Mambo Lucille's village remained a small, timeless piece of paradise. Tired though he was after his lengthy journey, Albus considered every bout of Apparition to be effort wisely spent. Mina Grubbly-Plank, he could tell, shared his sentiment. She gazed around them, uncertain what to take in first, caught off guard by the beauty of the garden.
Their arrival was met with the clamour of curious children in pale blue uniforms with yellow belts, and it was not long before Joshua came sprinting to welcome them and shoo the students away.
"Mister Moonman!" he exclaimed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Paul is coming. You've brought a friend this time?"
With a smile, Albus gestured towards the witch. "Joshua, meet my colleague, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. Mina, this is Joshua; he teaches calculus. I'm happy to be back—it's lovely to see you again."
Mina nodded her greeting, her own smile a little wary. "Calculus? Do you mean Arithmancy?"
"Nah, calculus—as in I teach the kids how to count their money." Despite himself, the young man considered the witch's robes; they were heavy and warm, compared to his t-shirt. "You're dressed funny. I expect you'll be called the Hat Lady or something unless you change. Your friend got his moniker for that long beard of his, you know."
Another adult was coming to join them: it was Paul in his impeccable three-piece suit, which he wore in spite of the heat, even if, as a Muggle, he could not cast the Cooling Charm.
"Welcome back," he said to Albus before kissing Mina's hand. "Much honoured, my lady."
She chuckled, blushing slightly. "Goodness me, how gallant! I can't say my status is appropriate for this, but oh, well—when else will I be treated like a pure-blood lady again? Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank at your service."
"Jean-Paul Gignac, but everybody calls me Paul. I am very honoured to meet you, and very happy indeed to see you back with us, Mr Dumbledore."
Joshua watched him with a frown. "Man, those manners must have died out like a century ago. I know you dig everything English, but I'm pretty sure it's quite modern nowadays, right?"
Unconvinced, he cast a doubtful glance at Albus's robes.
"For the most part, although Hogwarts, our school, is traditional in some senses," the headmaster explained. "It is wonderful to be back, and I am pleased I could introduce Mina to you. She is an experienced zoologist."
"I teach creatures," the witch added.
Aware no doubt Lucille was hoping to hire an additional professor, Paul nodded. "We hope you will decide to come and stay with us."
"And that you'll enjoy your visit. I'll see you around!"
With a cheerful wave, the young American jogged away while his colleague led the newcomers towards the canary yellow bungalow with crimson flowers blooming over its walls: mambo Lucille's quarters. To imitate the gentlemen from Muggle moving pictures no doubt, he did not fail to offer Mina his arm.
"I'm not sure how much Mr Dumbledore has told you about our school, Madam, but don't feel alarmed—only, Joshua never speaks of maji," he reassured her. "He has his own way of expressing himself, but this doesn't change the fact that we accept maji around here. Manman Lucille will explain it all."
They had reached the red entrance door, which remained ajar, just as Albus remembered it. With Paul's encouragement, they proceeded, and there was the headmistress behind her desk, her dress and scarf the shade of a rose.
"Bonjour, mambo Lucille." Albus inclined his head. "We hope you will pardon this intrusion."
Her black eyes rose, and a smile lit her features. "Bonjour, welcome, welcome. Was your journey a pleasant one?"
"It was safe and smooth. I'm happy to find you well." He stepped aside. "Please allow me to introduce my colleague, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. Mina, please meet mambo Lucille Augustine Rosaline Le Fleur, the headmistress of this school."
Lucille stood up, the folds of her dress falling to her ankles. Her aura was serene, and Albus felt his companion relax by his side.
"Welcome! Please have a seat." She turned towards the young Muggle. "Paul, now is your moment to shine. You always boast you are, by far, the only one here who can make authentic English tea; now is the time to put this talent to a test."
Paul was not intimidated.
"Milk or lemon?"
After a second's hesitation, Albus and Wilhelmina spoke in unison, one expressing preference for lemon while the other requested milk.
"A challenge!" The Haitian smiled. "I believe it highly depends on the tea. You are right, manman Lucille—I had better leave you to it because I have before me a task of the utmost importance."
"I have full confidence in you, Paul."
Once he walked away and the newcomers were seated, the witch spoke again.
"So you are the teacher of Magical Creatures, pas vrai? Albus has told you, I trust, how special our school is?"
Wilhelmina sat up straighter, her expression animated.
"That's right. As I understand it, there should be two curriculums—one on magical creatures, and one for Muggle students—would you agree?" She bit her lip. "I ought to admit I don't have much experience in teaching outside of Hogwarts. Masking our nature from Muggles is the first thing we learn."
"Ah, you have already met Joshua, I see." Lucille let out a small laugh. "To be fair, he is not Haitian, but yes, I understand your dilemma. However, you have also met Paul, and forgive me if I'm wrong, but you must have felt treated by him like a pure-blood lady. I have been to your isles, you see, and I know the customs. Your society tends to be hierarchical: those of pure blood will only shake hands among themselves, and the ladies receive a kiss on the hand from wizards of equal standing. I know all this. Yet for Paul, it's all imagination: he believes all the British are like this, poised and charming. He doesn't think of tradition, and nor should you. What I mean to say is that you come from a place where the Statute of Secrecy is a natural way of living. Here, we don't necessarily follow it, so for your part, there won't be as much headache as to have to plan in advance what to show and what not to show, and to whom. For most children, creatures are creatures: they all are magical for being exciting and new. Think of it not as hiding but rather… wording it differently if you feel they might be frightened by the word maji. Paul and I will take care of easing the language barrier so that you can focus on what you love most: introducing our numerous companions to those of us who only have two legs to walk on. If, of course, you like it here and decide to stay."
The English witch glanced around her. The surprise in her eyes was long gone. Her cheeks had turned pink with excitement; she was leaning forward, eager to immerse herself in this unfamiliar but enticing world.
"It would be fascinating to study the terrain and get acquainted with its flora and fauna," she confessed. "Albus has mentioned one of your professors is a witch who teaches Herbology and Potions. If she agrees, we could coordinate our classes—creatures and plants are always connected."
"Doria Tayanna will be happy to meet you," Lucille said, nodding. "En fait, I do think it's a good idea for you to stay as our guest. Paul will, naturally, be at your disposal when you need help with the language. Ah, there he comes."
The young man had brought in a full tray.
"Tea with milk for the lovely lady." One of the lids rose, releasing the heady scent of English breakfast tea. "And tea with lemon for mesye—do tell me if it's to your liking. When Marie heard you were coming, she insisted on preparing some orange juice for you, just like last time. I wanted to make sure the lady had something equally refreshing, so I prepared a variant with extra lemon."
"After tea, you can show Madame Grubbly-Plank around, Paul," Lucille suggested. "See what Doria Tayanna is up to. I'm sure it will be quite a conversation."
Their kindness and hospitality never ceased to amaze Albus, who thanked his hosts as eloquently as he could. As they drank, he watched the two witches converse and knew beyond any doubt Mina would be staying there to teach, to live. A part of him wondered what the pure-blood families headed by the Notts and the Parkinsons would say if they found out he had so blatantly ignored their petition and allowed a professor as esteemed as Grubbly-Plank to seek employment at a smaller, distant school. Most likely, they would call him the worst headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen. Still, the enthusiastic glint in his colleague's eyes was more than worth the trouble; she had the right to live her life without having to accommodate the school's needs.
Soon, their cups were empty, and Paul reappeared to introduce the witch to the other members of the village. Albus and Lucille contemplated each other, alone for the first time since the New Year.
"Thank you," she said simply.
He smiled. "I'm glad to see her so thrilled. I've yet to find a person who doesn't love her. She is lively and kind."
"I have a good feeling about her. She will fit right in. I still wish to thank you for leading her towards us, just as you have brought Pétale. Would you like to meet him? He is quite happy here, rest assured, though I suspect he will be pleased to see you again all the same."
"I would be delighted to say hello to him." Albus peered out of the window, towards the stream of water, before turning back. "It may be wishful thinking on my part, but lately, I see the higher design in most events. As if they were meant to happen and come together, tying everything neatly."
"The deities always prompt us, of course," the mambo replied. "It is still we, witches and wizards, who choose to listen, but I understand. I hope you are not cross with me after my criticism from last time."
"Not at all."
He reached into his robes and produced a vial. It had been Charmed to never break under pressure, and it was filled with the blood of the person who was dearest to him.
"I have spoken to Gellert. He accepts your conditions. I have his permission to give you this."
Lucille did not take it at once but gazed at the glass.
"He really has repented then." Her voice was musing. "I believe you. And I don't judge. As I told you once before, I don't judge even bokors, for I know it is not all black and white. When born, wizards shine to certain deities. Those are mostly old familial deities—ancestors, the founders of the bloodline. Sometimes, it is someone else. Still, depending on the wizard and the deities he shines to, there will be a predisposition towards special kinds of magic. Beyond the great Atlantic, you know this phenomenon as the Light or Dark aura one possesses. Even so, the choice is always ours. I know very well what it is like to have to make a painful choice. Bokors are only wizards—mostly Dark ones, true—who have made the wrong choice."
This new angle to analysing the origin of one's magical aura left him frozen, though his mind raced. He clutched the vial tightly.
"Gellert's deity must be cruel," he concluded. "It sends him visions—visions of future tragedy, death, and misery. He received one on New Year's Eve, and it left him in a devastated state." He sighed. "He has made many mistakes, and so have I. Still, I wish he could find peace and relief once our end comes."
"That will depend on what he has done." Lucille also heaved a sigh. "I cannot tell for sure. However, you mention visions. The kind that leaves him devastated, c'est bien ça?"
"It's true—ever since he was a child, he would occasionally go into a trance. His visions show him fragments of future events, always disconnected and difficult to interpret, always violent or sinister in nature. They are accompanied by migraines, sometimes for several days after the incident."
For a moment, the witch paced around the office, pondering his words.
"Visions of future… A curse… carried by the bloodline." She gave him an alert look. "Could it be? What was his family like?"
Surprised anew, Albus did not waver. "Both sides of his family were harmonious, caring, and, to the best of my knowledge, Light. However—and this last part comes from a piece of gossip I heard many years ago—his mother was born to an elderly couple, not without the aid of magic."
"Ahh!" This appeared to answer her question. "Yes, fertility rituals are not bad in themselves, but depending on the deities invoked…" She shook her head. "Deities are not to be messed with, monsieur Dumbledore. People always seem to forget that."
If her suspicion was correct, it would imply Gellert's grandparents had appealed to a Dark entity in their longing for a child. Was it possible? One could do terrible things out of love, out of powerlessness. One could also fall prey to Dark wizards who exploited their less fortunate fellows for profit. And in the end, there was no correcting it. Feeling almost ashamed of his own good fortune, of being guided by a benevolent mèt tèt, Albus closed his eyes, only to feel a gentle pat on his shoulder.
"Ne sois pas triste," came an encouragement. "Remember, we wizards can still do a lot."
He met her gaze. "I would do anything for him. If you'll forgive my boldness, I have the impression that you know all about it: love and the pain and the joy it brings."
"Love is the most powerful magic there is, pas vrai?" she stated, neither denying nor confirming his guess. "When in love—truly in love—there is so much you can do, if not everything. We all become better, happier. Love is life. Love is light. But it has a dark side: love can make you vulnerable to those who are hungry for it yet unable to have it. I know love, and I don't judge. That's why I'm helping."
A brief silence ensued, and he handed her the vial of blood, watching her examine it.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Will you use it to create a boogity?"
Lucille nodded solemnly. Her own question was light-toned.
"Did you have to persuade him a lot?"
Recalling the conversation from Nurmengard, Albus blushed. "He wished to know whether I would have trusted you enough to give you my blood. When I said yes, it was settled."
This was met with a smile so girlish, one would sooner have expected it from young Marie than the all-knowing vodou witch.
"Your lover is your friend then—a soulmate, as it were?" she divined.
He nodded. "I believe this is how we withstood the decades of separation. We are very different, but our cores… they reflect each other."
"Interesting… Usually, complete opposites don't make good friends, much less the Marassa. Contrary to what you say on the other side of the ocean, mind you."
"The Marassa?" The poetic word caught his attention. "Is it a term for soulmates?"
"Marassa Jumeaux. They were twins, copies of each other. When one ran, the other followed. They praised each other, couldn't live without each other. We say that once you have found your Marassa, you have found the other half of you. Your soulmate, yes."
"What a beautiful tale."
A burst of laughter rang out over the lawn behind the window. Children were chasing one another under the shade of a papaya tree. The afternoon sun was blazing more intensely than ever, and, fleetingly, the headmaster wondered which spells were cast over that peaceful village when the rainy season came to pass. He addressed his hostess once more.
"Thank you for your help, mambo Lucille. If I may… are there specific spells Gellert will be forbidden from casting from this point forward?"
"I will not harm him," she promised, as if conscious of his worry. "I will merely bind him from causing harm to the others—as a precaution. I will make it so that he cannot possess, influence, or otherwise maim anyone in the ways Sakrémaji permits."
Albus could not help himself; he went still. He had expected her to include Imperius in her conditions, along with the other Unforgivable Curses. Yet possession… It was not the same.
"What about possessing me?" he offered. "I would like nothing better than to let him experience a little freedom, such as having a walk, feeling the wind on his skin, swimming in a lake—even if it's only through my body."
He could tell at once she was displeased. One frown left him feeling much like a reprimanded schoolboy.
"A noble gesture, but for your own safety, I advise you to never open that door to a bokor." She scowled at him. "Do you know what possession is? How it happens? What it does to you?"
The Englishman recited his knowledge, certain it amounted to nothing in this part of the world.
"My understanding is that a possession I have consented to will not harm me. Instead, it will propel me into a memory. I will not be aware of what is happening around me—he will be in control of my body. His ti bon ange, that is."
"You have read about this." Lucille was not mollified. "But do you understand that while possessing you, he could drown you, make you hang yourself, or force you to slit your own throat? You would never feel it happen. If you were lucky, your ti bon ange would be called by your mèt tèt and guided to Guinea. But if you were not lucky… you would find yourself next to your own dead body, wailing in despair. And it that case, no power on Earth can help you—including me, eh! Do you understand now, mesye Lalin?"
Those were reasonable words, and yet, they felt inappropriate. Gellert would never hurt him on purpose. Blinking his astonishment away, Albus cleared his throat.
"He is my husband."
"That may be. But he is dominated by a deity that sends him sinister visions. You really think a deity that powerful can only do that, eh? Well, let's hope they are not listening; deities are easily insulted."
The matter was settled, and Albus knew there was no shifting the compromise. He suppressed a sigh and wished he could subdue his disappointment just as easily.
"I understand. There will be no possession, and certainly no harm to the others."
"I will give you a full list. I play fair." The mambo sounded all but offended. "Do you want to start with your lesson now?"
"I am ready."
Further into the bungalow, behind the office, lay what could best be described as a sanctuary. The centre of the room was delimited by a wide circle with symbols drawn around it. Bookshelves lined the walls; rare powders shimmered in jars, carefully shaded from the sunlight. The most important part was the altar. Flowers and candles were nestled between the statuettes of loa, and talismans imbued with protective magic adorned the lacy tablecloth.
It was there that Lucille led Albus, not stopping until they reached one of the bookshelves. Even though they did not pass through the drawn circle, the wizard would have wagered the energies had been thoroughly cleansed within its confines.
"I'm thinking where to start," she admitted, her Haitian accent becoming more pronounced. "Perhaps… hmm. Have you ever been around a ghost, mesye Lalin?"
"At Hogwarts, we have six ghosts, who exist alongside the living. Four of them are very ancient."
For once, he felt secure in his answer. The mambo's reaction took him aback nevertheless.
"Hmm… pas bien. Ouais. This will work." After this somewhat disconnected murmur, Lucille shook herself. "And what are they like, the ghosts? Tell me."
Albus complied.
"One of them is the spirit of Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of one of the Founders of Hogwarts. She died young, murdered by a man who claimed to love her. Despite her ill fame and her thirst for wisdom, which led her to betray her mother, I feel she was a very unfortunate young woman, even in the days of her youth. Her killer also returned as a ghost. In a sign of penitence, he wears blood-stained robes and chains. Most people are frightened of him, but he has never once hurt a student." He paused. "There is the Fat Friar as well: the spirit of a medieval monk, a Healer, as kind and cheerful one as you could imagine. The fourth ancient ghost is Sir Nicholas, a nobleman once executed by ignorant Muggles for his magic. A brave man he used to be; only, at the time of death, he… could not move on." No matter how many years passed, the next part remained difficult to express. "One of the girls I taught in the forties died at school in what appeared to be a sudden and tragic accident. We didn't know, at the time, it was murder. She prefers to keep to herself and only rarely haunts those who have wronged her. Lastly, Cuthbert Binns, our History of Magic teacher. He was already a ghost when I started my studies. I regret to say he is the meanest of them all. This is why no one including me has dared to replace him with a living teacher to this day. As admirable as his stubbornness is, I'm afraid he will take his anger out on students if I sack him."
Lucille closed her eyes and said nothing at first.
"Not a good place, your school," came a strange verdict. "It can lure in one's ti bon ange. You see, we all have a mèt tèt, like I told you. Most people spend their lives out of tune with theirs, granted, but… Have you ever given a thought as to why so few of us end up as ghosts? Because our mèt tèts are there to guide us to the other side, the Great Beyond… unless we actively reject them and cast them away—something that professor must have done, I imagine. But there is more. The fact that all those wizards and witches stayed behind is partly their own doing. Partly, though, they were pulled into your school. Ce n'est pas bien. Your school has a gravity well designed to do just that. It pulls, and it feeds."
For the second time, the headmaster blinked, unsure whether to feel alarmed or slightly insulted.
"I'm afraid I don't understand. Hogwarts is a Light school with only a few elements serving as exceptions."
"Light?" One of the witch's dark eyebrows rose. "You see, mesye Lalin, there is no black and white. The Higher Magicks are what there is."
She made a small, abrupt gesture.
"My Marie has always been sensitive. I had to rescue her. They kept her in the basement, her parents did, believing her to be insane. It's complicated. Your kind, over the ocean, wouldn't consider her magical in any way, yet she sees what you cannot see. She understands much and is getting better with practice—excellent, à vrai dire. But I digress. Your kind believes it's in the blood; the practitioners of Sakrémaji, on the other hand… we know blood is only a part of it. The Higher Magicks are not about making a loud poof; what governs them is the energies, the deities in charge. And they must be respected, for they can do what you, a wizard, could never achieve. We wizards are mere humans. We may be a little gifted, but when it comes down to it, house-elves can do more than us, and so can goblins, and so can Veela, and so can dragons, and phoenixes even more so—the Lightest creatures the world can boast. We need their core—their feathers, their heartstrings, their hair—to channel our own magic. We kill them to use their corpses, and we commit evil to do what they can. But none of this comes even close to what deities can do. They watch over us, send us signs, communicate with us, and open the doors between the realms for us. So this is our only difference: beyond the great Atlantic, you have forgotten about them, forgotten how to stay in touch with them and feel their presence. You rely on wandlore for everything and neglect the Higher Magicks completely."
She drew a breath, holding his gaze, willing him to comprehend her.
"I asked about the ghosts because this is how a trapped ti bon ange manifests itself to us, the living. I wanted you to realise what the Higher Magicks can do. It is not your fault—you, mesye Lalin, did not trap anyone, but those who created the gravity well inside your school did. They practiced the Higher Magicks, and they must have invoked powerful deities to do that. The gravity well is hidden inside your school, and it has been potent enough to trap not one but six wizards. If fed well, it can trap more."
Goose flesh prickled Albus's skin. He swallowed. He had always known the ghosts, the portraits, and even the wards protecting the Hogwarts grounds had been absorbed, after a fashion. In his mind, the sheer concentration of magic within the castle, grown more powerful with the passing centuries, was the reason behind it. He would never have thought the purpose of such a phenomenon was to feed.
"This gravity well… what could it resemble?" he asked quietly.
Lucille shrugged.
"It can be anything. Since it's meant to feed, it is something hidden in plain sight. It has to be deceptively inviting so that students would go there and stay for a while, providing their life force like an offering. So far, however, it has only trapped six people… This makes me think one or more of the Founders may have repented and rendered it difficult to find, since undoing such magic completely is impossible. If I were to guess, I would say it might be a room of some sort."
A secret room, an inviting one… Hogwarts held many of those. But unlike the other ones, this one happened to be dangerous for the students, detrimental to their magic. Before his imagination could run away with him, Albus pulled himself together. He was going to elucidate this mystery. For now, though, he had to make the most of the time he had been granted.
"Is this what Gellert has done as well? Is this why the black fog has lingered at Nurmengard for years—because he had created a small gravity well?"
This time, the mambo waved him off, chuckling. "Oh, your bokor didn't manage anything as fancy, never worry. He invited a parasite, and not a very dangerous one at that—unpleasant but nothing worse than that. It's something that settles in and feels comfortable where it is. Your non-maji would call it debris. It usually just floats out there."
She pointed towards the sky, her smile becoming reassuring.
"We can get rid of it easily enough once you've got a basic grip on Sakrémaji, and you two lovebirds will be able to astral-project to your hearts' content. Only, bear in mind he won't be able to visit you at your school: its energies will instantly repel him. If he is powerful enough, he might just manage a few seconds before the wards detect the foreign presence."
Albus nodded. He remembered Gellert's well-intentioned Christmas gift all too well, as he did Dieter's brief visit from many years ago. He smiled, relieved beyond words.
"I am ready to learn."
The sun was nearing the horizon when he took his leave, not omitting copious thanks towards Lucille, his warmest greetings to her staff, and his best wishes for Mina Grubbly-Plank, whom he left giggling with Doria Tayanna, as if the two women had been closest friends for years. His pockets were full of notes. He knew now what to do—knew which incantations to recite, which crystals to cleanse Gellert's cell with, which loa to appeal to. He also knew how best to practice to, hopefully, be able to perform this bout of foreign magic before the school year came to a close. And he was forever in Lucille's debt.
His return journey took many hours: he was careful to rest every time he Apparated to a new location. When his exhausted feet carried him into the Hogwarts entrance hall, it was the dead of the night: twenty past two.
The castle was as quiet as it could ever be with its sizzling torches and whispering portraits, the staircases that floated from one floor to another of their own accord, and the flutter of beings that could not sleep. Sentient as it was, this silence had never frightened him. He had walked those dark corridors in the days of his adolescence, a withdrawn prefect grateful to have found a new home between the hospitable walls of Hogwarts when his own home had brought him little comfort. This, perhaps, was it: the castle was a living entity, stronger by far than any magical being in existence, and it was benevolent and protective too. It had its mischievous side, and more than one if he was to count Peeves, the sinking stairs that trapped children where they least expected it, and especially the elusive Chamber of Secrets. Still, the essence of Hogwarts had always felt Light to him. What if he had been mistaken?
Lucille's words resonated in his mind as he made his way upstairs, barely aware of his shuffling footsteps. Where souls were held captive, there was a gravity well: a spot with a concentration of magic so intense that everything in its proximity was pulled towards it and could not leave. What could it be? The Great Hall would have made for a sound option—for which other room saw all the inhabitants gather inside it every day?—had it not been too obvious. Only the Founders had known the truth. They might have shared it with the eldest ghosts. Someone else was certain to know as much, though: the castle itself.
Having reached the second floor, Albus halted, his senses alert, listening. Ever since he had become the headmaster, one fact had been crystal-clear to him: he was the caretaker of Hogwarts. It was his temporary duty to care for the castle and everyone who lived there. In return, the castle responded to him; it obeyed to a degree.
"Can you show me?" he spoke into the torch-lit silence. "Where is your core? Where is your gravity well?"
Somewhere in the distance, two plates of metal made a clinking sound. It had come from the landing on the floor above, he could tell. An old suit of armour had turned its head in his direction. Slowly, it raised one arm to point upstairs. Albus set off, his tiredness forgotten; his heart was beating fast in his chest. When he reached the next floor, another suit of armour urged him to keep walking, and then another, and another. He stepped into the corridor on the seventh floor and was greeted by a humorous tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy striving to teach the trolls ballet.
He remembered this place. It was Elphias who had first brought him there, claiming he had found a closet full of the best maps he had ever seen, and of books one could not find in the library. They had spent a good half an hour searching the floor, all for naught. It had occurred to the headmaster many times since that it could have been a manifestation of the Come and Go Room he had heard mentioned in conversation.
Now a door was emerging before his eyes, growing straight from the wall. It was plain, unremarkable—suitable indeed for a closet. Breathless with suspense, he advanced and opened it.
He was peering into a stone chamber. Lucille had been correct: the gravity well was, indeed, a room. Smaller even than his spartan bedroom, windowless, devoid of furniture. Yet the instant he raised his wand to cast Lumos, candles materialised in mid-air, and the worn walls were basking in soft light. What was odder, he could feel nothing out of the ordinary. Where did the source of all this magic lie? The concentration of energy between those four walls felt negligible. Logic alone dictated that this was the heart of Hogwarts—a place so magical that it kept six ghosts tethered with a power greater than death.
An incredulous chuckle rose up Albus's chest as he turned on the spot, taking in the bare stone. He felt foolish, having never known of it, not even after a century of devotion to Hogwarts. Of course, the room only appeared to some, and occasionally at that, transforming to suit their needs. What he was seeing was, no doubt, its original form, designed by the Founders. Had they truly invoked something unearthly to achieve such an outstanding feat? He no longer knew what to think. He could not help but question their intentions in the first place. Because even without Lucille's pronouncement, he could see only one reason for a room to disguise itself so perfectly and accommodate its visitors' every whim. To lure them in and feed on their magic. To keep Hogwarts powerful.