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Chapter Seven
Adventures in Portrait-Land
Updated 10/10/2015
=ooo=
6 September 1991
7:30 a.m.—
Harry opened his eyes, tiredly blinking sleep from them.
It had been a long week, he thought, closing his eyes again with a long sigh.
For the past four days he'd attended Hogwarts classes, learning wand magic six hours a day with his fellow Gryffindors and students from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin Houses. Then at night he was up until early in the morning taking instruction in witchcraft and mortal subjects like English, mathematics, science, geography and social studies, taught by his Uncle Arthur and Arthur's friend Aretha, a witch he'd known for many years.
The night lessons last until six in the morning, after which Arthur would whisk Harry back to his bed in the Gryffindor dorm room, giving him a potion that put him into a deep sleep for ninety minutes, until he woke at 7:30 relaxed and refreshed for another day of classes. At least that was how it was supposed to work. In reality Harry had been waking up feeling more and more tired every day, until by this morning he was thankful it was the last school day of the week and he would be able to sleep in tomorrow!
There was a soft squeaking sound coming from somewhere near his feet. Using his witchcraft senses, Harry saw Ron's rat, Scabbers, climbing onto his bed. Harry watched curiously as the rat moved past his feet, coming towards his head. Harry feigned sleep, wondering what Scabbers was up to. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Scabbers since Ron had introduced Harry to his pet on the Hogwarts Express.
Talking to animals was something all witches and warlocks could do; the Book of Magic had informed him that animals were usually eager to speak with them, as they could sometimes provide useful information to the witch or warlock in return for rewards like food or gifts of magic. In the wand world many people kept pets like owls, which were dead useful to them for sending messages back and forth. But witches and warlocks had more direct methods of communication, so familiars like owls or cats were not that common.
Scabbers worked his way alongside Harry's body, moving towards his head. Did Scabbers have something to tell him, Harry wondered. Could something have happened to Ron during the night? Harry watched, his eyes still closed, as Scabbers came closer to his face, sniffing softly.
Harry opened his eyes. "Hi, Scabbers," he said softly.
Scabbers froze for several seconds, then nodded his head in greeting. "Hello, Harry Potter," he squeaked. "I am very pleased to meet you. I did not know you could speak to animals."
"Pleased to meet you," Harry murmured, not answering the question. "Nice of you to come visit me. Is everything okay? Are you hungry?"
The rat was looking around nervously as Harry spoke. "Oh no," it replied quickly. "Everything is fine, just fine. I'm still quite full from last night. I was just having a…a look round."
"I see," Harry said. Scabbers was being rather verbose for a rat, he thought. Most rats were primarily concerned with finding and eating food, but here was one admitting it had had its fill! "Is Ron okay?" he asked.
"Hm? Oh, yes, he's fine," the rat nodded. "I was actually worried about you, Harry Potter."
"Me?" Harry was surprised to hear that. "What're you worried about me for? You're not my rat."
"I know, but…" the rat seemed to hesitate, as if pondering what to say. "Well, I was over here a while ago, and you seemed much less…responsive than you are now. I thought something might be wrong."
Scabbers had visited him before? The potion Harry took each morning put him in a deep sleep, allowing him to get eight hours of rest in only 90 minutes of actual time. During that 90 minutes Harry was aware of nothing, allowing his mind to recuperate from a full day of classes. "I was just tired from a long day," Harry said, which was the truth but not the whole truth. Actually, Scabbers should already have realized Harry was different than all of the other wizards at Hogwarts — no one else here could talk to him like Harry did, as far as Harry knew.
"I'm glad you're okay, Harry Potter," Scabbers squeaked. "I should get back to Ron." The rat scurried to the edge of his bed, disappearing over the side. With witchcraft, Harry watched through the curtains as Scabbers ran over to Ron's bed, clambered up the side, and settled onto a pillow near Ron's head, immediately falling asleep.
It was a strange conversation, but at the moment Harry was more interested in taking a hot shower than in being curious why Ron's rat was worried about his sleeping habits. He slipped through his bed curtains, grabbed the school clothes he'd hung out the night before for this morning, and dragged himself into the bathroom.
Some towels were missing from the towel racks next to the showers (there were two of them). Dean and Seamus had begun showering at night so they could get up just before 8 a.m., throw on their school clothes and go down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry had never figured out what happened to the wet towels they used — there were never any lying around in the morning when he showered. He highly doubted Dean or Seamus cleaned up after themselves.
It didn't take him long to shower, but Harry stayed, letting the warm water spray down on him for a while, giving him more time to build up his strength for the day's activities. He recalled his classes for today, and groaned to himself as he remembered the first class: Double Potions with Professor Snape, followed by Astronomy with Professor Sinistra. Harry managed a grim smile as he remembered the previous Potions class on Tuesday. Snape, his hair still a golden yellow beneath his hood, appeared briefly to assign them reading and homework, then disappeared again. They'd heard or seen nothing else from the man the rest of the week. All in all, a good week as far as dealing with Snape was concerned, Harry thought.
The other morning class, Astronomy, had been an interesting but at the same time bothersome course. Their practical Astronomy class took place at midnight on Wednesdays, which necessarily split his night lessons into two parts. That annoyed Aretha, but she did allow him to attend the class, even though she'd given him extra reading to do in social studies and geography.
Professor Sinistra was a tall, black woman with a somber, stoic disposition; Harry had rarely seen her smile during their lessons with her. She kept them busy in her daytime classes memorizing the names of stars in the night sky; during the practical class they had to locate and identify those stars in the night sky. Once again Hermione's perfect memory was a big advantage for her during these lessons, and she always handed in her assignments before anyone else, including Harry, who was usually busy helping Ron writing up his work.
The only class of the afternoon was a double History of Magic, during which Harry was planning to get his Charms, Transfiguration and Defense homework for the week completed. The last period of the day was a free one, thankfully. Harry was thinking about catching a short kip before dinner; that way he might not be so tired during his witchcraft lessons, assuming Arthur and Aretha planned on holding classes on Friday night.
His shower completed, Harry stepped out of the stall, snapping his fingers to dry himself off, then waved a hand to put on his clothes: a white shirt, black pants and black leather shoes. He made a quick gesture at his neck and a tie flew off the vanity, looping itself through his collar and tying itself in place. Glancing at himself in the mirror, Harry invoked the spell that straightened his hair, watching as it fell neatly in place. He was ready to go.
Walking back into the dorm, Harry saw Dean and Seamus's bed curtains were open and their beds empty. Pyjamas were thrown across their beds and their wardrobes were ajar; they had apparently awakened, dressed, and gone down to breakfast. Ron and Neville's curtains were still drawn. Harry walked over to Ron's bed. "Ron, get up!" he said loudly. "It's—" he glanced at his watch "—seven-fifty already!"
A loud squeaking came from behind Ron's bed curtains. "Yeah, I heard him, already," Ron's sleepy voice grumbled. "I'm up!" he said loudly. "Hang on, I'll be ready in five minutes!" The curtains flew open and Ron shot like a bolt into the bathroom.
Smiling, Harry went over to Neville's bed. "Neville, you up?" he asked.
"I'm up," Neville said a moment later. "Is Ron in the bathroom?"
"Yes," Harry answered. Neville and Ron both preferred the shower on the left; whichever of them got in the bathroom first got their pick.
The bed curtains of Neville's bed opened. Neville was wearing a bathrobe and slippers. "Rats," he muttered. "Sorry, Scabbers," he added, looking at the rat lying on Ron's pillow. A soft snore was his only response. Neville looked over at Harry. "Will you guys wait for me to go down to breakfast?" he asked.
"Sure, Neville," Harry smiled. "Take your time."
Neville smiled in reply and hurried into the bathroom. Harry sat down on his bed, trying not to think about the five hours of classes he was about to endure. He also reminded himself that he was still trying to figure out which person at Hogwarts was being possessed (or rather, occupied, according to Uncle Arthur) by Lord Voldemort. Arthur had given him until the Christmas holidays to figure out who it was. But even if he deduced who it was, how was he going to prove Voldemort was inside the person, unless he somehow got them to admit it? It was a pretty problem. Harry looked around the room, trying to distract himself.
There wasn't much in their dorm that he hadn't already noticed. It was round, of course, since they were in one of the Gryffindor towers. There were five four-poster beds spaced equally around the room, each one with a wardrobe next to it. In front of each bed (except Harry's) was a trunk belonging to the person who slept in that bed. In Harry's case he'd slid his suitcase beneath his bed. It was locked it so no one could open it and see what was inside.
There were two doors — one was the exit to the stairs that led down past the other boys' dorm rooms, down to the common room. The other was the door to the bathroom. The walls were bare stone, covered in places with rather dull tapestries showing unknown events in Hogwarts' past. Harry supposed if Hermione saw them she could tell them exactly what they depicted.
That was about it for their dorm room, there was nothing else of interest in it. Except — Harry noticed it for the first time, there was a portrait hanging above the door to the stairs. He didn't remember it being there before.
Portraits in the wizarding world were somewhat different than the ones the Dursleys or Samantha and Darrin had in their homes. The people in those portraits didn't move. The portraits at Hogwarts did. And further than that, Harry had learned, people in the portraits could move from portrait to portrait, and talk with one another, and with people outside the portraits, too, just like the Fat Lady at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room did.
That meant that the people in portraits at Hogwarts could spy on you, if they wanted to. Harry could easily imagine some of them wanting to. But who? And who had hung the picture in their room?
It might have been Professor McGonagall, or one of the prefects, he thought, to keep an eye on the "ickle firsties," as Dean had said the upper years referred to them. It might be Professor Dumbledore; the picture of him on the Chocolate Frog card had nodded to him. The Headmaster had wanted him to come to Hogwarts in the first place, so it seemed reasonable he might want to keep an eye on Harry while he was here.
It might even be the person Voldemort was controlling, Harry realized. That person, whoever it was, might want to keep an eye on Harry so Voldemort would know when he was here, in his dorm. That was an unsettling thought.
Harry stood, staring up at the person occupying the portrait. He was a rather non-descript fellow in an old fashioned coat, with hair that looked like a wig: white and puffy. The portrait had noticed him staring, Harry could see; he was keeping his eyes staring straight ahead, as if intensely interested in some point high on the wall across the room from him. A small bronze plaque at the bottom of the frame was engraved with "Eodwin the Obscure." Well, the bloke did look obscure, Harry thought. He was so average and non-interesting that Harry might never have noticed him if not for being bored and cranky and wanting to get out of lessons tonight.
Eodwin tried to avoid meeting the gaze of the boy he'd been ordered to watch. He wasn't supposed to call attention to himself, and hanged if he hadn't, but the boy had noticed him anyway! He stared resolutely ahead, his eyes fixed on a particular stone in the wall across from him, and tried not to squirm under the boy's gaze.
"Why are you watching me?" Eodwin started — the boy's face had suddenly appeared directly in front of him! Harry had floated up from the floor to hover in front of the portrait.
"I-I-I beg your pardon," Eodwin stuttered. "Why would I be watching you?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Harry told him. "Who hung you here?"
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Eodwin objected, avoiding the question. "Would you kindly leave me alone now?"
"Busy schedule?" Harry asked, sarcastically. "Somehow I don't think so." He snapped his fingers and disappeared. Eodwin breathed a sigh of relief.
"Behind you." The portrait started and spun around, revealing the boy standing behind him, inside his frame!
"How can you be in my…" Eodwin trailed off, completely baffled by Harry's intrusion.
Harry was looking around and orienting himself to the idea of being inside a picture. He'd heard Arthur talk about it often enough — he enjoyed rattling Samantha's husband Darrin by appearing inside pictures in their home. Harry had even had some experience with it himself. When Electra got a story book for her sixth birthday, she asked Harry to read it to her one night. Halfway through the book, she said she wanted to visit the story. Harry hadn't known what she'd meant until she crossed her index fingers, wiggled them, and they found themselves in the book. There they met a princess named Buttercup and a boy named Westley who later became a dread pirate named Roberts, a giant name Fezzik and a Spaniard named Inigo Montoya. He and Electra had had an interesting time, and Harry discovered that you could pop into books and television shows just like you popped from place to place.
Where he was now was a curious place, indeed. From inside you could look out of the frame just like looking out a window; Harry could look down on the dorm room just as he'd looked up at the picture while he was in the dorm. You couldn't move beyond the frame, however; it was like there was a sheet of glass in front of you, just like the glass in front of each habitat at the reptile house at the zoo. Behind him and Eodwin was the backdrop of the picture, some curtains hanging in the air, though they turned fuzzy and indistinct after only a few feet. The curtains merged into passages leading away from the frame; Harry supposed that was how portraits traveled from one picture to another. "This is kind of cool," Harry murmured. "I have to check this out."
"Check this out?" Eodwin looked horrified. "What do you mean? You cannot be in my picture!"
"Why not?"
"Well — be-because," Eodwin sputtered. "You just can't!"
"Obviously, I can," Harry contradicted him. "But Ron and Neville will be done with their showers any moment now — I'm supposed to go down to breakfast with them." He pondered for a moment, then gave Eodwin a crafty smile. "I think you'll be able to help me with that."
"N-no," Eodwin said tremulously, shaking his head. "I don't think I can."
"Oh, of course you can," Harry grinned, clapping the portrait on the shoulder. "I'll show you." He gestured at Eodwin, who turned into a double of Harry.
Eodwin looked down at himself in absolute horror. "What did you do to me?" he moaned.
"Just made you into a double of me," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Now for the hard part." He made magical gestures at Eodwin as he recited:
Portrait of canvas, pigment and hues,
Now take on a different muse!
Instead of acting the way you ought to
You will behave like Harry Potter!
Eodwin-Harry shook all over for a moment, then nodded in a very Harry-like manner. "Very well," he said, obediently. "I won't let you down, Harry."
"See that you don't," Harry warned him. "I'll try to catch up with you after this morning's Potions class — assuming Snape's even there. He's probably skive off again if his hair is still golden. If he's there, don't give him any reason to take off points." Harry gestured and his double vanished from the picture frame, appearing in the dorm room. As Harry watched, his double walked over and sat down on his bed to wait for Neville and Ron, both of whom emerged from the bathroom a minute later. Neville and Ron finished dressing, then all three of them shrugged into their school robes and left the dorm.
"Good," Harry murmured to himself. "Now, let's see what this place is like." He moved off down a passageway that led away from his dorm room.
=ooo=
"Are you feeling okay, Harry?" Neville asked, somewhere around the third floor staircase. "You've been very quiet since we started down for breakfast."
"I'm fine," Eodwin-Harry said in a flat tone. "Perhaps I am a little tired this morning."
"Are you joking?" Ron asked, staring at him. "You went to bed at nine o'clock last night! When'd you get up this morning?"
"At seven-thirty, as I recall," Eodwin-Harry replied. "But I had a very busy night."
Ron stopped in mid-step. "What's that mean? Weren't you sleeping?"
"I—" Eodwin-Harry stopped, looking confused. He remembered belatedly that he wasn't supposed to say anything about his nighttime activities. A lie was in order here. This was difficult. As a portrait, Eodwin normally had no reason to prevaricate. "I—I was having difficulty sleeping," he murmured.
"Huh," Ron said, resuming walk down to the Great Hall. "Earlier this week you were sleeping pretty good. Yesterday morning I woke up early, 'bout seven or so, and I called over and asked if you were awake. You never answered."
"Well, that was then," Eodwin-Harry shrugged. "Tell me, Ron," he said to Harry's best mate. "Do you think Professor Snape will attend this morning's Potions class?"
"Dunno," Ron said, then cracked a big smile. "Probably not, unless his hair's back to its normal, greasy self. I'm not missing him one bit."
"Is your uncle the one who d-did that to S-snape?" Neville asked Harry.
"My uncle?" Eodwin-Harry looked blank for a moment. "Oh yes, my uncle. Uncle Arthur, that is his name. Yes, I believe he did, Neville."
"Aren't you sure?" Neville asked, sounding perplexed. Harry sounded — off — this morning.
"Yeah, what's with you this morning?" Ron demanded. "You sound like a bloody portrait today!"
Eodwin-Harry turned to Ron, an offended expression on his face. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Well, just listen to yourself!" Ron said, exasperated. He put on a stiff expression. "My — uncle's — name — is — Arthur," he said in a dull, mechanical tone. "He — is — my — uncle." Ron shook his head. "You sound like you've got a broomstick up your arse."
"That is not how I sound," Eodwin-Harry retorted stiffly, as they reached the bottom of the grand staircase and walked across the entrance hall.
"Right," Ron rolled his eyes, pushing open the doors to the Great Hall. "We'll just ask the panel of experts." He went over to the Gryffindor table, finding a spot close to Hermione, who was sitting between Fay and Parvati. Lavender was there, too, sitting on the opposite side of Parvati. Harry followed Neville around the table to the other side.
As they were getting settled, Ron reached behind Fay and tapped Hermione on the shoulder. When she leaned back, he whispered, "Watch Harry and tell me if he's acting a bit wonky or not."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but nodded and leaned back toward the table, glancing covertly at Harry. Beside him, Neville was putting food on his plate. Harry was just staring at his plate, as if he didn't know what it was for. That was a bit odd, Hermione thought. Normally, Harry ate a pretty sizable breakfast in the morning: a couple of eggs, some bacon, some sausage, sometimes some hash browns or bubble and squeak, and a glass or two of milk or pumpkin juice. "Aren't you hungry, Harry?" she asked, after studying him for a bit.
"Hungry," Harry said. "Hmm, I'm not sure. It's been a while."
"A while?" Hermione looked confused. "You ate just last night!"
"I did?" Harry scratched his head. "I don't remember that. But I guess I'll take your word for it, um, Hermione." Harry began putting the exact same food on his plate that Neville had put on his. When he finished, he looked back and forth between his plate and Neville's, comparing them. "Picture-perfect!" he proudly pronounced. He picked up a fork and began to eat as Hermione, Ron and Neville watched him curiously.
"This is really good," Harry said, smiling broadly after his first mouthful. He began eating his breakfast in earnest, shoveling eggs into his mouth. "I don't think I've had eggs this good for centuries!"
Parvati turned to Lavender. "What did he just say?" she whispered.
Lavender shook her head, smiling dreamily. "I dunno, but isn't he cute?"
Hermione and Ron leaned back at the same time to stare at one another. "What's wrong with him?" Hermione whispered. Ron just shrugged.
Neville was staring at Harry as well. "Are y-you okay?" he asked.
"What? Oh, sure. Everything's great," Harry smiled. He scooped up the last of his eggs, washing them down with gulps of pumpkin juice. "Great breakfast. I'm glad I had a chance to try it again."
Neville looked confused. "Try what again?"
Harry pointed at his plate. "Why, food, of course! It's been a while."
"That does it," Hermione muttered to herself. There was something wrong with Harry! She stood up. "Harry, would you come with me, please?"
"Um, sure," Harry said, standing as well. "Er, where are we going?"
"I have a question to ask the nurse," Hermione improvised. "I thought you could come with me."
"I suppose," Harry said. "But why do you need me to go?"
Hermione hesitated a moment, then put on her sincerest smile. "I'd just like you to go with me, please."
Harry beamed at her. "Oh, okay then." Hermione picked up her book bag and walked to the end of the Gryffindor table, waiting for Harry to join her there. She took his arm and led him out the double doors, ignoring the snide remarks coming from the Slytherin table.
Ron, Neville, Fay and Parvati watched them leave. "Do you think we should follow them?" Neville asked of nobody in particular.
"I want to, but — maybe not," Ron shook his head. "Let Hermione handle it. Madam Pomfrey will take care of him — Fred and George say she's the best when it comes to fixing them up after a rough Quidditch match." He sighed deeply. "I just hope she can figure out what's going on in Harry's head."
=ooo=
Harry was lost.
Getting around in "Portrait-Land" — the name he'd given the world inside picture frames, was more difficult than he'd expected. The passages between portraits seemed to be inside the walls of the castle, though they were wide enough to get about it without much difficulty. But it wasn't the same as using the castle corridors and hallways. Harry wandered around for a while, moving from one picture to the next, glancing through it to see where he was at in the castle. He'd had a mind to find Professor Snape's office, to see if he could sneak a look at it while the Potions Master was off teaching his morning class. But finding the man's office was not as easy as he'd thought it would be.
The other portraits weren't much help. Not recognizing Harry as a fellow portrait, they weren't very forthcoming about how to get to Snape's office. One portrait, a knight named Sir Cadogan, went so far as to challenge Harry to a joust, if Harry could find a pony to ride. Harry declined the offer, leaving Cadogan shouting after him that Harry was a varlet, a scoundrel and a base coward.
Finally catching a break, Harry came upon the picture frame of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, who very graciously pointed the way to the portrait in Professor Snape's office, a thin-faced woman with a sullen expression much like Snape.
"Thank you," Harry said, grateful to finally be on track to the Potion Master's office.
"Think nothing of it, my lad," Sir Nicholas said jovially. "Always happy to help a fellow Gryffindor!"
Harry stared at the man a long moment. He looked familiar, somehow— ah, the ruff around his neck! Yes, that was it! "Aren't you also a ghost?" Harry asked.
"Oh." The portrait looked chagrined. "Yes, that's what became of me, I must admit. I met a rather sticky end, I'm sorry to say."
"So you can be both a ghost and a picture?" Harry marveled.
"Obviously," Sir Nicholas retorted. "But he and I don't talk — if you must know, I'm not very happy with myself. Getting my head chopped off, indeed! And I couldn't even manage that correctly!" Sir Nicholas folded his arms, looking unhappy. "Well, off with you, then, if you don't mind. I'd prefer to be by myself right now."
Harry nodded thanks and moved off in the direction Sir Nicholas had pointed him. After walking along a particularly boring passageway for a while, a corridor of nondescript gray stone, he came to a fork. Sir Nicholas had said to take the fork on the left. He did, and after trudging along for a while came to a portrait space occupied by a tall, thin woman standing stiffly in her picture, the same gray stone behind her.
In a way, the woman looked as old as Aunt Clara, only much thinner; except it was true that very few people in the world were much older than Aunt Clara — those who were, weren't in the world. Those few people were still living in the Eternal Realm, the place where witches and warlocks had originally come from, thousands of years ago. Also, unlike Aunt Clara, who had a very kind, caring manner, this woman looked rather unpleasant — kind of like most of the Slytherins had looked to Harry, his first night here. But, since he was here to check out Snape's office, he'd better be polite and get to know her.
"Hello," Harry said, stepping into the frame.
The woman turned to him with a cold, penetrating stare. "Who are you?"
He almost answered honestly, but maybe that wasn't a good idea; if Snape had talked about him in front of the portrait she might not want to let him into his office. "Um, just a portrait from the other side of the castle," he said, jerking a thumb back the way he'd come. "My name's — James."
The woman still regarded him suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"
Harry shrugged. "Just out exploring a bit. You know how it is."
The woman said nothing. "Anyway," Harry went on, after an awkward moment of silence. "May I ask your name?"
"You may ask," the woman sniffed derisively. "Doesn't mean I plan on telling you."
"Oh, okay." So much for being friendly. Well, he wasn't done trying yet. He pointed to the office outside the frame. "I heard this was Professor Snape's office. Is that true?"
"Why do you want to know?" the woman asked, even more suspicious now.
Harry put on his most enthusiastic smile. "Well, I'm a big fan of his and I was hoping he was here, so I could meet him."
"Professor Snape's been a professor here since 1980," the woman snapped. "In all this time, he's never once walked past your portrait frame?"
"Well, um, I haven't been here that long," Harry explained. That was sort of the truth, wasn't it? "And I don't think he comes over to my part of the castle, anyway — none of the other portraits there remember seeing him."
"It doesn't matter," the woman said dismissively. "He's not here now, anyway — he's teaching a class."
"Oh," Harry said, sounding disappointed. "Well, could I at least have a look at his office, then?"
The woman did not look happy, but she gave an indifferent shrug. "I suppose it won't do any harm for you to have a look." She gestured at the frame. "Go ahead."
Thanking her, Harry stepped in front of the frame, looking out into Snape's office. It wasn't very big, Harry saw, nor did it look very inviting. Most of the walls he could see were covered with shelves filled with bottles and jars off — things. Rather nasty-looking things, Harry thought. There were animal parts and plants floating in potions of different colors. There was a dark, cold fireplace of gray stone, with a dusty mantelpiece above it. Off to one side was a table with stacks of books and parchment scrolls covering it.
Harry wanted to examine some of the books and parchments on the table, but doing so would expose him as capable of moving between the castle and Portrait-World, something that wizards seemed incapable of doing. There was something he could do, though… he touched the picture frame, casting a spell on it. He could use that spell to lead him back to this room, much like their class schedules had led them to their classes during the past week.
"Thank you for letting me look," Harry told the woman again, who shrugged off his thanks. "I ought to be going."
"Yes, you should," the woman replied rudely. "I don't know what this place is coming to, with all manner of other pictures just traipsing through everyone's frames! It's very inconvenient."
"Sorry," Harry said, heading for the passageway that brought him here. Before he could enter, however, he was nearly bowled over by another woman, this one dressed in an archaic nursing uniform, who looked excitedly at the frame's original inhabitant.
"Eileen!" she said, breathlessly. "You've got to come see! Do you know who's in the infirmary right now, this very moment?!"
The woman, Eileen, looked worried. "It's not Severus, is it?" she gasped, concern in her voice. "Wilhelmina, tell me!"
"No, no," Wilhelmina quickly replied. "It's that Potter boy!"
Harry froze. What the hell was his double doing in the infirmary?
"Potter?" Eileen looked furious. "That's the boy that's been giving Severus such a hard time, him and that tutor of his! What's he there for?"
"He's acting very strangely," the nurse told her. "Madam Pomfrey is trying to diagnose him right now! Hurry, we can watch from my portrait in the hospital wing!" Both women hurried out the passageway, leaving Harry alone.
He had to get to the infirmary right away. Turning the portrait of Eodwin into his double hadn't worked as well as he'd hoped. Harry snapped his fingers and disappeared from Eileen's frame, reappearing in Snape's office. From here he could pop to the infirmary — except he wasn't sure where it was at. Harry turned himself intangible and walked through the door of Snape's office. Now he could ask a friendly ghost or portrait where to go.
"Potter! What do you think you are doing outside my office?!" Harry winced. Professor Snape had just come around a corner and spotted him. His hair was back to its original color, black and greasy; Uncle Arthur must've gotten bored with his Golden Boy hairdo.
Harry put on an innocent expression. "Sorry, Professor, I'm afraid I'm a bit lost," he explained. "I was about to knock on this door for directions to the infirmary when you arrived."
"Were you?" Snape seemed totally unconvinced by Harry's story. "You should be in my classroom right now, with the rest of the dunderheads from Gryffindor."
Harry bristled at the insult, but decided it wasn't worth arguing about. "I know, sir, but I was feeling a bit…off this morning, and thought I should talk to Madam Pomfrey about it. That's what Ron suggested."
Snape crossed his arms, looking both smug and dubious. "You couldn't have done a worse job of finding the infirmary, Potter. You're still in the dungeons; the infirmary is two floors above us. Very well, we shall go to see what Madam Pomfrey has to say." He pointed a finger at Harry's nose. "And mark my words! — if there is nothing wrong with you, Potter, you will receive detention." He pointed up the corridor. "Now, march."
Harry obediently followed the Potions Master along the corridor, thinking furiously. He knew where Snape's office was now, but if they got to the infirmary and found the fake Harry pretending to be him, Snape was likely to assign him detention until he was old and gray!
I need a little help, here, he thought into the ether, hoping someone was listening. Uncle Arthur? Cousin Samantha? Aunt Endora? Is anybody out there?
But there was no reply as Harry trudged along the corridor, following Snape to the entrance hall. The Potions professor led Harry into the hall, going to the grand staircase and climbing it toward the first floor.
As they approached the landing, however, they were met by a very young girl coming down. She was small and blonde, wearing a light-colored dress and black Skechers boots. Snape stopped short, staring at her in disbelief. "Hello," the little girl said, a frightened expression on her face. "Can you tell me where I am, please?"
"How did you get here?" Snape demanded, ignoring her question.
"I don't know!" she said, shaking her head. "I was at home with my mommy, then I was here. I want my mommy," she said plaintively, looking as if she were about to cry.
Snape was regarding the girl suspiciously. Finally he shook his head. "I don't think so, Arthur. I heard you were capable of changing your form — you are merely pretending to be a little girl to get your so-called nephew out of trouble," he sneered. "Well, it won't work."
The little girl's face scrunched up as she began to cry. "I want my mommy!" she sobbed. "You're a bad man!" She started to run away, down the stairs.
"Wait, wait," Harry stepped forward, catching the little girl before she could get away. He held her comfortingly. "Listen, little girl, we'll try to find your mommy, okay? It will be all right." He patted her soothingly on the back, looking at Snape. "Right, sir?"
Snape looked utterly bewildered and torn. The little girl must be Arthur, but she was acting so much like a child no other explanation seemed credible. "Very well," he said, so softly and slowly he was almost inaudible. "We shall take the child to Professor McGonagall's office. She, hopefully, will at least be able to take charge of her. Then, Potter, you and I will continue to the infirmary."
"Yes, sir," Harry said, suddenly holding his stomach. He was beginning to look a little green. "But…maybe I could go on to the infirmary ahead of you — I seem to be feeling worse, now—"
"Don't be ridiculous," Snape cut him off. "I have no intention of allowing you out of my sight until we reach the infirmary and Madam Pomfrey confirms you are—"
Harry suddenly opened his mouth and vomited a great gush of green liquid onto Snape's robe and boots, to Snape's horrified disgust. He stared down as Harry continued to retch, watching as spurts and dribbles of liquid continued to plop onto his boots.
Harry finally stopped, spitting a last gobbet of green sick on the floor in front of Snape, almost the only bit that had missed his clothing. "Aaack," he gasped, shaking his head. "Sorry, sir, I just couldn't hold back anymore."
"Apparently not," Snape murmured, turning his nose away from the smell. He took out his wand and vanished the sick from the floor, then pointed it at his robes. The vomit on them and his shoes disappeared. He put his wand away, looking at the little girl, who was holding her nose. "Very well," he sighed. "This young lady and I will go to see the Deputy Headmistress. You, Potter, may go straight to the infirmary, and nowhere else." He reached into his pocket, took out a small white marble, tapping it with his wand. "This will now lead you to the infirmary. It will glow green when you are going in the right direction. It will turn red if you take a wrong turn." He handed it to Harry, then pointed an admonishing finger at him. "I expect to find you in the infirmary when I arrive there. If not, you may expect to find yourself on detention until the Christmas break. Come along, child." Snape took her by the hand and led her away, up the staircase. As they left, the little girl turned and looked at Harry.
She winked.
Harry smiled, winking back at her. He had immediately recognized Tabitha's daughter Electra, of course. Wonder what's going to happen in McGonagall's office, Harry thought. But I guess I'll hear about it eventually. Just wish I could be a fly on the wall to see that! In the month he'd spent at Tabitha and Michael's house, he'd learned that Electra was a lot smarter and a lot more interesting than your average six-year old. She'd shown him things about witchcraft that had amazed him, like being able to pop into books and television shows, interacting with the people there. Now he had done it on his own with the portraits at Hogwarts, going so far as to pop one of the portraits out of its frame and into the real world. That had probably not been a good idea on his part. And he was going to have to talk to Electra about that vomiting thing — she was the one who'd made him sick. A very unpleasant experience, even if it had gotten Snape off his back!
At least Electra had gotten him out of the dilemma with Snape discovering the two Harrys. He'd better go sort that out before Snape showed up there!
Harry examined the marble Snape gave him. He cast a spell on it to discover where the infirmary was located. It wasn't that far away, just up the stairs to the first floor and down a couple of corridors. Now that he knew where it was, it was a simple matter for him to pop there, becoming invisible and intangible as he did.
=ooo=
Hermione led Harry up the grand staircase to the first floor, then down one corridor and another until they reached the infirmary, a large room filled with single beds, well-lit by windows all around the room, though that must be some kind of spell — they were in the middle of the castle, after all.
A couple of the beds were already occupied: a boy with wiry hair was staring them as they entered, and an older girl was asleep in the bed across from him.
"Yes, what is it?" The nurse, Madam Pomfrey, emerged from an office door. She was gray-haired but with bright blue eyes, wearing a white and red nurse's uniform. She studied both Harry and Hermione carefully. "Are either of you ill?"
"I'd like to ask a question, please," Hermione said to her. She glanced at Harry, then leaned toward Pomfrey. "I'd like to ask it in private, if you please, ma'am."
Pomfrey's eyes softened and she nodded knowingly. "Yes, my dear," she said, gesturing toward her office. "Step this way, please."
Hermione put a hand on Harry's arm. "I'll be right back, Harry," she said, then followed Pomfrey into the office. It was a relatively tiny room, with a small desk in front of a row of shelves filled with books, and another chair in front of it. There were no pictures on the wall. A cabinet filled with boxes was next to the desk.
Pomfrey pointed to the chair in front of the desk, then busied herself at the cabinet as Hermione sat down. "Um," Hermione began hesitantly. "This is about, er—"
"You don't have to say, my dear," Pomfrey said without turning around, opening two boxes and taking items from each of them. "I know what this is about. It's something that happens to many young girls about the time they begin school here."
Hermione's eyebrows shot upward. "Um, no, this is about—"
Pomfrey turned around, holding two small, white objects in her hands. Hermione realized, horrified, what Pomfrey thought she was here for. "Now, I don't know if your mother has talked with you about this," Pomfrey began. "But I want you to know there is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about—"
Hermione was turning bright red. "No," she said quickly. "I, um, know all about — that." She pointed a finger at what Pomfrey was holding. "But that's not what I'm here about. It's about the boy out there. Harry Potter."
"Oh." It was Pomfrey's turn to look embarrassed. She quickly put the items back in the cabinet. "What about him? That's Harry Potter, you say?" she asked.
"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "He's been acting a bit — strange this morning."
"In what way?" Pomfrey asked. "Can you describe how he's acting?"
"Just — off," Hermione said, not sure she wanted to say just how weird Harry was acting. She didn't want to get him into any real trouble, after all. Although, to tell the truth, she admitted to herself, Harry seemed more than capable of getting himself into, and out of, all kinds of trouble. "He, um, said this morning how much he enjoyed his breakfast, but he's had the same breakfast every day this week."
Pomfrey frowned. "That doesn't seem that unusual," she remarked. "Perhaps he just enjoyed breakfast more today than the previous mornings."
"Could be," Hermione agreed, reluctantly. Had she overreacted? No, not really. "He also said," Hermione added with a sigh, "that it was the best breakfast he'd had in centuries. Now that's rather odd, don't you think?"
Pomfrey looked thoughtful. "He might have just been having you on a bit?" she wondered, with a small smile.
"Couldn't you just have a look at him?" Hermione asked, pleadingly. "Talk to him a bit, see what you think?"
Pomfrey nodded. "Of course, my dear. Let's go have a chat with him." She led Hermione back into the infirmary area.
=ooo=
Harry appeared in the infirmary in front of the entrance. His doppelganger was standing in front of the first bed; there was a door nearby where Harry could hear Hermione's voice. He also saw the wire-haired boy in the bed next to the first one, and the girl sleeping in the one opposite him.
He glanced around quickly, finding the portrait frame where Wilhelmina and Eileen, the two women he'd met in the portrait in Snape's office, were glancing around the edge of the frame, watching Harry's double standing there.
Good. Things didn't seem too out of control at the moment. Harry set about putting things right again. He pointed a hand at the portrait of Wilhelmina and Eileen, then twisted it. The portrait spun around so its front was facing the wall; that effectively rendered them blind. Harry could hear them sputtering with indignation and frustration at not being able to see what was going on now.
Harry then snapped his fingers at the curious boy in bed two, who immediately fell back asleep. Now, he needed another picture, and quickly—
There was another picture hanging over the third bed back, an older man with a tall, pointed cap and wide, white collar. Harry pointed at his double, then made a sweeping gesture toward the picture. Eodwin-Harry disappeared, reappearing in the picture frame next to the older man as Eodwin the Obscure once again. The two pictures looked at one another. "What are you doing in my frame?" the older man asked.
"I have no idea," Eodwin shook his head dazedly. "I seem to have blacked out for a bit."
"And what happened to that black-haired boy?" the older man demanded, looking back out of his frame. But the boy was still standing there—
At the same moment Eodwin disappeared, Harry had popped into the place he'd been standing, making himself visible again. He looked at the frame the two women were in, twisting his head slightly as he did, and the picture spun round again, showing a blank frame. Wilhelmina and Eileen had evidently abandoned the frame in order to find another view.
Sure enough, a moment later the two of them crowded into the older wizard's frame. "Did anything happen?" Wilhelmina demanded. "What did we miss?"
"What did I miss?" the wizard retorted. "Wilhelmina, what are you doing in my frame?! I issued no invitation—"
"Oh shut up," Eileen ordered. "We want to see what's happening with Potter."
"Potter?" The older wizard arched an eyebrow. He stared harder at the boy in front of the first bed. "I say, he does remind of James Potter…"
"That's his son, Harry Potter," Wilhelmina corrected him. "James Potter's been dead a decade now, Newt."
The older wizard shrugged. "Well, who can keep up with things going on in the world these days?"
"Shush!" Eileen ordered again. "Watch!" Hermione and Madam Pomfrey were coming back into the room. They walked over to Harry, both regarding him with forced smiles on their faces.
Harry smiled back at them pleasantly. "Hi," he said, as they stopped in front of him. "Everything okay?" Of course it was, he added to himself. Eodwin was back in Portrait-Land and no one was the wiser, except Eodwin himself, and Harry had removed all of the portrait's memories of him in the castle outside the portrait frame.
"Of course, dear," Pomfrey said soothingly. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Never better," Harry said, with a bracing stretch to emphasize the fact. He glanced at his watch. "Uh-oh," he said, looking at Hermione. "We're already late for our first class, you know. It's 9:15."
"I know," Hermione said. "It's just that—"
"It's alright," Pomfrey cut over here. "I just want to ask you a few questions before you go, Mr. Potter."
"Okay," Harry agreed.
"When was the last time you ate?" Pomfrey asked.
"Just before I came up here, with Hermione," Harry answered immediately.
"And before that?"
"Last night," Harry said. "About six or six-thirty. Why are you asking?"
"Just curious," Pomfrey answered. "Would you say your breakfast was especially good this morning, or did you enjoy it more than usual?"
"Um." Harry feigned confusion. "It was an okay breakfast, nothing special about it."
"But didn't you say it was the best breakfast you'd had in centuries?" Hermione broke in.
"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "If I did, I was exaggerating. What's the big deal?"
"It didn't sound like you were exaggerating," Hermione muttered.
"Alright, enough," Pomfrey said, signaling she should be quiet. "Mr. Potter, I don't see any reason why you should be kept here any longer. You may go to your class."
"Actually," Harry remembered. "I'm supposed to stay here until Professor Snape arrives."
Hermione frowned. "How do you know that?"
"He told me to," Harry replied.
"When?" Hermione asked. "We haven't seen him yet this morning."
"Um—" Harry had seen him, of course, but he couldn't say anything about that without making Hermione suspicious. "I, uh, was waiting out here when someone gave me a note telling me to wait for him."
"Oh," Hermione said, momentarily convinced. But then— "Wait, how did he know you were here?"
"Er— I don't know how he knew," Harry shrugged. "The note just said to wait for him wherever I was, and he'd find me."
Hermione held out a hand. "Let's see the note."
Man, she wasn't making this easy! Harry reached into a pocket on his robe, conjuring a parchment note in it before he pulled it out and handed it to Hermione. The note read,
Potter—
Wait for me wherever you are. I will find you shortly.
Professor Snape
"See?" Harry said, as Hermione examined the note. After a minute she handed it back to him, looking dubious but saying nothing.
"I'll wait with you, then," she declared, sitting down on an empty bed. "I should explain to him why you and I aren't in his class this morning."
"Suits me," Harry said, sitting down on the bed next to her.
"Very well," Madam Pomfrey sighed. At least there seemed to nothing wrong with Mr. Potter, though she wasn't altogether sure about the girl with him — she had seemed quite worried about the boy, over what appeared to be nothing. "I'll return to my duties," she said, going back into her office.
Hermione sat on the bed, trying to work out what had happened. One minute Harry was acting like there was something seriously wrong with him, the next he was fine.
Harry just smiled and covertly watched the picture frame containing the two women, who had by now returned to the nurse's picture and were whispering quietly together. The older wizard in the other frame was staring quizzically at him, as if trying to piece together what had caused the uproar he'd been subjected to. At least he'd gotten out of his first class of the day!
=ooo=
Meanwhile, in West Palm Beach, Florida, Samantha was starting her Friday morning chores by doing a load of laundry. Darrin was having breakfast and coffee with Larry Tate, a weekly get-together that let them catch up with each other about the events of the week, along with whatever else men their age talked about.
Sam had just started the washer when the phone rang. She stepped into the kitchen to pick it up. "Hello? Oh hi, dear! How are things with my favorite daughter?"
"Fine, Mom," Tabitha replied, but there was tension in her voice. "I just wanted to check and see if Electra was visiting you this morning. I went to wake her up just now and she's not in bed."
"Well, she's not here, either," Samantha said. She looked around, sending her witchcraft-enhanced senses through the house, in case Electra was in the spare bedroom, sleeping. "No, not a sign of her here anywhere."
"I don't know where she could be, Mom," Tabitha fretted. "I checked that book she likes, but she's not in there. The TV's not on so I know she didn't sneak off in there again. I don't know where she could be if she's not with you."
"All right, sweetheart, don't worry," Samantha said comfortingly. "We'll find her. Have you tried to talk to her?"
"Yes, Mother," Tabitha snapped unthinkingly. "Of course I tried that!" She took a deep breath, calming herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I tried calling her name, but either she can't hear me or she's not answering. I hate to think where she might be that she can't answer me."
"Hang on a second," Samantha said. "I'll put out a notice for everyone to be on the lookout for her." She put down the receiver and concentrated, fingers pressed against her forehead.
"Calling all witches, calling all witches!
Be on the lookout for a young witch named Electra!
She's blonde and just turned six years old.
If you see her, get in touch with me or her mother, Tabitha."
"Thanks, Mom," Tabitha said, once Samantha picked up the phone again. "I heard your message, too. I just hope someone gets back to us before long. I'm really worried something's happened to her."
Samantha was worried, too, but she only said, "Don't worry, someone will have seen her and let us know where's she's at."
"Um, hi."
"Harry?" both Samantha and Tabitha said into the ether. "What's going on? Why are you calling us?" Samantha asked.
"Uh, I know where Electra's at," Harry told them.
"Where?!" Tabitha asked, excitedly. "Harry, is she with you?"
"Well, sort of," Harry replied. "She's here at Hogwarts. I'm just not sure where at the moment."
"Where are you?" Tabitha asked him.
"Er, I'm in the infirmary," Harry said.
"Why, what's happened to you?" Samantha demanded worriedly.
"Nothing, really! The Potions professor told me to stay here until he came to check with Madam Pomfrey. But it's past noon here now and he hasn't shown up, so I can't leave."
"Oh, my stars," Samantha sighed. "All right. You stay where you are. I'll be there in a few seconds to pick up Electra, and then I want an explanation for what's going on, young man."
"It's not my fault!" Harry said, automatically.
"Harry," Samantha said reprovingly. It was eerie how much she sounded like an older Hermione sometimes, Harry thought.
"All right," Harry admitted. "Some of it's my fault. But I needed help earlier and she was the only one who came—"
"We'll discuss it later," Samantha said, cutting him off. "Stay put, I'll find you." She broke off the ethereal connection. Into the phone she said, "I'll go get her, Tabitha."
"I'm coming, too, Mom!" Tabitha declared.
"No," her mother objected. "I want to keep our presence in the wizarding world to a minimum. I'll take care of it, including fixing any problems Electra and Harry might have caused by careless use of witchcraft. You just be prepared to deal with your daughter when I get her home."
"Gladly," Tabitha said in a grim tone. "I've warned her about running off without talking to me first! I'll talk to you soon, Mom." They both hung up.
Samantha gestured and changed into her witch robes: a long, black gown with a black cape. She thought about conjuring her hat as well, but the trip to Scotland wouldn't take that long. "Now," she said to herself. "Let's go see what kind of trouble Harry and Electra are getting into, up there." She vanished.
=ooo=
Crap, Harry thought. Crap, crap, crap!
He was probably in for it, now. And it was all Electra's fault!
Well, that wasn't true, he admitted to himself. It was his fault for not realizing that sending a portrait to do a warlock's job wasn't a smart idea.
He and Hermione were still sitting on the same bed in the infirmary where Hermione had situated herself to wait for Snape. That had been almost three hours ago by now, and Harry was starting to feel hungry.
"You know it's past noon, Hermione," Harry said to her. "Maybe you should go down to the Great Hall and get something for lunch. Snape didn't say you had to wait for him, after all."
"Professor Snape," Hermione reminded him, aggravatingly. "I don't mind waiting. I want to explain to Professor Snape why I brought you to the infirmary."
Except if you do, Harry thought, he'll wonder how I could be in the infirmary and outside his office at the same time! "He's not going to care what you have to say," Harry pointed out. "He's going to talk to Madam Pomfrey." And she's going to say that I'm fine, and he'll remember I threw up on him. The only thing I've got going for myself there is that nobody would make themselves that sick on purpose. Either way, this wasn't going to end well.
"I don't care," Hermione said, standing and facing Harry. "I want to explain why I thought you needed to come here, Harry. You were acting very oddly; I don't know what happened or why it suddenly went away, but I think someone ought to get to the bottom of—" She suddenly stopped talking.
Harry glanced up at her. "Bottom of what?" he asked, but Hermione didn't answer. She didn't move, either. He looked around the room. The other two students in the room, the wiry-haired boy and the older girl, who were both eating lunch, were similarly frozen in place.
"What's going on?" the portrait of the nurse, Wilhelmina, called out from her frame. "Oh dear, oh dear," she fretted. "I should advise Madam Pomfrey something is—" She suddenly slumped over in her chair, asleep.
Samantha appeared next to Hermione. "All right, young man," she said in a no-nonsense voice. "What's been going on around here? What kind of trouble are you in? And where's Electra?"
Harry filled her in on the details. Samantha listened, arms folded across her chest, a stern expression on her comely features.
When Harry finished, she shook her head wearily. "I hope you learned something from all this," she said matter-of-factly, though there was a small smile quirking her lips. "I'll leave it to Uncle Arthur to handle your punishment—"
Harry very carefully did not beam happily; Uncle Arthur would probably praise him for hassling Snape, not punish him.
"—but on second thought, Arthur's not the best disciplinarian," Samantha mused. "I'll have to discuss the matter with Tabitha. We might have to give you more homework assignments to keep you busy."
"I'm already doing schoolwork 14 hours a day," Harry objected. "Six hours of wand magic and eight hours of witchcraft and mortal subjects at night! Uncle Arthur and Aretha only give me a one-hour break for a snack between nine at night and six in the morning!"
"Really?" Samantha looked surprised. "You're doing that much schoolwork every day?" She paused a moment as Harry's words sunk in. "And what's Aretha doing here? She and Arthur—" Samantha cut herself off. Harry didn't need to know Arthur and Aretha had had an affair, decades ago.
"Um, he's got her helping him with my night classes," Harry explained.
"I remember her," Samantha nodded. "Interesting. She must've changed quite a bit in the past few decades."
"She's nice enough," Harry offered. "But she really piles on the homework."
"How do you find any time for sleep?" Samantha wondered.
"Arthur gives me a potion that makes me sleep from six a.m. to seven-thirty," Harry answered. "It's supposed to give me the equivalent of eight hours of sleep."
"Oh my stars," Samantha shook her head. "Tabitha and I didn't envision it would be like this when we agreed to let you come here, Harry. Maybe you ought to come home and go to a regular school. You can still learn witchcraft from Mother and Tabitha."
"But—!" Harry still wasn't ready to give up. "Cousin Samantha, I really do like it here! I know I messed up with the portrait thing, and I won't do that again, but I've made friends here. I don't want to lose them. Plus, Uncle Arthur says he knows who in the school is being controlled by Voldemort."
Samantha looked shocked. "He's here? In the school?" She looked very troubled. "Harry, I'm not comfortable with you staying someplace where someone wants to kill you, even if he is only a wizard!" She looked upward. "Uncle Arthur? Come here this instant!"
Arthur appeared wearing a smoking jacket, casual slacks, and slippers. "Oh, hi, Sammy," he said, clearly not expecting to see her at Hogwarts. "What's up?"
"You know very well what's up!" Samantha scolded him. "What's the idea of letting this Voldemort person get so close to Harry?! What were you thinking?!"
"Oh, relax," Arthur waved off her accusations. "Harry's perfectly safe here at Hogwarts — you told me Dumbledore promised he would be."
"Does he know Voldemort is in the school?" Samantha demanded.
"Well, not exactly," Arthur said, reluctantly. "He thinks he could be, but he hasn't come across anyone who's possessed yet."
"But you know who it is, right?" Samantha demanded, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Of course I do," Arthur quickly agreed, taking an unconscious step away from his niece. "After all, what kind of uncle would I be if I couldn't protect my nephew —"
"Save it," Samantha cut him off. "How did you figure it out?"
"Well," Arthur said, gesturing so that he was suddenly wearing a deerstalker hat and holding a magnifying glass in one hand, with a calabash pipe appearing in his mouth. "Employing my vast powers of deduction, I was able to determine that someone had been occupied by Voldemort. I must say, it wasn't easy coming up with this conclusion — it involved a lot of careful observations and sifting through mounds of unrelated facts so that —"
"Just tell us how you did it," Samantha snapped.
"Oh, very well," Arthur sighed. He reached into his smoking jacket and pulled out a small vial on a chain. It was the bit of Voldemort Dr. Bombay had taken from Harry's scar. "This glows more brightly when it gets closer to whoever Voldemort's spirit is inhabiting."
"So that's how you knew!" Harry regarded his uncle with a mixture of admiration and annoyance. "I thought there was some kind of special spell you were using!"
"Nope, just this, kiddo," Arthur said, handing it to him. "So whattaya say, Sammy? Can Harry and we — I mean me — stay?"
Samantha looked closely at the vial. "Mother was right," she mused. "It did come in handy, keeping that." Her demeanor became no-nonsense once again. "Uncle Arthur, I want you to get rid of Voldemort. I don't want him in this school while Harry's here!"
"Oh, Samantha, come on!" Arthur complained. "Don't be such a party pooper!"
"Yeah!" Harry agreed. "I can take care of myself!"
"It's too dangerous," Samantha disagreed. "I won't have it, and neither will Tabitha. Either Voldemort goes, or Harry does."
"But that's not fair!" Harry cried. Both he and Arthur crossed their arms mutinously. "I'm not afraid of some old ghost!"
"He's not a ghost!" Samantha pointed out. "He's a disembodied spirit, and that makes him a lot more dangerous than a ghost." Harry huffed disagreement but didn't say anything. "I can't believe I'm even arguing about this with you!" Samantha said, throwing up her hands.
"Hold on a second, Sammy," Arthur said in a placating tone. "Listen, maybe I have a way to fix this so we can all be happy."
Both Samantha and Harry looked at him expectantly. "Go on," Samantha said, with a wary look on her face.
"I can give the vial to Harry," Arthur proposed, taking it from around his neck and holding it out for them to see. "That way, Harry can't be surprised if Voldemort tries to sneak up on him."
"Hmm," Samantha considered the idea. "I'm still not comfortable with the idea, Uncle Arthur."
"Oh relax, Sammy," Arthur told her. "We can protect Harry, never fear."
Samantha raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by 'we'?"
"Er—" Arthur realized he'd slipped up. "I meant to say I can protect him."
Samantha regarded her uncle with some amusement. "Relax, Uncle Arthur—I know you and Aretha are seeing one another again. I hope things work out better than last time."
"What happened last time?" Harry asked. Both Arthur and Samantha ignored him.
Arthur looked chagrined. "Oh you do, do you? Well, what can I say, Sammy, except she makes me laugh. And you know how important laughing is to me!" he chuckled.
"I do indeed," Samantha agreed. She turned to Harry, taking the vial from him for a moment. "I don't know, Harry… I'm still worried this won't be enough to keep you safe, even with Arthur and Aretha looking out for you."
"I'll be careful," Harry promised. "I'll take this with me wherever I go — Voldemort won't be able to sneak up on me anywhere!"
Samantha sighed. She felt like she ought to speak to Tabitha about this, but… "All right. But only if you tell Professor Dumbledore that Voldemort's spirit is somewhere inside the castle."
"Sure!" Harry immediately agreed.
"He already suspects it, anyway," Arthur conceded.
"All right, then, it's settled," Samantha said. "Now, let's go get Electra so I can take her home, Tabitha's worried about her." She raised her hands, snapping her fingers, and the three of them disappeared.
=ooo=
Electra was sitting in a large, squashy chair next to the Headmaster's desk, smiling happily as she gently stroked Fawkes's head. Fawkes was trilling melodiously, a sound that should have put everyone in the room into a relaxed, peaceful mood.
It hadn't.
For Electra, who was already happy, there was no problem. She had come with the grumpy man with the very bad hair to the older wand-witch's office, where they had tried to convince her to tell them who her mother was and how she had gotten into the castle. Electra had ignored them, wandering around McGonagall's office looking into books and cabinets as the Deputy Headmistress had spoken sternly to her, telling to sit down, stop misbehaving and tell them who her mother was this instant!
Electra thought that amusing.
McGonagall had eventually given up and taken the girl to Dumbledore. Which was a mistake, because Dumbledore's office was even more interesting than hers had been. She had looked through several dusty old books, played with a few of the silver devices on the spindly tables, and chatted with the Sorting Hat, then called Fawkes over so she could pet him. To McGonagall and Snape's amazement, the magical bird had flown to her and put its head in her lap so she could pet it.
Dumbledore, who had immediately recognized who the little girl was, nevertheless was bound by Endora's spell to reveal nothing about witches and warlocks to others. He was only able to tell them that the little girl was related to Harry Potter and that she was probably here to visit him. He then watched, bemused, as Professors McGonagall and Snape tried to sort out how to regain control of the situation.
He ought to tell them that wasn't going to happen. But they would figure it out, eventually.
There came a knock on his office door, making Dumbledore wonder why the guardian of his office hadn't announced a visitor. "Come in," he said, and the door swung open to reveal Harry, Arthur and Samantha.
"Granma!" Electra cried happily, seeing Samantha.
"Hello, sweetheart," Samantha said to her, nodding a greeting to Professor McGonagall as she walked over to pick up her granddaughter for a hug. "Hello," she said to the Transfiguration professor, holding out a hand in greeting. "I'm Samantha Stephens, Electra's grandmother."
"H-hello," McGonagall said, taking Samantha's hand with some apprehension and shaking it. "Professor Minerva McGonagall. We've been trying to determine who she belongs to. Professor Dumbledore said she's a relative of Mr. Potter's."
"She's a bit precocious," Samantha said apologetically. "She was supposed to go to her preschool this morning, but when her mother went in to wake her up, she wasn't there. Harry told us she was here, and I came to pick her up."
"Just a minute," Snape interrupted. Samantha looked at him questioningly. "You are American, are you not?"
"Yes," Samantha smiled. "What gave me away?"
"Your accent, for one thing," Snape retorted, taking her seriously. "Perhaps you are not aware of how things work in Britain, but children of your granddaughter's age should not be able to travel about so freely using magic. There are laws restricting the use of magic by underage children."
"Watch it, Chuckles," Arthur warned him. "You don't know who you're speaking to. Samantha is the Q—"
"A concerned grandmother," Samantha hurriedly spoke over him. "Uncle Arthur, let me handle this." She turned back to McGonagall and Snape. "I'm sorry if my granddaughter has inconvenienced you—"
"Inconvenienced us?" McGonagall looked outraged. "Madam, this child has confounded us at every turn! She refused to tell us who she was, who her parents were or where she came from! Her behavior has been inexcusable, and I question whether you and your daughter are even fit to raise a child!"
Both Harry and Arthur's eyes widened upon hearing this, and they looked expectantly at Samantha. Samantha's eyes had narrowed dangerously. "My parenting skills are none of your concern, Professor McGonagall." She glanced at Professor Snape. "As for your laws, they don't apply to us in America. That's where Electra and I live, as do her parents."
"Surely you aren't serious," McGonagall objected. "The secrecy laws are part of the International Confederation of Wizards — they have been in place for nearly 300 years! You are bound by them just as much as we are here in Britain!"
"Ah," Samantha nodded. "Of course you don't know — Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to tell you anything about us."
"I haven't said anything either, Sammy," Arthur put in quickly. He nodded toward Snape. "Though Laughing Boy here has been asking to learn it the hard way for some time, now."
"I beg your pardon!" Snape swelled with visible anger. "You have been insufferably arrogant since the moment you arrived! In fact—" Snape quickly drew his wand, pointing it at Arthur. "Perhaps the time has come to reveal who you really are — the Dark Lord!"
Harry and Arthur stared at him a long second, then broke into laughter. "Boy, Chuckles, did you get a wrong number!" Arthur guffawed.
Snape looked momentarily surprised, but his face quickly hardened again. "Don't try to joke your way out of this," he growled. "You are far too powerful to be a normal wizard. The only reasonable conclusion is that you have been possessed by the Dark Lord. Every member of the staff has been tested to see whether they've been possessed, except for you." Snape brandished his wand threateningly. "Admit it, or I shall Stun you and we can call for Aurors to take you to the Ministry. They can force the truth out of you!"
"Oh my stars," Samantha sighed to herself, then made a dismissive gesture at Snape. The wand vanished from his hand, reappearing in hers. Snape stared at his empty hand, incredulous, as did McGonagall.
"What did you do?" McGonagall demanded of Samantha, then whirled toward Dumbledore. "Where did these people come from, Albus?"
"I'm sure Mrs. Stephens intends to explain, Minerva," Dumbledore said, nodding toward Samantha. McGonagall stared at him a long moment, then turned toward Samantha, a bewildered expression on her stern features.
"Your Headmaster knows the truth about us," Samantha told her and Snape, who was looking on with equal curiosity and confusion. "I'm a witch. So is Electra. Arthur and Harry are warlocks. Our magic does not require us to use wands, as you do, and our witchcraft is a much more powerful kind of magic than you possess."
"That does not make any sense," Snape objected. "Why have we never heard of beings such as you claim to be?"
"For the same reason you keep your existence secret from mortals — those you call Muggles," Samantha answered.
"Then why are you telling us this now?" McGonagall wondered. "What if we tell others about you?"
"You won't," Samantha smiled humorlessly. "Because I will extend the enchantment that keeps Professor Dumbledore from letting anyone know about us to the two of you." She gestured at them and they were momentarily surrounded by sparkling lights that flew from Dumbledore toward them. "There!" she smiled happily. "That's done! You, Professor Snape and the Headmaster know all about us, but will not be able to tell anyone else what you know."
Both McGonagall and Snape became upset. "You can't do that!" McGonagall exploded. "We have the right to be able to say what we want—!"
"The way you allow mortals to retain their memories about you, if that becomes a problem?" Samantha retorted. "The day I brought Harry to King's Cross one of your Ministry men tried to Obliviate me. If I'd been mortal he'd have succeeded, too. If you Obliviate mortals to keep your secrets, you can't complain if someone more powerful does it to you."
"But it's not ri—" the words died in McGonagall's throat.
"You see the problem," Samantha nodded. "If it's not right for me to do that to you, then you are equally wrong for doing it to Muggles. But the alternative is a lot of people walking around who know about witches and wizards, and who might tell others. That can cause other problems, as you can well imagine. So you keep yourselves hidden from Muggles, and we keep ourselves hidden from you. The reason I am telling you this now is you need to know why Harry is here."
"That is an interesting question," Snape sneered, folding his arms across his chest and staring down at Harry. "Why would someone like Potter even be here in the first place? And how did he acquire such abilities? His mother was a talented witch, and his father a barely adequate wizard —" Harry bristled at the insult to his father but kept his temper "—so how did he come to be what you call a warlock?"
"My father is Harry's great-great-great-great grandfather," Samantha said. "So he and I are related by blood. When I brought him to our home I had our family doctor examine him and he prescribed medication that awakened and regenerated his magical abilities. Harry's been learning witchcraft from my mother and daughter for the past few months. He came here to learn about the magic his parents used. That's all you need to know for now."
Samantha turned to Electra. "Sweetheart, I think it's time for you to go home. Your mother's worried about you." She took Electra's hand and raised her hand to pop them away.
"Wait, please," Dumbledore stepped forward. "Now that I can speak in front of Severus and Minerva, there are many questions I wish to ask about your kind. Where did you come from? Did you originally use wands to cast magic? Are you as long-lived as you've implied?"
"Ah, Dumbles," Arthur said, wrapping an arm around Dumbledore's shoulders. "So many questions, so little time. Let's just say for now that we're here, and we won't be leaving for a while." Arthur looked up, waving a hand expansively in front of him. "You can bask in the glow of our brilliance while we're here, and maybe, if you're lucky, you'll learn some things about yourself."
"Oh, and don't forget to tell him about Voldemort," Samantha reminded Arthur.
McGonagall gasped and grasped her chest, and Snape's eyes narrowed at the mention of the Name. "What do you wish to tell us?" Dumbledore asked, intrigued.
"Well…" Arthur dithered a bit, not wanting to just blurt it out. "We have, um, determined that he's, eh, somewhere…inside the school."
"How have you determined this?" Dumbledore asked, concerned. "As Severus said, I've examined all of the staff members and students who might have been at risk of being possessed; Voldemort is inside none of them."
A loud buzzed went BZZZZT. "Sorry, Dumbles, wrong answer," Arthur told him. "Harry, show him."
Harry reached inside his shirt and pull out the chain, showing the vial containing the bit of Voldemort inside it. It glowed a sickly green. "Recognize that?" Samantha asked Dumbledore. "That's the bit of Voldemort we took out of Harry's scar. Arthur found that it glows more brightly the closer it gets to someone who has Voldemort inside them."
"I'm supposed to find him by the end of the year," Harry said, putting the chain and vial back inside his shirt. "If I don't I have to leave the school and go study back in America."
Dumbledore's eyes were wide with shock. "You — you cannot be serious!" he gasped. "If Voldemort is within these walls the children here are all in grave danger! I must insist that if you have the power to remove him, you should do so immediately!"
"Really?" Samantha regarded him with a critical eye. "So that stone you're keeping here in the school, to lure him here — isn't that putting all of the students here in danger as well?"
"What stone?" McGonagall turned to Dumbledore. "Are you trying to bring You-Know-Who here, Albus?!"
Dumbledore had the good grace to look at least a bit embarrassed. "Perhaps I have overstated the situation," he murmured. "Lord Voldemort is only as powerful as the person he inhabits, beyond his ability to possess other beings. The most powerful wizard in the school other than myself is —" he turned briefly to Snape "—my apologies, Severus, but that person is Quirinus Quirrell."
"Very good, Dumbles," Arthur chuckled, tapping his nose. "You're exactly right."
"Awww!" Harry groaned. "You said I could try to figure out who it was! No fair!"
"Sorry, kiddo," Arthur shrugged. "But your old Headmaster does get something right every so often."
"Thank you," Dumbledore nodded, wondering if that was a compliment or an insult. "How do you wish to proceed?"
Samantha looked at Harry, then Arthur, then shrugged. "It's your school, Headmaster. I would say that's up to you."
"If we have the opportunity to capture the Dark Lord," Snape said. "We should not hesitate!"
"I concur," McGonagall quickly agreed. "We cannot allow You-Know-Who to remain in the school!"
"You know," Arthur shook his head wearily. "You're all a bunch of nervous Nellies. Your Little Lord Dark isn't here to murder your students—" he thought for a moment. "Well, maybe Harry, but that's only if he gets the chance. He's here for that shiny red trinket Dumbles has hidden in the dungeons."
"Just what is this 'shiny red trinket,' Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall asked, looking at the Headmaster suspiciously. "What could You-Know-Who be interested in?"
Dumbledore sighed resignedly. It appeared his amusing stratagem to lure Voldemort here had worked against him. "I've hidden the Philosopher's Stone somewhere below the castle," he admitted. "It can be used to brew the Elixer of Life, which can restore Voldemort to full vitality."
"Huh?" Something didn't make sense to Harry. "How's he going to drink it if he's only a spirit?" he asked.
"That's a good question, Harry," Samantha said. She looked at Dumbledore. "Well?"
"I believe I can answer that," Snape spoke up. "The Dark Lord could possess someone such as Quirrell; drinking the Elixer would allow the body to retain full vitality. Without it, in time the possessed body would begin to degenerate and would eventually die. Quirrell is a powerful wizard, but in the past he has lacked confidence in himself; it was the reason why he only taught Muggle Studies for so many years. With Voldemort's mind inside Quirrell's healthy body, he would be a formidable wizard indeed."
"For a wizard, maybe," Arthur scoffed. "But I'd bet by the end of the school year even Harry could take him, if his warlock training keeps on at its current pace."
"I seriously doubt that," Snape sneered. "Despite your claims of his ability, I've never seen him do a single remarkable thing in his entire first week of school."
Harry and Arthur looked at one another and gave simultaneous eye-rolls. "Professor Snape," Harry huffed. "Has it ever occurred to you that I deliberately haven't been showing off my witchcraft, so no one will figure out I'm different from everyone here?"
The Potions Master stared at Harry contemptuously. "You aren't fooling me, Potter — you have the same prideful arrogance your father did. He was forever showing off his spellcasting prowess to anyone who would pay attention to him."
Samantha stepped in. "Alright, this isn't getting us anywhere. Harry, I'm still inclined to agree with the Professors — it would be best to remove Voldemort from the school so you can concentrate on your education. You do have a lot on your plate, you know."
"Yeah," Harry grudgingly agreed. "I guess it's best for everyone." He was still a little mad he wasn't going to get to find Voldemort on his own. "So now what — huh?"
Harry, Samantha and Arthur all turned toward the door to the Headmaster's office, where their witchcraft-enhanced hearing had picked up rapid footsteps moving down the spiral staircase. "I think that was Professor Quirrell eavesdropping on us!" Harry exclaimed, running to the door and passing through it.
"Wait!" Samantha cried, but it was too late — Harry was gone, chasing after whoever had been listening in. "My stars," she exclaimed, then turned to her uncle. "Arthur, go and stop them! I should stay, but I need to bring Electra home now."
"Granma, let me stay and watch!" Electra pleaded, finally speaking up after silently watching Harry, Uncle Arthur and Samantha arguing with the wand wizards.
"No, you're already in enough trouble," Samantha said, her tone every bit as stern as McGonagall's. She took Electra by the hand. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said to Arthur, and she and her granddaughter vanished.
"No hurry," Arthur called after them. He rubbed his hand gleefully. "Boy, oh boy!" he enthused. "This should be fun!"
"Are you insane?!" McGonagall was frantic. "What if Quirrell attacks Harry? He could kill him!"
"No he won't — Quirrell will be too busy trying to get to the Philosopher's Stone," Arthur giggled. "He probably heard us talking about it. That's his number one goal right now. And I want to watch and see how Harry handles it."
"No," Dumbledore shook his head, finally asserting his authority. "I forbid you to interfere, Arthur. I will stop Quirrell. It is my fault he was allowed into Hogwarts in the first place."
"You forbid? Sorry, Dumbles," Arthur grinned, shaking his head. "You're sitting this one out." He snapped his fingers and vanished. At the same time there was a loud CLACK from the door to the Headmaster's office, like a giant bolt being slammed into place.
Snape went over and tried to open the office door. It wouldn't budge. "I don't have my wand," he said, holding up an empty hand. His wand suddenly appeared in it. "Uh — never mind," he muttered, then cast several unlocking charms at the Headmaster's door, none of which worked. McGonagall and Dumbledore tried several spells as well, including trying to Vanish the door or Transfigure it into liquid, with the same result.
"Now what?" McGonagall fretted, worried for Harry in spite the abilities he'd just displayed.
"I suppose," Dumbledore sighed. "We shall have to wait and see what song the Fat Lady sings."
"Oh, shut up, Albus!"
=ooo=
A/N: Changed "Key West" to "West Palm Beach" per a reviewer's comment.
