- CHAPTER SIX -
The Clue in the Library

Harry was itching to take off after Snape and find out what was happening, but of course there was no such opportunity. The Potions master had simply stalked out, with a curt order to stay at their desks and finish their potions as instructed. Knowing Snape's attitude rather well after the past five years, no one in the class even thought about ditching their work and following him.

At least he could talk to Hermione now.

"Who's Emma Aufstand?" he asked, as they met over the powdered alligator teeth.

"Slytherin. She's in Ginny's year." Hermione looked nervous. "What do you think attacked her?"

"I don't know." His mind was racing. His first thought had been Death Eaters - but no, they couldn't get through the dome outside, and they wouldn't have been left here in the classroom if there were hostile forces loose. One of Hagrid's beasts, escaped from its pen?

Beside him, Hermione shuddered. "This reminds me of the second year," she said softly. Harry remembered that she herself had been one of the unfortunates Petrified when the Basilisk was freed from the Chamber of Secrets, and gave her a small smile. He'd slain the Basilisk himself - run it through with the Sword of Gryffindor - but what if something else was lurking in some forgotten corner of the school, waiting to be released?

Despite being distracted, he managed to finish the potion, and got it to almost the same colour and consistency as Hermione's. He was much better at Potions when he didn't have Snape standing over him making snide comments. And with Hermione advising, admittedly.

Snape still hadn't returned by the last ten minutes of the lesson, and despite knowing full well that Draco Malfoy would be reporting it, Harry left the class early. "I'm going to the hospital wing," he told Hermione, and waved his hand at her when she started giving him her 'Oh, Harry-' look. "I spilled some salamander blood on my hand. It's quite bad, actually."

It was quite bad, actually, and started to throb rather nastily as soon as he was out of the room without the classwork to distract him. By the time he was outside the hospital wing, he'd almost completely convinced himself that his reasons for being there could be construed as entirely innocent.

Which didn't mean he wasn't going to eavesdrop, of course.

Madam Pomfrey tutted disapprovingly over the wound and went off to fetch a tub of Balthazar Binwick's Burn-Eze, while Harry tried to listen in to what was going on over at the far bed with the curtains drawn around it. It had to be Emma Aufstand's; he recognised Snape's voice.

"-dungeons... seems to have been... by one of the..." Harry cursed that familiar silky soft tone, somehow every bit as loud as it needed to be in the classroom, but near impossible to pick up now.

"And none of the efforts to revive her were successful?" That was McGonagall. At least her practised deputy-headmistress's tones were easy to make out. She could probably articulate a whisper with perfect diction.

"...tried the... Headmaster warned this could be..." Harry lost a whole section of the conversation in a rustle of cloth as Snape moved around the bed. "-have a potion that might work."

"Your potions, at least, should be unaffected," McGonagall said. Harry didn't think it was a question, but it was difficult to tell.

"For the moment," Snape said flatly.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter." Harry jumped as Madam Pomfrey arrived with his burn ointment. "Hold out the back of your hand." He did; the thick green ooze she slathered on burned nearly as badly as the salamander's blood. "Kindly try to be more careful in your classes in future; our medical supplies aren't inexhaustible, you know."

Harry blinked. It was the first time he could remember any such admission being made, and a moment later he could have thumped himself in the forehead for his stupidity. Of course, if no owls and no people could leave the school, how would the infirmary be able to restock its medical stores, or Snape refill his cupboards of ingredients? They couldn't trade with Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, so they were presumably limited to what they had in the castle right now, and whatever potions could be made from ingredients gathered at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Sorry. I'll be more careful." He made a mental note to ask Hermione about healing charms; surely there were at least a few he could learn to handle cuts and minor burns and things? Judging by past experience, even if there was no Quidditch this year he'd still find plenty of ways to injure himself.

The matron gave him a smile. "No harm done, but mind yourself," she cautioned. "Come the summer term, we're apt to be down to our last dregs if everybody-"

"The dome's going to be up that long?" Harry blurted, startled.

Madam Pomfrey looked slightly stricken. "Now, now, I wouldn't know about that," she said hastily. "And don't go telling any of your friends I told you so - I'm just doing my job, preparing for the worst. Now you run along back to class before you're late."

He didn't actually have a lesson now, but he left anyway - he could hardly have hung around in hopes of eavesdropping more with Madam Pomfrey there. Finding the others was easy; if Hermione had a clock to point her location like the one in the Weasley family kitchen, between lessons it would always point due library.

Ron was there too, looking decidedly less enthusiastic as he fiddled with the binding of Fighting Fungi and Venomous Vegetables - A Guide to Dangerous Plants. Harry rather wished he could have stuck with Herbology; it hadn't been his best of lessons, but it was easy work and a chance to be out in the sunlight instead of trapped in a cramped classroom. But if he wanted to be an Auror, he had no choice but to stick with the classes he'd picked.

"Harry!" Ron looked grateful for the distraction. "Did you find out what's happened?"

He sat down opposite his friends, pretending not to notice a sharp glare from Madam Pince. "Not really," he admitted. "Whatever attacked her, I don't think they've managed to wake her up yet. McGonagall said something about their magic being affected by something - everything other than potions, I think."

That pulled Hermione's attention out of the thick tome she had her nose stuck in. "That's odd," she said, with a frown. "Do you think perhaps the staff could all be helping maintain the dome? If they're channelling power into other things, that might explain why wand-work would be affected, while Professor Snape's potions would be just as strong as ever."

"Maybe he planned the whole attack, just so people would think his potions were extra-indispensable," Ron suggested enthusiastically.

"Oh, really, Ronald." Hermione glowered at him, and stalked off to the far end of the library to reshelve a book. Ron shrugged innocently.

"What did I say?"

Harry doubted even Snape had quite reached the point of attempting to bump off students just to give himself an ego boost, but sadly, no better theories were forthcoming. None of the teachers had said anything about the attack, although the rumour mill was rampant.

Everybody was a bit distracted and worried, and tempers grew short. Hermione got irritable with him in Charms because his daydreaming and the still-healing burn on his hand combined to make him absolutely hopeless at controlling his Dusting Charm. Then Ron made the mistake of arguing with her when she headed straight back to the library after class, so she stayed over there in a huff all afternoon, and Ron was in a foul mood. It was a miserable evening.

Harry finally escaped from Gryffindor Tower to go up to the Owlery, which at least was nice and peaceful this late now that everybody had discovered they couldn't send messages home. Hedwig nipped at his fingers disapprovingly, probably chiding him for his clumsiness in getting injured.

"I know, I know, it wasn't my fault," he grumbled to her. He looked out at the silver filigree of the dome, much less of an eyesore in the darkness. It made him think of moonlight, which in turn made him think of Lupin and wish he could have been teaching this year... and thoughts of Lupin led, of course, unerringly back to thoughts of Sirius...

He stayed up in the Owlery for a long time, stroking Hedwig's feathers almost mechanically while his mind was a million miles away, preoccupied with thoughts of doom and gloom.

"Harry!"

Startled out of his near-trance, Harry whipped around to see Ron's disembodied head emerging from under his Invisibility Cloak.

"Sorry I borrowed your cloak. Filch was about. You've got to come down to the library. Hermione's gone mental!"

Harry joined him under the Cloak, and they made their slightly awkward way down the stairs together. Harry gaped at the clock at the bottom as they passed it - it was much, much later than he'd realised it was.

"Why's Hermione still in the library after midnight?" he wondered.

"I'm telling you, she's gone completely crackers," Ron insisted. "She came bursting into the common room - I was waiting up for you - and she was babbling all sorts of nonsense about how she'd fallen asleep and the library was sending her messages."

"Sending her messages?"

"I know. She's finally done it. She's read so many books her brain's exploded!"

But, as it turned out, Hermione was telling the unvarnished truth. Above the entrance to the library, where there had been nothing but blank wall only hours before, there had appeared what looked like three verses of poetry, seemingly chiselled into the wall.

"I copied it down when it first appeared, just in case it didn't stay," Hermione said, thrusting a scroll into their hands. Harry transferred his gaze to that; it was easier to make out Hermione's neat, small handwriting than the carved message in the little light that was all they were prepared to risk.

It was indeed a poem, and a rather bizarre one at that. Harry frowned over the verses.

Four pieces do the puzzle make
Without each, you are lost
And if you would for freedom break
Find them at any cost

Open to all, but not to all
The riddles that I send
To know the secrets of the school
Your enemies befriend

We call them homes, though none there dwell
But there does rest its head
A body that lives nine months well
And in the rest is dead

"It's some kind of puzzle," he said aloud. "Like the clues for the Triwizard Tournament." Another unpleasant memory...

"A clue to what?" Ron asked.

"'If you would for freedom break...'" Hermione mused.

"Maybe it leads to a hidden passage out of the castle!" said Ron enthusiastically. "You know what Hogwarts is like. This could be a special secret message that only appears on the third Monday in September every two hundred and thirty-seven years or something."

"It's Tuesday now, Ron," she corrected absently.

"I don't fancy that bit about 'your enemies befriend'," Harry observed. "If I have to get cosy with Voldemort to find a secret passage, I don't think it's worth the effort!"

"It's probably rhetorical." Hermione rolled up her copy of the message and tucked it away. "We have to tell a teacher about this."

"Hermione!" they protested in chorus.

"It might be important! It could endanger the castle." She smiled slightly. "And anyway. Ron and I have to tell a teacher, so Harry can follow us in his Invisibility Cloak and overhear what they say about it afterwards, when they've sent us to bed without telling us anything."

She strode off towards the staff room, while Harry and Ron exchanged shocked and admiring looks.

"She really is a genius!" said Ron.

Perhaps not surprisingly after this morning's incident, the staff room was still occupied despite the late hour. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout tumbled out hastily in response to Hermione's knock. Professor McGonagall was as immaculately turned-out as ever, but her response to seeing two of her Prefects out and about at this hour of the night was rather more alarmed than she usually let show. "Miss Granger! What are you doing out of bed so late? Has something happened?"

"Sorry to disturb you so late, Professor," Hermione said politely, "but something strange just happened in the library, and I really think you ought to come and see."

Professor McGonagall recovered her equilibrium, and with it a certain amount of indignant authority. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley - what on earth were you doing in the library at this hour?"

Even through the silvery veil of the Cloak, Harry could tell that Hermione was blushing. "I must have fallen asleep... I was over in the far corner, Madam Pince must not have seen me when she left. Ron came to look for me when I didn't come back."

"Hmmph." Professor McGonagall seemed somewhat sceptical about this explanation, but let it slide. Harry followed under the Cloak as the three teachers followed his friends down to the library.

They all exclaimed over the engraved message. Hermione, sensibly, failed to mention that she'd made a copy of it for her own reference.

"Filius, will you be able to-?" Sprout queried. The little wizard nodded.

"Yes." He gave a wry smile. "With a little assistance getting up there, of course." The other staff kindly hid their smiles.

McGonagall turned to the two Gryffindor Prefects. "Granger, Weasley - it was very sensible of you to bring this to our attention as soon as you were aware of it. Five points to Gryffindor for quick thinking and acting responsibly. However, on the whole, I would prefer that in future, you were in your beds at this hour instead of wandering the halls. I suggest you return to your dorms immediately, and go to bed."

"Perhaps you should have clarified the 'separately'," Professor Sprout said wickedly once they were gone, and Harry had to clap his hands over his mouth to prevent a burst of startled laughter.

Professor McGonagall sniffed haughtily. "I really don't think that was called for."

"Sorry," she said, without meaning a bit of it.

"Although I must admit that if it was anyone other than Hermione Granger, I wouldn't believe that 'fell asleep studying' story for a moment."

Harry was seriously considering the viability of stuffing a fist into his mouth just to stop himself from guffawing out loud and giving the game away.

Fortunately for his health and sanity, they spent no more time discussing Ron and Hermione, but turned their attention to the inscription on the wall. Professor Flitwick used Madam Pince's magically extending shelf-ladder to get up close enough to examine it.

"Well?" asked McGonagall after a moment.

"It's definitely another one of Durand's," the Charms professor said.

"Can you hide it?" asked Professor Sprout.

Flitwick nodded confidently. "Simple illusion work - nothing to it. Not like that monster of a spell you had me working on the first day of term." He flicked his wand, and said a few syllables too quickly and fluidly for Harry to pick them up. The letters blended away into the stonework as if they'd never been.

"Oh, bravo," said Professor Sprout.

"I must confess, I was terrible at illusion work in school," said McGonagall. Harry was taken aback - it was hard to imagine Professor McGonagall being terrible at anything. He'd always imagined her as an earlier version of Hermione, industriously scribbling away in the library every spare minute.

"Of course you were, Minerva," Flitwick said brightly, leaping off the top of the ladder to drift gently down to the ground. He executed an elaborate bow. "You never had much patience for anything that isn't real."

"Quite so." She sniffed. "If you want to change it, transfigure it, that's what I say. No need for all this half-hearted messing around with glamours and elaborate disguises."

Flitwick theatrically gestured towards the enchanted wall. "Well, Minerva, if you'd like to try your hand at transfiguring away the effects of the Curse of Durand..." he said with a smile.

"I think not, somehow," she said calmly. "It might prove to have an adverse effect on the entire enchantment. Best to leave well alone."

"That's her story, and she's sticking to it," said Sprout, and the three of them chuckled together. Harry smiled as he watched them, thinking how strange it was to see his teachers relaxing in each other's company, chatting and teasing each other like... well, normal people. Who knew what they were like in the staff room together? Maybe even Snape...

No. Probably not Snape.

He drew back against the nearest bookcase as the three teachers moved past.

"Could have been tricky if that clue had been spotted first thing in the morning when the library was full," Flitwick observed. "It's as well a level-headed pair like Granger and Weasley were here to see it."

"Whatever they were doing," added Sprout.

Harry resisted the urge to chase them back to the staff room and find out what else they might gossip about, and headed back up to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was empty - he supposed Ron and Hermione hadn't dared take the chance that McGonagall might stop by to check they really had gone back to bed. Harry hurried up to the boys' dorms to share what he'd learned with Ron.

Ron had obviously stayed up to wait for him. He was sitting up in bed with his copy of Flying With the Cannons open on his knees to help keep him awake.

He was also sound asleep. Harry smirked for a while, then carefully retrieved the book from his slack grip, and placed it on the nightstand. He tucked the Invisibility Cloak away in its hiding space and returned to his own bed, letting out a rippling yawn.

He could talk to Ron and Hermione in the morning.