Hello! Another update at last! Sorry about the delays - I am still utterly devoted to this story, and I will keep going - promise!!
The usual thanks go out to all reviewers. You really do keep me going!! :-D
Loopyloony: The Harry and Ginny Romance will most definitely be establishing itself soon, never fear!
Whippy Bird: Yes, Snape did mean to give Harry the letter, but he didn't really want to get involved, hence the typically ambiguous Snape-like behaviour! More about that later.... ;-) And let's just say that Hermione and Ron are slowly becoming aware of what the rest of the world has known for ages, and they're confused, bless them.
Thankyou thankyou thankyou to absolutely everybody again! Keep reviewing!! :-D
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The Founders' Gallery
Ron swore and blasphemed all the way from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower, until Hermione became so annoyed that she cast a silencing spell on him and refused to remove it.
"You should do that more often," murmured Ginny, with a smirk.
Ron glared at her, and Hermione swiftly changed her laugh into a harsh coughing fit.
"Testiculis Impalus," mumbled a fifth-year Prefect, blushing to the roots of her blonde hair. The Fat Lady grinned sadistically, and admitted them to the common room.
Hermione's jaw dropped open.
"I can't believe that just happened," she gasped, staring at Ginny. "I really can't. That - that's illegal! It's - it's DISGUSTING! It's - Ron, what the hell are you doing?"
She stared disdainfully at Ron's shaking from, doubled up over the back of an armchair. He shook his head, incapable of speech.
Harry sniggered. "You remember last year, when McGonagall threatened to replace the Fat Lady for her - um - disgraceful behaviour at Christmas? I think we're having a fit of vengeance."
Hermione was speechless, and collapsed into the armchair Ron was leaning on.
"Oh, get a grip, Weasley!" she exclaimed, grabbing his elbow and jerking him over the top of the chair onto the seat. He gasped as he landed with Hermione's knee in his chest and his stomach on the hard arm.
"Damn it, 'Mione!" he choked, clutching his abdomen and rolling on his back in agony.
"Stop putting it on, Ron," said Ginny, perching on the arm of Harry's chair.
"I'm not!" he wailed, his head coming to rest on Hermione's lap.
Several other seventh and sixth-years remained in the common room for another hour or so, catching up on summer gossip and chatting.
"I'm sure we were never that small," said Ron, curiously, as the last couple of second-years made their way upstairs to bed.
Hermione studied them. "No, we weren't."
"You still are small, 'Mione," laughed Ron, tilting his head backwards to look up at her face.
She poked him in the ribs, and left her hand settled there. He didn't seem to object.
Strategic move, or what? thought Harry.
He turned to Ginny. They spoke at the same time.
"Right so - I'm off to bed."
"See you in the morning, folks."
They rose and dashed for the stairs, giggling all the way up to the point where the boys' steps separated from the girls'. They had to pause for a moment to catch their breath.
"I cannot stand this," gasped Ginny. "Why can't he kiss her and have it over?"
Harry glanced at her briefly. He fancied he saw her eyes drop and her cheeks blush with something other than the exertion of running up the stairs. She smiled slightly.
Damn it - if he could just inch forward a bit, he could -
Oh, delightful.
She sank against his chest, warm and soft, and he laid his cheek against the side of her blazing head.
"Goodnight, Harry," she murmured, raising her eyes to meet his.
"Goodnight, Gin."
She leaned up, still held in his arms, and pressed a gentle kiss at the side of his lips. A slender hand stroked his temple, brushing his black hair behind his ear as she backed away. And then she was gone - around the corner and up to the sixth-year girls' dormitory - leaving Harry with the distinct impression that he had walked into a very hot fire, quite possibly from the frying pan.
Really - this was starting to become positively farcical.
When he was not avoiding Hermione and Ron for fear of witnessing something he wasn't supposed to, he was locked in an enigmatic combat of emotions with the most desirable woman in the world who had just kissed him.
Again.
And what was even more frustrating was the fact that she had been millimetres away from where he most wanted her. What was this game? Whatever it was, he wasn't sure that he liked it. Apart from the kissing, of course. And the closely pressed bodies. And, in fact, everything.
Damn!
***
Waking up to an empty dormitory and not the cramped, messy bedroom he was used to sharing with Ron at The Burrow caused Harry a slight moment of confusion. Dean, Seamus and Neville had apparently already risen and gone, and the tone-deaf warbling coming from the bathroom indicated that Ron was having a shower. Harry sighed nostalgically as he trod on Dean's discarded pyjama bottoms, lying carelessly on the carpeted floor.
Yes, this was Hogwarts all right -
***
The corridors were heaving with people flooding up the stairs from the Great Hall, heading for the first lessons of the year. The noise was tremendous. A hundred voices raised together, from the squeaky first-years' shrieking, to the baritone drone of the upper school boys - not to mention the banging of classroom doors and the clatter of heels on stone. They were swimming against the tide somewhat.
"Dear God, this place gets busier every year!" muttered Hermione, attempting to squeeze through the throng without receiving an antisocial smack in the eye.
"Look - you are so bad at this," said Ron, placing a hand on her shoulder and overtaking her swiftly. His red head towered above all the others, and he had no trouble at all in clearing a path.
The second floor was deserted by the time they reached it, and they raced towards the statue that hid the staircase up to Dumbledore's office.
"Password - password - " growled Harry, realizing belatedly that none of them knew it.
"I think you'll find that it's Almond Aardvarks," said a deep voice behind them.
"You're making a habit of appearing in strange places at odd moments," said Harry, trying to conceal his surprise.
Remus Lupin was grinning as he pulled back the dark cowl that hid his face from view.
"I am invisible," he said, striding past them and stepping up onto the moving staircase. "Come on. I'm on time, which means you lot are late."
"What are you doing here?" asked Hermione, anxiously. She had to trot to keep up with him as they moved along the narrow corridor towards Dumbledore's office door.
"My job, among other things," was the reply.
"Job?" repeated Hermione, breathlessly.
"Questions later. There's no time to waste."
He stopped outside the door and rapped smartly.
"Enter!"
The room never changed. It was still full of quaint objects and machines, bookshelves laden with dusty tomes and the portraits of old Headmasters lining the walls.
Dumbledore himself sat at his desk, flanked by his beautiful phoenix, Fawkes, and a tall, slender man with sleek, black hair and a mischievous smile.
"Good God!" exclaimed Harry, before he could stop himself. "What is this?"
"This, Harry," said Dumbledore, with a slight smile, "is an informal meeting to discuss your future year. Please sit down, all of you. Remus, Sirius - if you would be so kind - ?"
The two men looked at each other and nodded, and disappeared through a side-door which Harry had never noticed before.
The Headmaster arranged himself comfortably in his chair, and peered at the three over his spectacles.
"So - you have not changed your minds?"
They shook their heads.
"I thought not. Very well. You clearly received my letter yesterday evening, which mentioned the fact that you will be attending your usual Transfiguration and Potions classes with Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape."
They nodded - Ron with a particularly unguarded cringe. Dumbledore smiled.
"You will soon appreciate the necessity of continuing your studies, I am sure."
"Of course we do!" interrupted Hermione, excitedly. "There are unfathomable merits of having an advanced knowledge of Potions in the world of defence, and unlimited uses of Transfiguration techniques when one is constantly being exposed to the Dark Arts, especially when - "
"Yes - quite," said Dumbledore, amusedly. "I am pleased that you are so keen, Miss Granger."
Hermione blushed, and fell silent.
"As I was about to say," he continued. "Your basic programme this year will involve a great deal of things which you have hitherto been unfamiliar with. Perhaps I should first apprise you of the fact that there is a large suite of rooms in the school which a certain map does not show - " He directed his gaze at Harry, with an almost imperceptible wink. "It is in these secret rooms, and I do mean secret, that you will be spending most of your lesson time. Naturally your tutors will not be the teachers you are used to, but I am sure you will find them most charming and efficient."
Harry felt the need to interrupt. "Sir - when you say 'secret', are you trying to tell us that we must keep quiet about all of this?"
"In theory, yes. Naturally I expect that your friends will be curious to know where you disappear to when you are not in lessons with them, and I do not expect you to lie to them. I have no doubt that you could make a convincing case for yourselves, but this ought not to be encouraged, I believe."
He chuckled softly, temporarily lost in his own thoughts. The three waited patiently for him to resume.
"Yes - anyway - everything else will be just the same as usual. I mean that you will remain in Gryffindor Tower and take your meals with everyone else in the Great Hall and continue with your Quidditch matches and so on. All the usual things."
"So what do you suggest we tell our friends about where we go, sir?" asked Hermione, curiously.
"Oh, they're bound to find out sooner or later, so tell them the truth, I'd say. A scaled-down version, naturally. We would not wish to alarm anyone or cause a mass exodus or a violent uprising, would we?"
"Um - no, I suppose not."
"The location of your new lessons must, however, be kept a strict secret. There is a password you must use to be admitted, and only the appropriate people will know it. Do you understand? Excellent."
The side-door opened again, and Sirius leaned against the handle, lazily.
"Ah!" said Dumbledore, rising from his chair. "Is everything all right, Sirius?"
"Yes, sir. Ready when you are."
Dumbledore gestured for the three to precede him through the door, with Sirius leading the way.
"This is one route to the Founders' Gallery," he explained, lifting Fawkes onto his shoulder in a blaze of fiery red and gold. It was really quite an impressive sight to behold. "There is another way - the way you will use. We will exit that way, so you will see where to go."
The corridor they were walking along was lit dimly by braziers, dancing in the light breeze that blew gently against them. The air smelled faintly of old books, musty and dry.
"Why doesn't the Marauders' Map show any of this," Ron whispered, low enough so Dumbledore and Sirius could not hear.
"I doubt whether even the Marauders ever managed to explore Dumbledore's office, Ron," replied Hermione, with a frown.
Harry was only half listening. His eyes had caught sight of the increasing decoration on the walls. In the light of the orange braziers, the engraved silver images of phoenixes sparkled as if alive. The ceiling was rising higher and the passage was widening. They must have walked as far as the length of the Great Hall before a large, heavy door loomed up before them, or rather two doors, held together by a long silver bar.
"Ardula Penfrascum," said Sirius, pointing his wand at the bar. His voice sounded low and deep in the cavernous hallway.
The bar raised itself slowly, and the door swung open, a chink of white sunlight growing wider until they could see the room beyond.
It was like a small garden room, with a low vaulted ceiling and tiny cobbled slabs on the floor. Wide, short lattice windows were letting in the daylight, which fell like liquid onto the shadowy walls.
Hermione peered out of one of the open windows.
"It looks out across the front lawns," she explained, craning her neck westward. "I can see half of the lake from here!"
"Be careful, Hermione!" warned Sirius. "It's a forty foot drop if you lose your balance."
Ron immediately took her by the shoulder and pulled her back, giving her a little push in the direction that Sirius and Dumbledore were walking. He shivered as he glanced down at the ground below the window.
The odd little room had several doors along the walls, each varying in size. Sirius took the largest one, close to the window on their left.
"Welcome to the Founders' Gallery," he said, grinning as he unlatched the bolt and flung the door open.
They were standing at the bottom of the Gallery, looking up towards a slightly raised dais on which several polished suits of armour and a couple of gilt, velvet-cushioned chairs were positioned. The floor was not of stone, but long, thin slats of a golden wood, evidently as well cared-for as the decorative objects that hung on the panelled walls or on the wide window sills.
"It's just like a Mediaeval hall!" whispered Hermione, gazing up into the vaulted eaves in awe. "Look at those gorgeous oak panels!" Hesitantly she ran her fingertips over the carved scenes, tracing the outlines of the mythical beasts and famous wizards of a bygone age.
"It was one of the first rooms ever to be built," remarked Dumbledore, making his way slowly to a large chair in the corner of the Gallery. It creaked as he settled himself into it. "The oldest room there is apart from the Great Hall itself."
"What is it used for?" asked Harry, wandering around the perimeter examining the bejewelled epees and Mediaeval armoury arranged like exhibits in a museum.
"It was originally used as a Duelling Gallery," replied Dumbledore. "In the time of the Four Founders, duelling by sword was as important an art as duelling by wand. I happen to agree with that old tradition, and I make it my duty to ensure that all members of The Order are sufficiently able to wield one of those things." He nodded to a pair of crossed epees over a stone fireplace, and shivered. "Nasty instruments. I wouldn't touch one, personally. Give me my trusty wand any day!"
Ron prodded a feathered lance in a metal stand beside the dais. "What is it supposed to do?" he inquired, curiously.
"Stab someone," replied Hermione, automatically.
"What, just like that?" gasped Ron, lowering his eyebrows doubtfully. "No magic?"
A low chuckle from the direction of the dais caused all eyes to turn towards the panel that had slid silently across without being observed.
"How do you suppose Muggles kill each other, Ron?"
"Will you please stop doing that?" sighed Harry, as Remus stepped casually out of the secret passage behind the paneling.
"I don't get it," muttered Ron, staring at the pointed tip in confusion.
"Look," said Sirius, in a tone that suggested they were in for a particularly tedious lecture on the uses of Muggle armoury. He took down one of the epees from its hook on the wall, and tossed it to Remus. He kept hold of the other himself. "It's a ridiculous process, Muggle duelling, and totally ineffectual in the opinion of most wizards, but they have some nasty tricks which you lot should know about. You never know when you might need to use them yourselves."
"Whatever happened to noblesse oblige?" laughed Hermione.
Sirius snorted. "Fighting dirty and fighting with honour can be combined - if you know how." He winked at Harry.
Remus' lips curved upwards into an enigmatic smile.
"Why do I get the feeling that you two have played this game before?" murmured Harry, half to himself.
"Watch and learn, boys," said Sirius, circling the floor slowly, sword poised.
Ron stopped Hermione's ready objection to the highhanded and chauvinistic phrase with a calculated pressure on her toes from his booted foot.
It was an interesting sight, to say the least. Remus held the Muggle blade in a lazy grip that did not inspire much confidence within the spectators. Sirius was a strong man, and utterly terrifying in the midst of battle, with a wand as well as a sharp instrument. Harry put Remus' casual indifference down to trusting friendship. No other combatant would have dared take such an attitude.
A firm tug on the black rope that held his cloak in place, and Remus flung the garment aside. He was also making the circular progress, his amber eyes glowing fiercely as they locked with the glittering sapphire gaze of Sirius.
"For old times' sake?" suggested the latter, tilting his head at an angle, amiably.
"As you wish."
Any doubts the onlookers may have felt at Remus' apathy were dispelled as soon as Sirius struck the first blow. It was blocked with a swiftness that did credit to Remus' slender frame, by no means as powerful as that of his opponent. It soon became clear that while Sirius had the advantage in strength and stamina, Remus' quick eyes and sharp reflexes could not be equalled.
Harry, Ron and Hermione watched with open mouths. Finally, a quick flick of Remus' wrist brought Sirius' blade flying through the air and into his outstretched left hand.
Both men were slightly breathless, and they remained staring at each other for several moments, until Sirius broke the silence.
"She taught you well," he said, with a grin.
Remus did not answer, but his glowing eyes burned brilliantly for a split second, as though something had thrown fuel upon a smouldering fire behind them. The inference, such as it was, was completely lost on the three spectators.
Remus tossed back the sword, which Sirius deftly caught, and turned away.
"Fancy a go?" inquired Sirius, facing them squarely.
"No way in hell," replied Harry, promptly, while Ron shook his head.
"Might as well learn sometime," said Sirius. A wicked sparkle lit up his eyes. "I hear Draco Malfoy is damned good with a sword. Runs in his family. I wouldn't want either of you getting hacked to pieces after one of your famous run-ins with him."
Harry bristled. Anything that bastard Malfoy could do, he could do better. If that theory worked with Quidditch, it would work with duelling.
"Fine," he said, determinedly. "Teach me everything you know."
"That wouldn't be much. I just lost, didn't I?" He cast Remus a sideways glance.
"Yeah, but you're both way better that I could ever hope to be. Where did you learn to do that?"
"James and I taught ourselves," replied Sirius, expressionless. "It started with us messing around with some old swords in my father's drawing room. But we got the hang of it in the end. Remus had a real teacher, however."
The look which Remus was sending Sirius could not quite be termed a glare, but neither was it particularly friendly. The tension was slightly hostile, to say the least.
Harry felt the need to speak. Ron was gaping at the awkwardness, and Hermione was blushing to the roots of her hair, her eyes flickering all over the room, not resting on one thing for more than a few seconds.
In the end, it was Dumbledore who spoke. He rose from his chair in the corner like a king from his throne, with just as much authority and magnificence.
"I think it is time we moved on," he said, in the firm voice that he rarely used, but which demanded instant obedience.
Sirius turned the sword upside down, so his palm held the blade and the hilt was extended towards Remus. He smiled faintly, conveying something which nobody but Remus appeared to comprehend. He smiled back, and took the sword.
"Come on," urged Sirius, beckoning to them. "There's more to see."
They exited from a side-door. Harry stole a final glance back into the Gallery from behind the door. Remus' back was to him as he replaced the two swords onto their hooks on the wall. He turned sideways to retrieve his cloak, and Harry caught a glimpse of his face.
There could be no doubt about it - Harry had seen that look a hundred times on Sirius' face, and occasionally on his own when he looked into the mirror. It was all in the eyes, magnified tenfold in Remus' curiously expressive orbs. Harry wondered if he was aware that he was displaying his emotions so vividly - he had always struck Harry as being a reticent, secretive man. But then, Harry had not known of his skill with a sword until the impromptu display just then. There was no denying it -
Something had just happened in that Gallery - in something that Sirius had said.
Fighting the impertinent curiosity that had welled up inside him, Harry turned and followed the others along the narrow corridor behind the door. Whatever was going on in Remus Lupin's mind, it was none of his business.
A/N: The Gryffindor Tower password appears courtesy of Loveday Goodchild. You should all know the woman by now! ;-) Cheers, Ellie!