaged. “Malfoy’s coming this way,” Harry exclaimed. “This room must be important...”

“If we only had our wands, we could catch him.” Hermione glanced around, worried. “But we’re helpless like this...”

“Dobby will help!” squeaked the house elf. “Dobby needs no wand.”

“Are you sure, Dobby? He got you last time,” Harry pointed out.

Dobby nodded gravely. “He surprised Dobby, sir. This time, Dobby will surprise him.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione agreed to hide in the shower stalls so that Malfoy wouldn’t guess they were there. Dobby hid just behind a wall, invisible to anyone who entered the bathroom. For a few breathless minutes, they all held perfectly still, waiting. Then Dobby suddenly jumped out of his hiding place and snapped his fingers. There was a clanging sound and a puff of pink smoke. Harry ran out of the showers, followed by Ron and Hermione. Malfoy lay stunned in the entrance to the bathroom. Harry quickly reached into his pocket and found their wands. He handed his friends’ wands back to them, then hesitated a moment. Finally, he took his own as well as Malfoy's.

“Incarcerous,” Harry said, pointing his wand. Immediately strong ropes bound Malfoy from head to foot.

Something whizzed behind Harry. He spun, wand in hand, and saw another shape emerging from the pipes. It settled into the form of a squat woman- if a woman it was. Her skin had a black, smoky tint to Harry’s eyes, and her veins shone uncannily red through it. Her eyes were harsh and piercing. She wore tattered robes that had probably once been green. Her brown hair was matted. Twigs and leaves were caught in the tangles. A hideous fetor came from her, poisoning the air. Even so, she was clearly recognizable.

“Umbridge!” Harry exclaimed. He shot a stunning spell straight at her.

The creature kept walking. Harry stood staring- how could he have missed? He saw Ron and Hermione cast spells out of the corner of his eye, but they affected Umbridge no more than his own.

Harry began to think frantically. What sort of spell did he know that could stop her? Why couldn’t he hurt her body?

“Legilimens!”

Harry found himself casting a spell he had never tried before, out of desperation, hoping to take control of her mind, since her body was untouchable. Immediately he felt engulfed in blackness. He strained against the darkness, fighting. He must not be captured in it- he must be on top of it! He felt as if he were drowning in a deep, dark ocean. For a moment, he struggled, and then suddenly he shifted. Now, he surrounded the ocean; he controlled it. Out of it came images, pictures of a young woman lusting for power, of a woman plotting for control. Images came also, of long months spent in a dark forest; of unicorns, slain for their life-giving blood. Harry gripped the dark sea, the whole knowledge, and being, of his enemy, and held on. He gritted his teeth, knowing that if he let go, he would lose.

Ron and Hermione had seen Harry cast the spell, and watched in wonder as the creature- Umbridge? – had fallen to the floor, lying there as if dead. Harry had fallen to his knees. Sweat poured from his forehead. His eyes were wide and staring.

“Harry!” cried Hermione, “Are you all right?”

Harry could not hear her. He still gripped the dark sea, but barely. It fought him, its tide pulling at his hold on it. It thrust memories of despair at him, trying to dislodge his mind. Harry knew he had to do something to it- he could not keep holding it forever. He searched for away to enclose it, to cut it off, and found none. Feeling helpless, almost despairing, he cast about, hoping to find a way. He felt his energy, his very life, draining away in the struggle to hold on.

Then, unexpectedly, Harry’s mind cleared. He seemed to rise above his own struggle for a fleeting moment, seeing it clearly. That was enough. Briskly, he folded the dark sea’s tides in on itself, enclosing it, tying it up, and keeping it away from him. The sea - the mind - resisted, fighting him, but he bore down until it was a tiny knot, tied off securely. When he released it, it stayed where he had put it. Exhausted, he collapsed to the floor in a faint, but the darkness in his mind was a cleaner one.

* * *

A pair of blue eyes hovered in the darkness.

Is that Dobby, Harry wondered. But no- that happened already. And Dobby turned into a portrait!

Harry opened his eyes to see the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore above him.

“Ah. I’m glad to see you’ve awakened, Harry. How do you feel?”

Harry sat up slowly. His muscles felt like mush, and his head was swimming. He found himself in a reclining armchair in Dumbledore’s study. How had he gotten there? He couldn’t remember. All he could remember was fighting a dark mind.

“Where is Umbridge?” he asked finally. His voice was hardly more than a croak.

Dumbledore sat down in a chair facing him.
“You need not worry about Dolores Umbridge.”

“And Malfoy? What happened? How did the portraits get out- why didn’t you stop it? I tried to tell you, but-”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. He placed his long fingers together. His blue eyes glittered over them as he looked piercingly at Harry.

“I believe you were told what Umbridge has become. Do you not know already of her transmogrification?”

Harry blinked at him, and then remembered. Hagrid had spoken of dead unicorns. Remembering a memory he had glimpsed in her mind of slaying a unicorn and drinking its blood, he shivered.

Dumbledore was watching him closely.

“When she returned to the forest, the centaurs used poisoned arrows on her,” he told Harry, “and left her to die. She had a will to live, though. She crawled away, killed a unicorn with her bare hands, and drank its blood. So she did live, but she was only half-alive. Is it any wonder that she tried to take control of Hogwarts once more, and that those she chose to start her domination with were the portraits, only half alive themselves?”

Harry flinched. Now that Dumbledore described Umbridge’s deeds in the forest, he saw each memory he had pulled from her afresh in his mind. They made him feel unclean. Looking down at his hands, he asked, “What did I do to her?”

Dumbledore looked grave. “You performed the most difficult form of Legilimency. You knew how to do it instinctively. I believe your ability is great, greater than mine, greater than any I have ever known.”

Harry looked up into the eyes of the Headmaster. Dumbledore’s eyes bored into his own.

“You know well that Legilimency serves to read minds. But in very rare cases, it can be used to control them as well. Last year Voldemort did just that when he caused you to fall asleep and to see an eidolon of Siruis Black being tortured. It appears you have this ability also. I will not tell you that you did wrong, doing as you did, but I must ask you to promise me one thing. Never use this gift again unless you must. It may be useful for you one day, but for now you must not use it.”

Harry nodded. “I won’t,” he promised. He had hated the feel of Umbridge’s mind in his own. “How did she bring the portraits to life?” he asked. “I still don’t understand that.”

“Not to life,” Dumbledore corrected him. “She possessed no thaumaturgy that could make a revenant live. What you saw- what they experienced- was merely a ghostly reflection of living. Dolores Umbridge, being poisoned, and thus dead like them, yet living also, was uniquely able to call them from their frames. But she could not give them life. They felt no pain, no hunger, and no love. They have returned to their frames, where they belong. The dead may linger here, but they must not be returned to the living.”

Harry was silent a moment, considering this. Then he remembered something.

“What about Malfoy? Will he be expelled, or punished, or-”

“Mr. Malfoy is no longer a prefect, but he will remain here. I have already returned his wand. You felt the power of the creature that approached you. Mr. Malfoy had no Legilimency to defend against it. It is not his fault he was lured in. His memory has been modified, and the globe you saw has been confiscated. It was made with Dolores Umbridge’s blood, and gave the bearer the power to command portraits and ghosts as she did.”

“The ghosts too?” Harry asked. “I saw Peeves acting- strangely.”

“Yes, she must have put him in a portrait,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “That would be disturbing for any ghost, but especially for one who enjoys his death as much as that poltergeist.”

Harry looked down at his hands. To avoid asking the question which was really on his mind, he said abruptly, “What about the faucets in the bathroom?”

Dumbledore gave him another piercing glance. “The faucets were altered to provide an escape route, should Dolores Umbridge ever wish to release someone from imprisonment, of course.”

Harry swallowed. “Did I kill her?” he asked Dumbledore. For a moment, Dumbledore did not reply. Harry glanced up and saw that Dumbledore gazed at him intently.

“No,” he said. “Look.” Dumbledore stood up and walked to a corner of his office. On the wall hung a square of heavy black cloth. He pulled it down, and Harry jumped up in alarm. In the portrait was Umbridge as he had seen her in the bathroom, corrupted, evil. She appeared to be stunned. Dumbledore covered the portrait again.

“She drank unicorn blood,” he remarked placidly. “Enough to keep her alive.”

“Shouldn’t you do something about her,” Harry wanted to know. “Shouldn’t you punish her, instead of putting her in there? What if she gets out?”

”She cannot,” was Dumbledore's calm reply. “I put her in with the tool she made herself. It was crafted from her blood, and so she is bound by it.”

“But she’ll wake up, won’t she? She’ll start being annoying, and-and taking control of the other portraits, and-”

Harry stuttered to a halt. He thought of the portrait of Sirius’s mother which hung in 12 Grimmauld Place, how she survived after death only to insult people, to be an annoyance even in death.

Dumbledore gazed steadily at Harry. “Did you think it is only the good who leave a mark on this world? Did you think you could inherit strength, and love, and courage from the memories of your parents, but those who were against you could leave you nothing? Death is not the end of all things. Maybe it is not even really the end of life. It is wrong to linger in a living form, as Dolores Umbridge tried to make the portraits do, because the world belongs to the living. The dead imitate the living, trying to take a form of being like theirs- but have you not noticed that many among the living emulate the dead?”

Harry considered this, gazing at the black cloth which covered the portrait, but he said nothing more.

“And now, Harry,” Dumbledore said, rising, “I think it is time you took your broom and went to bed.” He indicated the broom Harry had left in the bathroom at the beginning of the day.

Harry obediently left the office and returned to Gryffindor tower. In the common room, he found Ron and Hermione, sitting in armchairs close to the fire and talking in low voices. It was past three in the morning, but tired as he was, Harry sat there with his friends in silence through the long hours before dawn.

[evlpez]

Re-read and rate Round Three Submissions Here.

[DumbledoresOldSo...]

Truth as Painted.


Harry, Ron, and Hermione exited Hagrid’s hut a little past noon. Harry hadn’t told them about what the snake had said. It was raving mad surely, he thought. Umbridge could be an old and ugly hag, but she surely wouldn’t use dark magic. Or would she? Harry considered she had once used a Dementor to get rid of an adolescent, namely himself. And there was that time when she deemed it acceptable to cast Crucio on Harry, too. Harry had to take it back; yes, Umbridge was capable of it. Was she the dark, evil danger lurking in the forest?

“I’m starving,” Ron spoke first part way to the Castle.

Harry startled and did a double-take, “What? Oh, yeah… me too.”

Ron looked at his friends funny, “What’s with you two? You've both been too quiet since we left Hagrid's"

Ron was right, Harry then took notice that they had been silent since leaving the hut. Hermione was looking deep in thought. “Did you notice,” she finally spoke, “the cuts on the side of the snake’s neck?”

“Do snakes have necks?” Ron asked frowning. Harry shrugged.

“No,” Harry responded to Hermione. “What about them?”

She titled her head looking off into nowhere. “Well, I’m pretty sure I know what
species it was, the snake I mean. It had two large black wounds at each side where other two necks should have been. I’m pretty sure it’s a runespoor.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked. He thought he had heard that name before, but couldn't quite remember where.

“Three-headed snake,” responded Ron nodding. “Once visited one at the zoo – It, too, was missing a head, but not two of the three of them.”

He looked quite proud at having been the one to respond, of being quicker than Hermione. He added as an after-thought, “Ugly things, one of the heads won’t stop hissing, the other looks thicker than Crabbe and Goyle… the last one, I’m not too sure, but it is said it is the Planner. It seems to be the one who makes decisions, such as eating or sleeping.” He paused. “That was the one missing then, the Planner.”

“So?” said Harry, his voice tainted with annoyance. "Look, let's talk inside, I’m hungry.” It was more a matter of nerves than hunger, but he also didn’t feel like staying out in the cold.

As they went inside the Castle, Hermione continued, “I’m just worried, because one of the heads is poisonous, the Critic one. Maybe we should tell Hagrid –”

“He knows, Hermione,” Ron said. “He’s the Care of Magical Creatures Professor. He'd better know!”

“Hermione,” Harry said feeling suddenly curious. “Why were their heads slashed off?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, it dawned upon him that he might be asking a really dumb question. Hermione didn’t seem to notice, however.

“Well, mostly because the heads fight between each other. There’re three of them: the Critic, the Dreamer and the Planer. It’s said one of the heads is really annoying and vicious – the hissing one –and the other two can kind of agree to take it out, which in turn fights back poisoning… The snake on Hagrid’s house hissed a lot…”

“I heard they are pets of dark wizards,” added Ron. “Doesn’t surprise me, if they chop their own bother-heads off.”

Hermione bit on her lip nervously. “Oh, Harry, Ron, we have to tell Hagrid! I’m not sure about all this.”

“He won’t listen either way, Hermione,” said Ron. “He only listens to Dumbledore –”

“What if we tell Dumbledore?” Harry offered. It seemed like a perfect idea; he could speak to him about the strange happenings in the Prefects' Bathroom then, too. Ron and Hermione both agreed to go to Dumbledore with Harry after a quick supper.

Upon entering the Hall they noticed Mark Evans was still sitting in the same spot as earlier, as though he hadn't moved all day. The Trio took their usual seats at the Gryffindor table, continuing to steal occasional glances at him.

“He looks like he's under the Imperius if you ask me,” blurted Ron, and suddenly his expression turned very serious. “What if he is under the Imperius?”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” said Harry, his eyes still on the boy. The expression Evans was wearing was as though he had – for lack of a better word – seen a ghost. The boy’s blank face was staring at a random spot on the floor with obvious lack of focus.

Harry couldn’t take it any longer, he left the Gryffindor table and approached the boy.

“Hey there,” he greeted Evans, as he stood before him, a concerned expression on Harry’s face. Mark didn’t even blink. “Are you OK?”

This time Mark did look up at Harry, but his expression never changed. He stood mechanically and started walking out of the Hall. Harry could only stare at the retreating figure.

“Well, that’s weird.”

Ron appeared by his side, Hermione just behind. “Let’s go mate, we won’t be able to eat, the house-elves aren’t working,” he said with a saddened tone, and Hermione made a face, obviously not appreciative of Ron’s attitude.

“What do you mean [/I]they are not working?[/I]” Harry queried.

“Just that!” Ron said as he waved his hands in emphasis. “I’ve asked and knocked on the table, asking for food, but the elves aren’t responding.”

Hermione rolled he eyes. “Oh, you won't die if you miss a meal, Ron. Besides, you could have asked nicely. If the elves got offended would be no surprise, they shouldn’t even bother with you!”

“What did I do now!” Ron protested.

Harry was in no mood for bickering, Ron’s words had made him anxious. He exited the hall without a word to their friends, and started towards the kitchens. Something was very wrong in here, he thought reaching the entrance. Entering the place, his suspicions were confirmed.

The kitchen was empty. Not one single elf was anywhere to be seen. The fireplace at the far end of the room was lit, the kitchen was clean, and there was a glass of wine on a little table (probably left as Winky passed by) but no sign of the Elves.

Ron almost bumped into Harry. “Wha – where is everybody?” he asked.

But Harry was already too deep lost in thought. “This is too much. We've got to talk to Dumbledore.”

He spun around, almost knocking Hermione over on his way out. Dobby could not disappear too, Harry couldn’t believe it. He had just seen the Elf that very same morning! Dobby couldn’t just “poof” away!

“Going somewhere, Potter?”

Before Harry had a chance to react, he felt himself pulled backward by magic. Landing in an almost-laying down position a few feet from where he started, he half-turned, half-looked up. He was greeted by the wicked smirk of Draco Malfoy.

Harry made a grab for his wand, but was too late. His fingers only caressed its hard surface when he felt it slip between his fingers. He didn’t hear the incantation but he knew Malfoy had used Expelliarmus on him. The wand fell to the floor not far away, and Harry dived for it, but he never reached it. Malfoy's foot was pressing down on Harry’s wrist, trapping his hand.

“Nun, nun, Potter,” Malfoy drawled. “Don’t be a sore-looser, it doesn’t suit you.” The boy’s mocking tone made Harry angrier than he remembered ever being. He heard a girl screech and knew they had gotten Hermione. Harry could barely see what was happening from his position in the floor, it was maddening.

He tried to stand, even with his hand trapped.

He felt the kick to his stomach rather than saw it. Blood rushed to his head, lost of air, he dropped back to the floor. The imprint of Crabbe’s foot lingered, as if shaping Harry’s stomach. His hand was still under the full weight of Malfoy’s foot.

He heard Ron’s voice and the rustling of clothes. He knew his friends were fighting to get loose from the Slytherin gang’s grip, even if he couldn’t see it. He also heard a distinctive flapping noise which Harry couldn’t place…

“No,” a small voice cried. “No, no Harry Potter sir! Dobby is sorry, Dobby pleads, master Malfoy! Don’t hurt Harry Potter sir!”

Harry twisted his neck to the side. A gaunt-looking boy had Dobby trapped in his arms. At the very end of the corridor, a girl – Parkinson, he thought – looked to be acting as look out. Harry struggled around so he could see better. It was then that Harry felt himself being blasted to the side. Within moments Malfoy had cast binding around Harry’s body so tight that Harry was having trouble breathing at first.

Dobby bit his captor and got himself dropped down to the floor. Harry watched, mystified with the Elf actions for he was bowing at Malfoy’s feet. Malfoy, in turn, was ignoring him completely.

“So,” he drawled. “You thought you could make this vermin” – he kicked Dobby forwards making the later land on his stomach pitifully – “spy on me, Potter. Thought I wouldn’t notice the stupid Elf?”

Harry heard a heavy metallic noise which momentarily distracted him. He tried to sit up, overcome with anger. “It was you, wasn’t it? ‘Should have known. ‘Should have smelled your stink in the air. You started all of that, it was you who did that to the Prefects’ Bathroom!”

“A bathroom, Potter?” Malfoy snorted, an eyebrow raised. “Lost your marbles, have you? Blaming me for the fetor Weasley leaves about.” A few Slytherin laughed. “But do enlighten me, what are you on about?”

Harry was about to respond but then a red light hit Malfoy’s head. The spell was weak. Malfoy was clearly okay, as if he had only been hit by a snow ball. The eyes were now on the caster, Dobby.

“How you dare!” howled Malfoy, kicking Dobby again.

There was the metallic noise again! This time Harry realized what was causing it. There was a heavy-looking shackle around Dobby’s right ankle.

“What’s that?” Harry asked immediately.

Malfoy smirked. “Now interested in bijouterie, aren’t you?” he teased.

Dobby responded Harry’s question, “Dobby is not knowing, sir! Thing was there suddenly and Dobby can do no magic, Harry Potter!” Dobby sobbed apologizing for his inabilities.

Harry felt hot bile lick his stomach while witnessing the sickening scene, Malfoy laughing at the background.

Harry stood with difficulty and, though still bound, he dove on Malfoy, knocking him to the floor. There was nothing else he could do but, Harry thought now on top of the boy, at least he got the satisfaction of scaring Malfoy out of his wits. Harry smiled while replaying on his mind the startled look on Malfoy's face.

“I’m sure we solve it –”

Malfoy shoved Harry away, at the same time as the binding spell was released. His glasses askew, Harry straightened himself in time to see Malfoy leap to his feet and back away, the whole Slytherin gang with him.

Hermione was fuming, asking if they were okay with a mother-like worry. Dobby was also in a similar state. Ron shushed them both. Someone, or rather some ones, were coming from around the corner and, by the sounds of it, they were Professors.

“Nothing to worry about, the water will be back soon. It was a simple Impervius Charm, the repelling-water spell. It’s easy to break and temporary either way.” The first voice was a lively person, but an adult nonetheless.

“The prankster apparently wasn’t up for a permanent damage stunt, but it’s no reason to give a lesser punishment. I’m sure Filius could take care of the most complicated spell…”

The second voice was stern. There was no doubt it was that of the Potions Professor, Severus Snape.

“He sure can, Severus,” said a third voice which Harry instantly recognized as Dumbledore’s. “Professor Flitwick knows those spells and the counter-charms better than anyone on this school. I agree that’s no reason to forgive the offense, but let’s turn to our priorities first, we can proceed to punish the responsible as soon as we find them. We must convince the proper Portrait-subjects to return to their frames or I’m afraid our student won’t ever again be able to leave their quarters.”

There was something about the tone with which he said those words Harry couldn’t be sure if the headmaster meant them or if he was joking. Harry was sure Dumbledore would be able to take the students out if only by blasting the empty portraits up.

As the voices grew nearer, the Trio edged to the nearest wall, Dobby trailing behind.

“It wouldn’t be a great loose if some of them stayed inside their commons a little longer,” Snape sneered. “We’re facing a crisis far more important that the students’ lost weekend: Portraits disappearing in more than one way, House Elves afraid of mysterious figures and maddened eidolons. And if that was not enough to cope with, now demented students are seeing illusions of corpses moving on their own.”

“Indeed!” Dumbledore exclaimed interrupting him. “I remember reading a very appealing book about transmogrification of that type. Fascinating lecture! You wouldn’t believe the many things a wizard can do to create life out of a single item.”

He stopped in his tracks, standing in plain view of the Trio. Neither Flitwick nor Snape seemed to notice the three students, as they continued talking. But, there was something about Dumbledore’s actions that made Harry think that choosing this place to stop was no coincidence, and for a split of second he thought he saw the Headmaster smile their way.

“I was personally interested about giving shape to thoughts and ideas,” Dumbledore continued, the three professors were now walking away. “Paradoxical, wouldn’t you say? Muggles try to put dreams on canvas, and we wizards, try to take them back out!”

“Of course!”

Hermione’s sudden outburst scared both Harry and Ron out of their wits.

“What’s with you now!” Ron asked, but it was too late, Hermione already was sprinting away.

“Quick,” she called “I know what it is! I read about it in the Library before, come on!”

They left Dobby behind, making him promise he’d go to Dumbledore for help on the shackle business. Up two flights of stairs, Hermione half-dragged the both Ron and Harry, all the way to the fourth floor. Madame Pince glared and 'Shhh-ed' as the kids raced into the Library.

At the far left end of the room was a shelf where all the books looked ragged and dusty. If they looked abandoned it was no wonder, Harry thought. The books were huge and no student on their right mind would attempt to even take them out their shelf without risking being flattened down, head first, on the floor. (Muggle rising-up kicking in, Harry temporally forgot that he could levitate the books out.) Unsurprisingly, here was exactly where Hermione was heading.

Her hand went directly to a bound leather book, one called Theory of Transmogrification. She flipped a few pages with one hand, the other holding the book alone despite the weight of it. With a bright expression she placed the book on the nearest table and began to read, sitting down.

“Think it’s this chapter… right here somewhere…ah, yeah, here’s it!

‘It’s said that the ancient Chinese could make their drawings come to life. Today we are assured that is no more than a common unsubstantiated myth. All the same, we will attempt to explain why this myth was so popular and if indeed it was possible.

There has been not much investigation on the matter for obvious reasons, the main being the ritual to make it happen, for it was of a dark nature. Usually, the legend says, the wizard or other would start by drawing something up by the means of a bewitched quill containing cursed ink. The ink was made of blood of magical beings. The magical blood would work could be human or animal the same; the most powerful the better. Moreover, it is believed that only the blood of those who felt fear would work. Such magic would be therefore called dark and illegal as any other. That leaves no room for further experimentation to find out if it was ever possible –’ See?” she ended excitedly waiting for reaction.

“What?” Ron asked baffled.

Harry agreed, “Not following you either, Hermione.”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” she said impatiently. “This is the Dark Magic I was talking with you about earlier. Transforming the Portraits is just the thing we are facing. Pay attention to the blood ritual! All of a sudden the magical beasts in the Forbidden Forest are being attacked! It makes sense!”

“But why would somebody want to do that?” Ron inquired. “Voldemo –”

“No, it’s not him,” Harry said at once. He fell silent, remembering what he had witnessed down at Hagrid's. He hadn't actually explained what the snake had told him in the hut or what he knew about their former Defense Against Dark Arts professor. But should he? He was still not buying the snake’s version of the facts. Should he rely on the word of a poisonous, violent snake?

“Why do you say that?” Hermione inquired.

Harry looked up, the words aching to escape his mouth… “It’s nothing… ‘don’t know why I said that.”

An awkward silence arose. Harry couldn't imagine what his friends were thinking of him right now. Maybe they thought he was blabbing mad, contradicting himself all of the sudden like that. Wouldn’t be a difficult guess, he, himself, was starting to doubt his sanity.
The chaos in his head was such he couldn’t think clearly. Finally he decided he’d not listen to the snake. It was obviously misleading them, no reasons to worry Ron and Hermione over it. Harry’d keep the information to himself until knowing more.

“Well,” Ron started again. “So what about this transmodification thing?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Okay, where was I? Ah, yes, here's what I was looking for.” She flipped a couple of pages – “this one.”

She was pointing at a drawing of a body and a spirit linked by their hands.

“This is the ritual explanation,” she said studying the book. “It says – wait, I know it’s right here… ah, yes, it says that to become real a painting must take the spirit from an external source by Touch-Healing magic –”

“What’s that?” Ron asked.

Hermione put both hands on the table, trying to find the easiest way to explain. Taking a deep breath, signal that she was readying herself for a detailed explanation, she continued,

“It’s an ancient way of healing called Thaumaturgy – well, no, Touch-Healing is only part of it, a branch. Like with the Seers, or Metamorphmagis, not everybody has the power to heal with touch, it’s a gift you are born with. It’s also true that the Wizarding World has done some good research and has formulated other ways of healing, namely Medi-Wizarding.”

“Wow, wait,” interrupted Ron. “Healers have some inherited power, okay. How is Medi-Wizard magic different?”

“Well, I’m not too sure, but it looks like Healers might have more powerful magic – like in here, it says: ‘Calls the revenant to life again, the powerful Cliodne was the only one to achieve it, said the poets.’ Still it’s a myth. It isn't as though they could, I mean, bring people back to life, that’s unreal.”

“Coming back to life and immortality,” Ron considered and frowned. “Do you think it’s got something to do with You-Know – I mean, Voldemort? It looks like his style.”

Harry considered it. “I don’t think he cares enough to revive anyone except himself,” he said grimly. “I think of Voldemort as the killing type, not the healing kind.”

There was a brief silence before Harry added, “It doesn’t explain what’s been happening either. And what do you mean by ‘take the spirit from an external source’?”

Hermione looked down at the pages again. “It doesn’t say much here.”

“You know what I’m thinking,” said Ron. “That Mark Evans, he was acting strange, empty-looking, and zombie-like. He looked like somebody had stolen his spirit, if you ask me.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, the two pair of eyes widened simultaneously.

“Peeves!” Harry said. “It makes sense, he too was looking empty and out of character! Do you think you can take the spirit of a ghost?”

“Ron, you are a genius!” Hermione said and she lunged forwards excitedly. Before either of them knew what was happening, Hermione was hugging Ron, who in turn was blushing madly.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Hermione said as she backed away and Ron muttered something unintelligible that sounded vaguely like “N-no prob–”.

In retreating, Hermione diverted her eyes to the book again. There were only a few seconds of awkward silence before Hermione broke it off with an ecstatic squeal.

“Harry, here it is!” she said. “This is what we need to know! Listen! ‘To take the spell off the drawings you need to wash out the bloody painting subjects.’ ”

“Wash out?” Ron pondered. “So they have to take a bath! Maybe that’s why this all started at the bathroom… Err… Never mind.” Ron fell silent as both his friends looked at him as though he had grown another head, his second attempt at sounding smart this time failed.
They exited the Library not long afterwards. Both Ron and Harry started to the right, discussing what they should do next, but Hermione stopped on her track.

Ron turned around. “What’s wrong?” he asked her straightforwardly.

Hermione had the look of somebody after being too long exposed to Trelawney’s fumes. She opened and closed her mouth like goldfish.

“I,” she started uncomfortably, “I need to go to the toilet.”

Ron returned Harry’s puzzled look. “So? Go, we will wait up.”

Refusing to move, she muttered, “I don’t want to go alone.”

“Oh,” said Ron awkwardly. “OK… err, do you want us to escort you to the entrance? Sure, let’s go… Coming Harry?”

Harry, however, preferred to stay behind. He thought he could give his two friends some time alone, and he too could use the time to think things over. “You go, I’ll wait here.”

His friends left him and Harry leaned on the wall, yawning. It must have been past six by that time, the place was growing colder. The Castle looked almost deserted… it was kind of scary, he thought. It was also darker, but not enough for the torches by his side to lit by their own. Only a few lit candles hovered about.

Harry began to muse over the day's events. The spell Hermione showed them must be it, he thought, because it did fit. Somebody was turning paintings into corporeal beings by Dark Magic, and the kind which required the blood of magical beings, which explained the attacks in the forest. ‘Maybe even explain the disappearance of the House Elves… Harry hoped that last guess wasn’t the reason the Elves were missing, they surely didn’t deserve that.

It still didn’t explain why the Prefect taps weren’t working or who had done it, or why. Why would somebody want to repel the water?

The sinks aren’t working, he repeated on his head. Wait a minute! The first portrait… whoever was practicing the dark magic must have tried it on The Mermaid in the Prefect Bathroom first… but if The Mermaid fell in the water after getting out… Of course, they are trying to get ride of the water! He grinned thinking Ron might not have been completely wrong about that last guess of his at the Library.

Harry leap from the wall, excited to tell Ron and Hermione about his theory. A movement caught his attention. There was a shadow creeping down the stairs across from where he was standing.

“What’s that?” he asked himself. He drew near with unease and anticipation. The shadow was tiny. At first he thought it was a House Elf or a goblin, by the size of it. But the shadow was too dense to be either. It looked quite familiar, especially the way it walked.

The shadow was entering a dark part of the Castle, where the candles hadn’t been lit despite nearing nighttime. Harry had the distinct idea that he had never before had been in this part of the Castle. Growing nearer (and starting to really regret not having his invisibility cloak at hand), he heard coughing. But this was not just any coughing… It was a small, annoying cough that he knew only too well.

What he was watching was unmistakably Umbridge, covered by a black cloak, and something was trailing along behind her. This time Harry was right, it was a House Elf, and Harry noticed it was wearing a shackle just as Dobby’s. There was also a thin silvery line linking Umbridge’s wand with the binding on the Elf’s foot.

“Shush!” Umbridge’s hoarse voice said. “Stop whimpering you pathetic little beast! You should be glad I give you permission to serve me and to serve the Minister of Magic."

“Please, madam, please, Simmy is not bad House Elf. Simmy works hard and good and likes work."

“Shush, I say!” she demanded pulling on the silvery chain. The House Elf tripped forwards, barely keeping pace with its little feet.

Harry’s blood was boiling and he thought about cursing Umbridge then and there, but he restrained himself, curious as to what she was planning. He was still too far behind to have a clear shot, too…

“You’re going to give birth to a new generation and to the old ones too. Oh imagine! Being able to be by the side of those grand wizards and witches! Morgana and Merlin, Circle and Herpo… the Minister will have the best army to fight the war …Not like that poor excuse of a Headmaster… Better than the dementors who betrayed us – ah, where did all of the portraits get to? It shouldn’t take this long!”

“Please, please, madam,” Simmy said, teary. “Simmy is good Elf, Simmy wants to work.”

“And you will!” she responded. “You’ll take part on the Minister’s Army! You should be proud, the whole lot of you. Good House Elves, they know their place in the Wizarding Society. Smart beasts, still inferior but smart. Keep pace with me, animal, we are late!”

“Expelliarmus!”

A jet of red light hit Umbridge square, throwing her against the wall and leaving her unconscious. The sound of her wand falling to the floor echoed through the hallway as the shackles on the Elf’s foot disappeared. Simmy bowed thankful, and it was then Harry reacted to what he’d done… he hadn't realized he had thrown the hex at Umbridge…

“Harry!”

Hermione and Ron appeared behind him with perplexed expressions. They looked down at the limp body in front of Harry with wide eyes.

“What’s she doing here?” Ron asked shocked.

Harry opened his mouth, his wand-hand hanging limply, “… it’s Umbridge.”

“I can see that!” Ron said.

Harry sighed. “The snake in Hagrid’s hut talked to me. It said that the woman we had brought to the forest and left with the Centaurs came back and was the responsible for all the things happening.” He finished his explanation feeling quite dumb and waited for his friends to rage at him. It never came.

“That makes no sense,” said Ron puzzled. “I mean, she’s a – well, she is worst that the cruelest banshee and uglier than Aragog, but it’s impossible that she could do all the things that are wrong here right now!” Ron was looking at Hermione hoping for back up, “could she?”

“Well,” Hermione said in turn, “It just doesn’t make much sense, does it? Why would she do that?”

Harry was aware that he was not sounding too convincing. Seeing Umbridge in the Castle had been such a shock that he just couldn’t place his thoughts in order at the moment. He might have seriously injured the woman, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to help her in anyway.

He opened his mouth to start the explaining when something distracted him. For the third time that day, Mark Evans passed by wearing the same blank expression as he had each of the times before. But Harry’s attention soon left the Second year due to a new obstacle. Sir Cadogan and the Mermaid had just appeared before him, full sized and completely three-dimensional.

Harry heard Hermione gasp behind him. He would have as well if he hadn’t been so stunned. The first time he'd seen them he hadn't noticed, but the Mermaid wasn’t exactly walking. She was hovering over the ground, ‘swimming’ though air as if underwater. Her fish tail did a quick spin and he felt a waft of air hit his face.

It dawned on Harry that she looked exactly like her painting previously displayed her. It made sense, Sir Cadogan’s was smaller, their sizes seemed contingent on the size of their frames. If that theory was true then… An image of a giant Fat Lady in three-dimensions invaded Harry’s mind.

“Sir- Sir Cadogan?” Hermione attempted a shaky question.

It was no wonder she was scared. Neither, the Mermaid or Sir Cadogan, looked too friendly. They stayed silent, coldly sneering at the Trio. The situation became even more bizarre when Evans crossed paths with the living paintings, nonplused, as though the Portrait characters weren’t there, and the paintings ignored him just the same.

But the paintings didn’t give the same treatment to all they met apparently. Just as Mark Evans passed the Mermaid dived at Harry!

WAFT!

Harry dodged just in time, but felt the full force of the blast of air. It forced him farther backwards. The Mermaid was giggling madly, almost maniacally, before she dove again. This time The Mermaid's tail hit Harry, slapping him mid-chest and throwing him into the wall.

Harry looked up in time to see Sir Cadogan lunge forward to attack Ron! He had drawn his sword and, despite its size, he had managed to slash just below Ron’s knees. Harry might not have noticed if it hadn’t been for the bloody sword.

Harry had to turn his attention away from Ron because The Mermaid was coming at him again, diving at Harry with a wicked smile… she was about to crash into him…

Possibly because he'd experienced being underwater before, without even realizing what he was doing, Harry pointed his wand and commanded, “Relashio!”

Instead of harmless red sparks, a rush of hot air erupted from Harry’s wand pushing the Mermaid back. The Mermaid had turned the reality surrounding her water-like. He now had an idea. To affect the Portraits-subjects, they had to act on the reality each Portrait figure had created around itself.

Harry whipped his wand around again, this time with a different incantation, the Drought Charm. Suddenly, he could see The Mermaid’s face contorting with horror, obviously feeling the loss of air… or rather she was experiencing it as a loss of water to breathe in.

He quickly spun to check on Ron and Hermione. They held Sir Cadogan magically suspended upside down mid-air, and were smiling at him.

Haring a small gasp, Harry turned back to The Mermaid again. She was in pain because she couldn't breathe, and looked as though she was dying. Harry couldn't let that happen! Looking around wildly for a solution, he thought of Myrtle’s bathroom… but it was too floors down, they would never reach it in time, and there was no water in the Prefect Bathroom.

And then he remembered, his Firebolt was still in the Prefect Bathroom!

With a plan in mind, Harry told Ron and Hermione to go down to find Myrtle and ask her to flood the Prefects’ Bathroom toilets, and then meet him there. They raced off as Harry summoned his broomstick. It was there in no time, almost as though sensing the urgency of Harry’s call. He mounted and kicked up, taking the mermaid’s weakened body in his arms. By soaring over, rather than climbing the stairs, they covered the distance to the Prefects' Bathroom in record time. “Spring Flower!” he shouted urgently.

The door opened and Harry drove inside and above the pool-like tub. It was empty.

Harry waited, growing impatient… trying to think of water spells he knew… and failing… where was Myrtle? She should be here already!

Interrupting his thoughts, the sound of a burst of water startled him. He watched as Myrtle erupted from the first toilet bowl and slashed onto the next one; in and out, into the next cubicle and so on. Soon the floor was soaking wet and the water was slowly filling the pool-like bathtub bellow Harry and The Mermaid.

“ Keep going! ” Harry shouted and he helped by blowing up a couple of toilets himself (he would deal with Snape and other professors afterwards). Finally the water was enough for a body to fit…

SPLASH!

He let the body of the Mermaid fall into the water. Harry waited eagerly for reaction from the half-fish half-girl, hoping against hopes that it wasn’t too late…

There was no reaction. Harry’s heart pounded anxiously, his muscles were tense with worry…

Then something strange began to happen, the mermaid started to disappear. Only a pool of swirling colors remained. On cue, Harry looked up at the old frame of The Mermaid painting.

There, its owner was back, smiling and waving at Harry.

It only took seconds for Hermione and Ron to bring the kicking and shouting Sir Cadogan to the same pool and repeated the process. In no time the corrupt paint was washed away and Sir Cadogan rushed to visit the Mermaid’s painting to apologize for his behavior.

It was over. As the moon rose over the window of the Headmaster’s office, the Trio briefly recounted the facts to Dumbledore, who in turn would tell the House Elves and the Portraits. They visited the Hospital Wing afterwards. Ron assured his friends that his wounds looked worse than they actually were. Harry wanted to believe that, because the black patch on Ron's leg reminded him of Wilbur’s wounds.

Speaking of Wilbur, Harry decided the snake was not that bad, it only had a horrible temper. The next day Hagrid was made promise he would return it to the forest once it has fully recovered.

The Portrait spell broken, Peeves is back to being himself, to everybody’s horror. So is Mark Evans, who confessed that the parchment scrap with the password was his. His older brother had lent him the password of the Prefects’ Bathroom, and he had only planned on taking a bubble-bath, no harm meant. The last he remembered was something hitting the back of his head. He had no recollection of what he had been doing the whole day.

About Umbridge, she got away. They looked all over the castle, from where she was last seen to the far grounds of Hogwarts, but she had disappeared. There was no proof that connected her to the incidents going on at Hogwarts, so she won’t be even troubled by it. Needless to say, Harry was disappointed and would have given anything to have the hag closed up at Azkaban… or at a centaurs’ community.

[McGonagall's Cat]

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[timeturner]

THE RETURN OF DOLORES JANE

“Umbridge? What are you talking about, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“The snake, er…I mean Wilbur, he just said Umbridge is behind all this,” Harry said slowly, still not wanting to believe it was possible. “He said it’s our fault because we left her in the Forest to be punished by the Centaurs. Now she’s in pain and wants vengeance.”

“Wilbur said all that, did he? Why, I jus’ knew he was a smart fella,” Hagrid said, seeming rather proud.

Ron favored Hagrid with a strange look before responding, “But Dumbledore rescued her. She didn’t have a scratch on her when she came out of the Forest.”

“She was out there a long while before Dumbledore was able to go get her,” Hermione said quietly. “Anything could have happened to her during that time.”

“If you ask me, she deserved whatever she got,” Harry said bitterly, not willing to feel sorry for Umbridge. “And if she’s in pain now, she deserves that too.”

“Deserved it or not, if she’s back and messin’ with ‘ogwarts, you three better get back to the school and tell Professor Dumbledore all yeh know,” Hagrid said.

“Hagrid’s right. Let’s go,” Harry said.

Hermione and Ron headed out the door, but Harry lagged behind stopping in front of Wilbur the Snake, who was coiled inside his basket on the table. The large reptile was swaying slightly, it’s eyes on Harry.

“Uh, thanks,” Harry said.

“Sssssertainly,” the snake hissed.

Harry said goodbye to Hagrid and left the hut, closing the heavy door behind him. He looked around for Ron and Hermione, not seeing them on the path ahead of him.

“That’s odd,” Harry muttered, wondering where they could have gone in such a short time. Surely they didn’t go up to the castle without him.

A shrill scream followed by a flash of green light erupted near the greenhouses. Panic gripped Harry’s heart and his breath caught in his chest. The scream sounded like it had come from Hermione. Harry began running as fast as he could towards the sound, pulling his wand out as he ran.

“Hermione!” He yelled.

Hearing no response inspired his legs to move even faster. He thought the commotion had come from somewhere near Greenhouse Two or Three, but when he arrived there he saw nothing. Harry jogged between the two buildings, not sure where to look. A stunning spell suddenly shot through the air into the Greenhouse wall, narrowly missing his head. Harry spun around and saw Draco Malfoy standing on the path behind him, doubled over with laughter.

“You ran right past me, Potter,” Draco said, still laughing.

Harry had just raised his wand, intending to curse Malfoy, when he felt something hard crash down upon his head. And then the whole world sunk into darkness.




Harry woke slowly, his head pounding, the pain nearly unbearable. His cheek was pressed into the dirt. The earthy fetor filled his nostrils. Harry struggled to push himself into a sitting position, trying to figure out where he was and what happened. The sudden movement made him dizzy and caused his vision to blur momentarily. Harry squinted, focusing on his surroundings.

It looked like he was inside one of the greenhouses. Harry turned to his right and saw Dobby also lying in the dirt. The house elf was flat on his back and not moving. Harry crawled over to him. Dobby’s eyes were closed.

“Dobby,” Harry whispered. “Dobby, are you alright?”

Harry tried to pinch and prod him into waking, but Dobby remained still. Harry heard a muffled whimper and turned to find Ron and Hermione were also on the floor next to him. Both were bound with ropes and gagged. Ron’s face was battered, his eyes blackened. He appeared to be unconscious, his head lolling on his shoulders.

Hermione was conscious, only her frantic eyes were visible above her gag. She was desperately trying to wriggle out of her bindings. Harry moved to help her and removed her gag.

“Hermione, what happened?” Harry asked, struggling with her ropes.

“Oh, Harry! We have to get Ron untied and get out of here. Umbridge is on her way!” Hermione cried.

“What happened to Ron and Dobby?” Harry asked, finally getting Hermione’s bindings undone.

“Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle caught us outside of Hagrid’s and drug us here. Ron was struggling, so Crabbe and Goyle kept punching and stunning him. I screamed and Draco stunned me. I must have blacked out. When I woke up we were all here in the greenhouse. Dobby hasn’t moved, I don’t know what they did to him. I heard Draco tell Crabbe and Goyle it was time to go get Umbridge. They’ve been helping her all along,” Hermione said, her hands shaking as she helped Harry unravel the ropes from around Ron.

“I wonder why they didn’t tie me up before the left,” Harry said, taking pleasure in their mistake.

“They didn’t think you would wake up anytime soon. You’ve been bleeding badly, Harry. They laughed about it,” Hermione replied angrily.

Harry felt his head with his hand. His fingers came away red and sticky with blood. The sight made his stomach lurch.

“Have you seen my wand?” Harry asked hopefully.

“No. Mine is gone too,” Hermione said feeling her empty pockets. “They must have taken them.”

“Great,” Harry muttered, feeling very vulnerable without the slender piece of wood. “Alright, you go get help, Hermione. I’ll wait here with Ron and Dobby.”

“No! I can’t leave you all here,” Hermione argued. “What if Draco comes back with Umbridge. Between the two of us, we can get Ron and Dobby out of here.”

“Well isn’t that sweet,” Draco said walking through the door into the greenhouse, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. “The mudblood doesn’t want to leave her friends behind.”

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy!” Harry yelled.

Draco’s pointed features twisted with laughter, Crabbe and Goyle laughed along with him. Harry waited, expecting Umbridge to make an entrance. Seeing his expectation, Draco nodded.

“Don’t worry, Potter,” Draco said smiling nastily. “She’s on her way. Promised me she’d finish you off once and for all. You and your friends. I told you I’d get you, Potter.”

“What did you do to Dobby?” Harry asked, furious with Malfoy.

“You shouldn’t have a house elf doing your dirty work, Potter. Turns out spying on me wasn’t in his best interests,” Draco replied smirking.

The smirk suddenly slid off Malfoy’s face when they all heard a voice just outside the greenhouse.

“Trevor! Trevor come back!”

“Longbottom!” Draco said looking out the window. “What’s he doing here?”

Neville came crashing through the door, his hands outstretched, trying to reach the large toad hopping in front of him.

“Trevor, wait!” Neville cried.

Crabbe and Goyle rushed Neville, nearly squashing the frightened toad beneath their feet. Harry took advantage of the distraction and stuck his hand out towards Malfoy.

“Accio, Wand!” Harry yelled.

Draco’s wand flew straight from his hand into Harry’s. Harry used the wand to shoot a simple stunning spell. It hit Malfoy directly in the chest, knocking him to the floor.

“Aghhhh!” Neville screamed, flailing about as Crabbe and Goyle tugged on his arms, fighting to restrain him.

Hermione grabbed their stolen wands from Malfoy’s exposed back pocket. Pointing hers towards the two Slytherins, two perfectly aimed jets of light shot forth at her command, hitting Crabbe and Goyle and knocking them to the ground. They landed with loud thumps face down in the dirt.

“What’s going on here?” Neville asked, looking increasingly confused and frightened. He suddenly spotted the toad he had been chasing trapped beneath one of Goyle’s meaty hands. “Trevor!” He cried.

“Neville, wait!” Hermione yelled, pointing her wand at the toad. “I’m not quite sure that’s Trevor.”

Hermione whispered an incantation Harry had never heard before. The toad began growing and taking on a different shape. The shape eventually morphed into the revenant Dolores Jane Umbridge.

Neville gasped and Hermione emitted a satisfied grunt.

Seeing the look of confusion and shock on Harry’s face, Hermione explained, “Transmogrification, she gave herself the appearance of a toad, probably so she could get in and out of the school undetected. We’ll learn about it next year with Professor McGonagall. I’ve been reading ahead.”

Dolores Umbridge scrambled to her feet, her wand drawn. She was covered in filth from head to toe and her face was so wild and flushed it was the same color as Professor Sprout’s whortleberries.

“I got you!” Umbridge screamed, her wide mouth stretched into a crazy smile. “I lost the respect of the wizarding world because of you brats, but killing you two should increase my status. In certain circles,” she added, cackling madly.

“I must object, Dolores Jane,” Professor Dumbledore said quietly but firmly from the entrance of the greenhouse.

Umbridge lost her smile at the imposing sight of Albus Dumbledore framed in the doorway. Before Harry could even blink she had dropped out of sight, reverting to the shape of a toad. Professor Dumbledore simply smiled and conjured a tiny gold cage, which he promptly dropped on Umbridge as she frantically hopped across the greenhouse. Trapped beneath and behind the bars, she let out a loud croak that sounded strangely to Harry like “Uh oh.”

Snape and Hagrid suddenly appeared behind Dumbledore, their faces flushed as if they had been running.

“I believe everything is almost in order here,” Dumbledore said, turning to Snape and Hagrid before gesturing to the caged toad. “Severus, if you could please tend to the members of your house. I will be along shortly so we may discuss the consequences of their actions. Neville and Hagrid, if you would both be so kind as to carry young Mr. Weasley and Dobby to the infirmary. I am certain Madam Pomfrey will have little difficulty reviving them.”

Dumbledore conjured five stretchers and assisted everyone out the door before coming to stand before Harry and Hermione.

“Well done, once again,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

Harry immediately began telling him about the rogue portraits, but Dumbledore held his hand up.

“Not to worry, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Thanks to Professor McGonagall, the portrait subjects are safely in their frames where they belong. An advanced form of thaumaturgy was used to transform them. You see, Dolores did not want anyone in the school, including the portraits to witness the crime she intended to commit.”

“I believe her original intention was to attack you Miss Granger, in the Prefect’s Bathroom. The private setting would ensure the low profile she needed to keep within the castle. I can only assume she had equally devious plans for Harry. However,” Dumbledore chuckled, “Dolores did not anticipate Dobby’s fondness for the Prefect’s bath. His appearance startled her into hiding. When Dobby realized the taps didn’t work and left to get help, Dolores made a quick exit, unsure who Dobby would return with. What neither of the realized was that our mischievous eidolon, Peeves, was hiding in one of the taps in the tub.”

“The shock of seeing his least favorite Professor back at the school was a bit much for him and kept him in hiding for some time, but he was able to give me a full report afterwards. I have never seen him more serious,” Dumbledore added thoughtfully. “So, of course I took action at once. My assumption that young Mr. Malfoy, among others, may have assisted her turned out to be correct, much to my dismay. Please know, their actions will not go unpunished.”

“Also Harry,” Dumbledore said smiling once again. “I found your broom in the school corridor. It was invaluable to me in my search of the grounds. I must say, it is a fine broom. You will find it propped outside the greenhouse as you exit.”

Harry smiled at the image of Professor Dumbledore perched on the Firebolt racing above Hogwarts. He wished he could have seen it.

“Professor,” Harry said. “There’s still one thing I don’t understand. Why didn’t the taps in the tub work?”

“Bubble-gum, Harry,” Dumbledore replied with an amused look. “Peeves was in the process of stuffing them full of bubble-gum before Umbridge arrived.”

[evlpez]

Re-read and rate Round Three Submissions Here.

[StarWalker]

Round Winner!

Slytherin’s Sycophant

“Umbridge!”

The single word echoed through the sudden silence in Hagrid’s home; brought heads up with a snap to look at Harry, differing expressions of horror and revulsion on each; and caused the back of Harry’s right hand to burn with a pain that seared into his mind. Umbridge, the great toad from the Ministry Of Magic, ordained by Cornelius Fudge, the minister himself, and sent to suppress the knowledge that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named once again walked among men. Both Harry and Hagrid had suffered physically from her evil; to Hagrid, her actions were more immediate and real than those of Voldemort himself.

“No, ‘arry! That canna’ be right. She left long ago.” Hagrid’s voice was a loud rasping whisper, overflowing with emotion. “She wouldn’t, couldn’t come back! The centaurs wouldn’t let her, and Grawp…”

“Can’t you just ask the centaurs?” Hermione filled the void left by Hagrid’s trailing comment. “I mean, they don’t want her in the forest – look how she thinks of half-breeds…” At the stricken look on Hagrid’s face she stopped, then continued, “Blast that woman! She’s the most wicked, disgusting excuse…”

“Where is she?” Harry spoke to Wilbur, slipping easily into the role of translator. “Do you know where she is hiding?”

“Sshe doesss not hide from you, foolissh ssstripling. Sshe walksss the pathsss of the ancient onesss, ssseeking our old friend, who left usss ssso long ago. With hisss help we were to become powerful, but he long ago departed our landsss, driven out by hisss friendsss.

“Evil followsss her everywhere; sshe triesss to command the sshade of a pillar of the ssschool, but it will consssume her, and all of usss!” Wilbur finished speaking, and coiled up on its blanket, while the rest stared at Harry. “Sshe and the sshade will be found by the large one, for both enjoy the tormenting of one sssuch asss him.”

Though both Hermione and Ron knew he was a Parceltongue, the conversation still made them pull back in surprise, for the speech was as much a hypnotic movement of Harry’s head and shoulders, as it was a hiss. Hagrid, who only knew of Harry’s gift by hearsay, watched fascinated. “Say, Harry, does Wilbur like it here?”

“Hagrid!”

“Sorry, ‘ermione,” Hagrid apologized, looking sheepish. “It’s just, well, I, er, just wanted to know if he’s ok! Tea, anyone?” He poured steaming mugs for each, and passed them around, ignoring the chorus of negatives.

“What did it say, Harry?” Ron asked.

“Umbridge is in the forest, and is causing the problems at the school.” He said heavily, rubbing the back of his right hand unconsciously. “He also said it’s our fault, and that she’s trying to order the shadow of a pillar, I think.”

“Our fault! How can it be our fault?” Indignation oozed from every aspect of Hermione’s face and stance. “Does it think we brought her here?”

“Well, we did take her into the forest and leave her.” Ron took a sip of his mug of tea, made a face, and set it down on the floor.

“That’s what it said. It also said she’s come back to punish us all, and something about ancient paths and old friends. The first part was clear; I didn’t completely understand the rest.” As Harry stopped, there was quiet, as each tried to digest his words in their own fashion. “Oh, and the last thing it said was, that we could find them by ‘the large one’, whatever that…”

“Grawp!” Hagrid’s booming cry blended with the sound of his stool banging into the wall, and the crash of his oversized mug, which showered them with hot tea, as it broke against the floor. “I’m on m’ way!”

“Hagrid! No! Wait!” Hermione’s cries were lost, as Hagrid plunged into the forest, grabbing only his crossbow and quiver of bolts.

“Now what?” Ron looked from Hermione to Harry and back. “Do you suppose Wilbur really meant they’re hiding with Grawp?”

“Not likely,” snorted Hermione. “Remember how she hates half bloods. What exactly did it say about Grawp, Harry?” She looked at him expectantly.

Harry frowned in concentration, trying to recall the snake’s exact words. “It said something like ‘she and her shadow would be by the large one,’ then there was more, about ‘both enjoying tormenting such as him.’”

“It said, not just ‘him’, but ‘such as him’?” Hermione questioned, looking puzzled.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry retorted. “Look, what does it matter? We’ve got to do something.”

“Well that certainly sounds like Umbridge.” After a brief pause, she continued. “I think it’s time to go talk to Professor Dumbledore.” For the first time, since the three had met on the Hogwarts Express five years earlier, neither of the boys argued with her.

On the return to the castle, Hermione continued to pester Harry, trying to get more details about what the snake said, until Ron interrupted her badgering. “Look Harry! That looks like your Firebolt Malfoy’s flying!”

Harry turned, only to see Draco whiz by, laughing, and to hear his taunts. “Hey Potter! Lose something!”

“Drat! Where did he…” A moment’s reflection reminded him that he had left his broom in the niche where he had ducked when he first heard Sir Cadogan clamoring down the corridor. “Now how…”

“Call it,” Hermione urged, “like you did in the Triwizard Tournament.!”

Uncertain if her idea would work with a rider on the broom, but with no better one of his own, Harry held his hand up towards Draco. “ACCIO FIREBOLT!”

The reaction was immediate, and humorous. Harry’s broom seemed to gain a mind of its own, and the three on the ground watched Malfoy fight to keep from returning to earth, clearly a losing struggle. Besides its obvious attempts to reach Harry, the Firebolt also seemed to be trying to throw its rider, bucking and spinning in loops and high speed turns, ending only when it unceremoniously dumped Draco in front of the grinning trio. Harry grabbed the broom as it continued into his hand.

“No, but I bet you did!” He laughed as he pulled the scrap of parchment he had found earlier in the bath from his pocket, and waved it in front of Malfoy. “Can’t remember the password, or was it Crabbe or …”

At Hermione’s sharp poke in the ribs, he quit talking and looked closely at Draco’s face. Staring at the scrap in Harry’s hand, he struggled to control the conflicting feelings of fear, anger, and hatred.

“Give me that!” he hissed through clenched teeth, as he grabbed at the parchment.

Harry slapped his hand away, and shoved the document back into his pocket. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t think what, Potter? Aside from the obvious, of course.” The oily tones were enough to identify the speaker; the smirk that greeted him, as he turned, was the salt in the wound.

“He has a parchment that belongs to me,” Malfoy accused, his face carefully blank, no trace remaining of the fear and anger that marked it a moment before.

Professor Snape held out his hand. “If you please, Mr. Potter.”

“We found that in the prefect’s bathroom to the fifth floor, Professor,” Hermione quickly said, cutting off Ron and Harry. “It has the password on it, and there’s something wrong…”

“That’s quite enough, Miss Granger. I see you still haven’t learned when to hold your tongue. Ten points from Gryffindor, I think, for each of you.” He took the parchment and gave it to Malfoy. “Now, I’m certain all of you have something better to do than to stand in the doorway.” As Professor Snape swept passed them, Malfoy turned and ran into the castle.

“Well at least we know where the parchment came from,” Ron said, as they continued towards Dumbledore’s office.

“Maybe,” agreed Hermione, “but did you see how frightened he was? He didn’t even ask why Harry had it, instead of you or me. He’s hiding something. And Professor Snape was sure in a hurry to go somewhere.”

“Hold on,” Harry commanded, suddenly stopping, and looking at the broom in his hand. “I want to take this back to the room, and we should probably check with Dobby before we see Professor Dumbledore. I mean, we can guess what Malfoy was doing, but we did ask Dobby to watch him.”

Ten minutes later, Ron tickled the pear, and they entered the kitchen. Preparations for the evening’s meal were almost complete; they found Dobby by one of the big fireplaces, sitting with Winky. When he saw them coming, he jumped up and ran to greet them.

“Harry Potter, sir” he squeaked, his high-pitched voice cracking. “Dobby has failed Harry Potter!”

“How’s that, Dobby?”

Dobby drew as close to the three as possible, then whispered only slightly quieter than his normal speaking voice, “Dobby has done what you asked, but Dobby could not go with the old master’s son. Dobby follow him until he went into the prefect’s bathroom, but when he went out the other door, Dobby could not go.”

“Other door? What other door, Dobby?” Hermione’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

“Through the picture, Miss. Harry Potter asked Dobby to follow, but Dobby did not hear the password. Old young master speak and then went through, but Dobby could not. Dobby did see who waits for him,” he added eagerly.

“Waits for whom, Malfoy?” Ron addressed his question to Hermione, but Dobby answered.

“She waited.” The fear was palpable in Dobby’s squeaky words, it showed in his eyes, and face as well. “The Frog Lady!”

Only one person matched that description, and there was only one woman who inspired such fear in Dobby. Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, as the import of the words penetrated. Umbridge was here, in the castle, in a secret room or passage behind the picture of the mermaid in the prefect’s bathroom.

“Something doesn’t fit,” Hermione said, looking into Harry’s stunned eyes. “Dobby, didn’t you tell Harry that only very powerful magic, Dark magic, could affect the structure of the school?”

“Yes, Miss. Only Dark magic could free the pictures. Only very powerful magic can shut down the water.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she said to a puzzled Ron and Harry. “Umbridge couldn’t even get rid of the twins’ portable swamp. Everything we know about her tells us that she is a mediocre witch, and definitely not up to this type of magic.

“There has to be something we’re missing.”

“Let’s go to the bathroom, and have a look at that picture,” Ron said restlessly. “Maybe we can find the opening.” His demeanor brightened at the thought. “Just think, we might find a secret passage out of the school that Fred and George don’t know about!”

“We already know of one of those,” Harry said bleakly. As Hermione and Ron looked at him questioningly, he continued. “We know how to get into the Chamber of Secrets, and the Marauders’ didn’t.” Harry turned and left the kitchen; the other two looked at each other, and then followed.

They were approaching the fifth floor bathroom, when they saw Sir Nicholas and the Fat Friar drifting towards them, deep in conversation; the normally cheerful spirits were somber. Harry started to greet the two house ghosts, but Hermione motioned for quiet, holding a finger to her lips.

“…and Peeves was up to one of his tricks, out in the forest last night, taunting the centaurs, when he literally ran through Salazar’s revenant,” Sir Nicholas explained to the Friar.

“I presume Peeves’ actions failed to impress him,” said the genial Hufflepuff house ghost.

“Exactly right! Of course, it didn’t help that Peeves was arguing with her, and taunting her, when Slytherin arrived. In fact, Peeves had just performed a transmogrification into a rat with the Salazar’s face.”

“Oh, how he hated rats!” The Friar laughed.

“That would be an understatement! You know how the Bloody Baron dislikes Peeves, so you can imagine how Salazar hates him. When Peeves returned this morning, he went into hiding somewhere, and hasn’t been seen, or heard, all day.”

“Sir Nicholas!” Hermione called, as she ran towards him, the two boys close behind.

“Good afternoon, Hermione.” Sir Nicholas stopped. “May I help you?”

“Did I hear you say ‘Salazar’? As in Salazar Slytherin?”

“You did indeed!” He beamed at the three. “Salazar’s shade has recently been among us.” After lowering his voice and looking around furtively, he continued. “Between you and me, he’s not happy, either. He’s perfectly content being dead.”

“Wait a minute!” Harry exclaimed, as the two spirits began to drift away. “Are you saying Salazar Slytherin is no longer dead?”

Sir Nicholas stopped, turned in the air, and adjusted the ruff on his collar nervously, and looked gravely at Harry. “I believe I told you at the end of last year, there is no way to return from beyond the veil of death, Harry. There is, however, one way, a very ancient way, to give a wraith a new life. It would not be the original again, but it would be a life, of sorts.” The two ghosts drifted through the wall, leaving Harry and the others staring after them.

Ron looked from Harry to Hermione. “What was that all about?”

“Oh Ron, think!” Hermione was simultaneously exasperated and worried. “We know Umbridge isn’t a powerful enough witch to cause the trouble we’ve seen here. But Salazar Slytherin certainly could, because his magic went into constructing the school!”

Hermione turned to Harry. “What, exactly, did that snake say? You mentioned ‘old paths and friends’ that Umbridge was using.”

Harry leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. Picturing the scene at Hagrid’s in his mind, he struggled to remember what the snake had said. Haltingly, he began to recite.

“It spoke in three sections. The first told of our knowledge, that we knew the cause, and the cause was the same in the school and the forest. It repeated that we knew her, and had left her in with the centaurs.

“When it spoke the second time, it said she wasn’t trying to hide, but was on ancient paths, looking for an old friend of the snakes, who had promised power, but had left long ago.

“Finally, it said she was trying to command a shadow of a pillar that would consume her and all of us. Then it said where to find them.”

Opening his eyes, Harry stood away from the wall; Hermione and Ron looked at him intently. “Harry, did the snake say ‘shadow’ or ‘shade’?” Hermione asked.

After a moments thought, Harry replied slowly. “Parceltongue doesn’t really have different thoughts for the two. Why, does it make a difference?”

“It might,” Hermione replied. “Sir Nicolas said Salazar’s shade was with the ghosts …”

“But isn’t a ‘shade’ a ghost, or a ‘shadow’ of the real person?” Ron asked. “So it wouldn’t matter which it said.”

“Right!” exclaimed Hermione. “That’s what I’m trying to say. Suppose Wilbur was telling you that Umbridge had found and made a pact with Salazar Slytherin’s spirit.”

“A ghost can’t do what’s happening here,” Ron argued. “They can’t affect reality.”

“Spring flower.” Boris opened the portal to let them pass, as Ron and Hermione continued their discussion.

Leaving them, Harry wandered over to the portrait frame that normally held the mermaid. After gazing at the bare rock and gently lapping sea, he ran his fingers around the edges, feeling for any abnormality. “What is the password?” Harry whispered, thinking aloud.

“You won’t find anything that way!” The words came from next to his ear, so softly Harry was uncertain if he heard or thought them. Turning his head, he could see his friends still talking. “You cannot see me, only hear me,” the feminine voice continued.

“Who are you” Harry whispered, “and why can’t I see you?”

“It is enough that I can speak to you, and you can hear me.” The reply did nothing to reassure Harry. “I will give you the password, but first I give you warning. Beyond that portal lies danger beyond imagining, for Dolores Umbridge does not understand the power she is trying to release. If you fail, you will die, for Salazar will not tolerate interference, and if Umbridge succeeds, you will fail.

“Yet, it must fall on you to stop her, because I am bound here, and can only help those who want instruction. As I lived, so I now exist, accepting all who seek, though now I am but an echo of enchantments built into the foundations of our creation.

“So, young Harry, the word you seek is ‘Goherosa’. There is still time, but you must hurry. The danger is very great.”

“But what’s in there?” Harry asked. No answer came. “Ron! Hermione!” he called, then stood back from the frame. “GOHEROSA!”

“Where did you come up with that?” Ron asked, as he and Hermione joined Harry. They watched the portal open, not like the others in the castle, where the portraits swung aside, but with a shimmering dissolution of a section of the stone wall itself, creating a large rectangular doorway. Little could be seen through the door. Dimly lit fog billowed into the warm room, bringing with it a damp chill and precluding vision.

Harry looked at the others, then turned and stepped through the opening. His friends looked at each other, then plunged after him.

They found themselves outside, in a heavily overgrown section of swamp. Air, cold, and heavy with moisture, deposited a film on Harry’s glasses. Unable to see, he stumbled over the snarled tree roots and fell into the undergrowth; the oppressive air muffled the sound. The fetor of rotting vegetation was overpowering. Ron covered his mouth and nose with one hand, and retched at the assault of odors. Hermione quickly produced a handkerchief to cover her own lower face. Harry wiped his glasses, and stood.

Ahead they could dimly see a path, which snaked towards a source of dim light. “Let’s get out of this stench!” Ron whispered hoarsely, continuing to gag. Scrambling out of the slight depression, they discovered the air more breathable, with only a faint hint of the putrid smell of the hollow.

“Lumos!” Harry created a light at the tip of his wand, and then carefully started to follow the trail.

“Harry! Where are you going?” Hermione snapped sharply. “How did you know that password?”

“Quiet!” Harry turned and continued whispering, quickly telling them about his conversation with the voice next to the painting.

“Oh Harry, don’t you ever learn?” Hermione asked dejectedly. “That could have been anyone; even Umbridge, trying to get you out here.”

“And just how would she have known I’d be at that spot?” Harry snapped back, voice rising. “She knows I’m not a prefect.”

“Shhh,” urged Ron, as the swamp noises seemed to recede in the wake of Harry’s onslaught. “We’re here now, and can’t go back…”

“Why can’t we go back?” Hermione whispered, alarmed.

“I didn’t see an opening where we came out. Did you?”

“We’re not going back!” Harry emphatically cut in. “At least, I’m not.”

Turning, he continued slowly down the path; Ron, then Hermione, followed him. The land gradually rose, and they found themselves meandering along the edge of the swamp, the trail plainly visible in the light filtering through the vegetation from ahead. Harry extinguished his wand, as they started to hear voices, deadened by the still present mist. Approaching another twist in the path, they detected an opening beyond; the source of both the voices and flickering illumination was somewhere in that clearing.

Moving off the path, Harry sidled up to the edge, carefully remaining hidden behind the bordering trees. He found himself on the lip of another hollow, looking down onto a scene that could have come from one of the paintings on the castle walls. An old stone cottage occupied the far side, a dim light coming from one of the windows, smoke rising from the half-crumbled chimney. Moss and vines covered most of the stone; an opening had been recently hacked through the heavy growth covering the entryway.

Two fires burned, one was large, providing heat and light, the other much smaller. It was this smaller one that drew their sight. Glowing coals formed a precise circle, about 6 feet across; the air above shimmered in the heat; the objects on the far side wavered and danced. Exactly in the center, about three from the ground, floated the eidolon of Salazar Slytherin, twisting in the mist and smoke; before him stood Dolores Umbridge.

Harry’s hand started to throb once again, as he watched her talking to Slytherin. Memories of last year flooded his mind, comparisons made between the then and the now. She still wore one of her pink cardigans, but it was no longer fluffy. Instead, it was tattered and dirty, the original color barely visible. Her broad toad-like face had changed only because her eyes had sunk deeper, her face now more like a skin covered toad skull. Matted and filthy, her hair hung in dank strings, adding to her disheveled appearance.

As he caught sight of her eyes, Harry realized she was quite insane. They burned in the light of the fire with a hatred of everything. He had the feeling she cared for neither the living nor the dead; certainly, her haranguing of Slytherin indicated the depth of her madness, for she seemed to fear not even the ghost that frightened Peeves.

“No!’ Hermione’s gasp and jab caused Harry to tear his eyes from Umbridge, and look towards the larger fire. In the flicker of the flames, he could see a rude stone altar, similar to those of the ancient Druids, and on it lay a man. Next to the body, he could see several jars, slender, about a foot tall. On a wooden bench beside the altar, were five white stone cylinders; four of them had seals on either end, the fifth only on one end. Next to the altar, the body of a unicorn lay crumpled, its beauty undiminished, even in death. Drops of its blood showed silver in the moonlight that flickered through the trees and the mist.

.Anger flooded through his mind; he leaped to his feet, barely aware that Ron and Hermione flanked him. “EXPELLIARMUS!”

The wand Umbridge was waggling at Salazar flew from her hand and splintered against the cottage. “NO-O-O!”

Umbridge’s scream masked Hermione follow-up, “ACCIO WAND,” that snapped the splintered pieces into her hand. Face hard set, Hermione led the charge down into the hollow, followed closely by Harry and Ron.

“Throw me my wand!” Salazar Slytherin’s command caused the three to pause; his voice was like ice, brittle and cold, sending a chill down their backs.

Again, Umbridge cried, “NO-O-O!” Spittle flew from her mouth as she rushed Harry, a slender twig in her hand, raised as if to stab him. “STUPEFY!” The screamed command accompanied by a flick of her wrist, sent a dirty green light, shot through with silver, shooting from the end of the twig. Striking all three full in the chest, Harry fell, aware of Umbridge’s mad scream of victory as consciousness fled. His last memory was Hermione’s face, and a single, whispered word. “IMPEDIMENTA!” Strange, he’d never noticed that Hermione had large green eyes before this.

“NO! STOP!” Harry flailed his way back to consciousness, struggling against the ropes binding his arms to his sides.

“Harry!”

So this is death. Floating, with nothing to worry about. No pain, no worry, no homework!

“Harry! It’s time come back!”

No! Out there is Voldemort, and Umbridge, and Snape! In here it’s quiet, and peaceful. Just leave me alone!

“Harry”

Harry opened his eyes wearily. Surprisingly, he felt no pain. In the infirmary again! That wry thought brought a quick smile to his lips. He started to sit, then fell back, as a jackhammer slammed into his skull. “Ohhhh!”

“Just lay quiet, Harry” Professor Dumbledore’s even tones reassured Harry, even as they raised questions. Harry struggled to a sitting position, ignoring the pounding in his head. He could see Ron and Hermione in two of the other beds, both still unconscious. Dumbledore sat in his customary chair, watching Harry, with a subdued expression of pride.

“Once again, I seem to owe you an explanation, Harry. I’m sorry to awaken you early, and shall have to answer to madam Pomfrey later, I’m afraid. But it is necessary, and I wanted to talk before the other awoke. Tell, me please, what happened to you today, or rather, yesterday, since it is the middle of the night.”

Harry looked at Dumbledore for a minute while he gathered his thoughts into a semblance of order, then related Saturday’s events, starting with Dobby’s strange tale before dawn, and ending with the brief fight with Dolores Umbridge. He skipped the brief set to with Draco and Snape; with the other things that had happened, it seemed rather trivial. Dumbledore watched him closely as he related his tale, but never spoke, until Harry finished.

“Thank you Harry.” The Headmaster steepled his fingers and raised them to his chin.
“I appreciate your candor, both in what you’ve told me, and in what you have not told me.”

For the first time, Harry noticed Dumbledore’s pensieve sitting on the table next to the professor, and blushed. “Again, I must apologize, Harry, this time for borrowing your memories while you were unconscious. I had to know the extent of what I found in the forest, and it was locked in the minds of you three students. While I appreciate your discretion in what you told me, and the selective nature of your revelations, I must take some action with regards to Mr. Malfoy. His brief taste of power last year seems to have gone quite to his head. I shall have to discuss the matter with Professor Snape.”

“Now, I’m certain you have some questions for me.” Dumbledore looked expectantly at Harry, who suddenly felt as if he were being examined.

“Sir, Professor Umbridge, did you catch her?” Harry’s voice sounded like a dry croak, but the question did get out.

“There was nothing to catch, Harry. When Professor McGonagall and I arrived, she was lying on the ground, not to far from you three, quite firmly bound. Miss Granger has a very effective Impediment Jinx.

“You do realize that she is quite mad, Harry.” Harry nodded, not quite convinced.

“Dolores Umbridge was consumed by ambition,” Dumbledore continued. “Her employment at the Ministry of Magic gave her access to the Department of Mysteries. Because she was so obvious in her ambitions, and so mediocre in her abilities, no one suspected her when items disappeared from various storerooms. She applied several times to become an Unspeakable, but her application was always rejected, largely because of her lack of ability, but in no small part because of her belief in thaumaturgy.

“Often magical happenings are concealed from the non-magical world by their belief in miracles. We encourage that belief, but Dolores became a believer herself. After last year, when she left pursued by Peeves, she brooded, and eventually determined to return to power, by using items she had stolen from the ministry.

“She believed she could restore Salazar Slytherin’s spirit to a body, and knowing that Voldemort had returned, decided to make the attempt. However, she lacked both his long years of study, and his abilities. She was doomed to failure, regardless of how hard she tried, for had she succeeded, Salazar would have had no further use for her.”

“He’s gone, then, and the castle…”

Dumbledore interrupted Harry with a wave of his hand. “The castle is back to normal, the bathroom functions properly, and the paintings are in their proper places. The erosion of the castle magic was due to the influence of Salazar’s presence out of his time and place. When he was laid back to rest, everything stabilized.”

“And Helga Hufflepuff?” Harry asked

“She’ll be so pleased you recognized her!” Professor Dumbledore said, standing. “Now, Harry, I must go. I still have many ends to tie up, and I must thank Dobby for fetching me. Perhaps someday we’ll sit down and talk more of this, but for now, rest.”

As the Professor walked out, Harry looked at his two friends resting in the beds near him. Closing his eyes, he relaxed. After about five minutes, he dozed off, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

This post has been edited by evlpez: Oct 1 2004, 12:29 PM

[evlpez]

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