Chapter 27
THE MARAUDER'S MAP REDRAWN
Over the next several weeks the seventh-years' N.E.W.T. studies intensified, with all their teachers loading them up with nightly homework assignments; so much so that Harry and Ron barely saw each other, even when they were together, as they often spent most of their time bent over their books and parchment scrolls.
Even Hermione, who had always enjoyed studying, found the pace grueling. "It was hard enough to get nine Outstandings in O.W.L.s," she said one night about a week after Nomolous's questioning. "I can't imagine anyone getting even three or four of them in N.E.W.T.s."
Harry looked at her, a half-grin on his face. "How many do you intend to get, then?"
"Oh, well –" Harry and Ron both chuckled as she backpedaled, flustered, to correct herself. "I – well, seven, I suppose," she finally admitted.
"Thought so," Harry grinned.
"Bill got twelve O.W.L.s," Ron remembered. "And he's doing alright at Gringotts."
"Oh," Harry suddenly remembered. "That one wizard with the short, wiry grey hair – one of the Aurors that was here last week – did you see him?"
"Yes, he waited with us in the Potions classroom when the other Auror left the room for a while," Hermione said.
"He tried to stop Dumbledore from escaping from the school when Fudge and Umbridge wanted to arrest him," Harry told her. "Dumbledore remembered he got all Outstanding marks on his N.E.W.T.s. And you have to have at least five N.E.W.T.s to be an Auror."
"Well, that gives me something to aim for, doesn't it, then?" Hermione said, a confident smile forming on her lips. Harry and Ron exchanged grins themselves; there was no doubt that if it was at all possible, she would get those seven Outstanding marks.
Harry had seen little of Jonathan Crown in the last week, and he wasn't complaining. Jon had steered clear of Harry as well; apparently, no proof of his good intentions toward them would be forthcoming for some time.
Even Snape seemed to have backed off somewhat. He was no longer so obnoxious or nasty during Defense Against the Dark Arts classes as he'd been prone to during the previous school term. To be sure, even now he was still aloof, disdainful, and condescending, but all in all, Harry reflected, he much preferred the cold, distant Snape who assigned tough but halfway reasonable amounts of homework to the in-your-face Snape and his crushing surprise tests and 24-inch class essays.
The only person, it seemed, who wasn't content to leave him alone was Draco Malfoy, as Harry found out the last week of January, during a winter cold snap that had students walking through the chilly hallways and corridors of the school bundled against the cold.
Harry, Ron and Hermione had just finished an exhausting Double Defense Against the Dark Arts class with the Slytherins, their last class of the day, studying advanced Protection and Hex-Deflection spells. With some of his old nastiness, Snape had assigned the class random partners rather than their usual ones, and Harry had drawn Blaise Zabini, who'd been one of the Slytherins in Professor Slughorn's Slug Club last year. Actually, Snape had probably done them a favor, since it was much easier to throw a jinx or hex at someone you disliked rather than a friend.
He and Zabini had vigorously cast spell after spell at each other – Harry was pleased to see his own jinxes penetrating Zabini's protections more often than not, while Zabini, growing angrier and angrier with each attempt, seldom made it past Harry's.
Ron and Malfoy, paired against each other, traded more insults than hexes. ("He's actually pretty pathetic," Ron said afterwards. "He doesn't aim very well.") Hermione, paired with Millicent Bulstrode, her own Slytherin nemesis, fared much better than during their Dueling Club altercation during their second year, with Hermione consistently defeating her protection spells while Millicent was unable to penetrate Hermione's; enraged, she nearly again resorted to a headlock until Parvati and Lavender intervened with their own wands, unfortunately earning a deduction of 10 points each from Gryffindor's score for aggressive behavior.
"I wish they hadn't stopped her," Hermione snarled as they left, after class was dismissed. "I could've beat her."
"Are you kidding?" Ron looked at her incredulously. "She could rip you apart, Hermione."
"Well, why didn't you step in and stop her then?"
"Because she can rip me apart, too!"
As the three rounded a corner, a blur of motion slid past Harry, knocking his book bag to the floor, where several books spilled out and slid across the floor.
"Peeves!" Harry said, aggravated, as the poltergeist rose up to the ceiling and looked down at him with a malicious grin.
"Potty has been hidey-hidey," Peeves cackled. "Doesn't Potty want to play with Peevesy-Weevesy?" He laughed uproariously.
Harry grabbed his book bag off the floor along with the nearest book that had fallen out. "Go on," he said, turning to look at Ron and Hermione. "I'll catch up in a minute."
"We can stay, Harry," Hermione said nervously, shooting Peeves an irritated glare.
"Ohh, does Grangy-Wangy want to play too?" Peeves said, starting to move toward her and Ron.
"Clear off," Harry said, waving them away. "No use us all picking up our books."
"A-all right," Ron said, looking up at Peeves as well. He took Hermione by the arm and they hurried on toward the nearest staircase.
Harry had almost collected all his books when Peeves suddenly shot down toward the last one, kicking it out of his reach.
"Stop it, Peeves!" Harry said angrily. He stepped toward the book, but again Peeves knocked it away, where it fetched up against the door of a nearby girls' toilet.
Harry stopped and pulled out his wand. "I'll have that book back, Peeves," he said warningly.
"Oh," Peeves said in mock terror, "Big, bad Potty-Wotty is going to hex me again, is he?"
"Again?"
"Like you did last year? Forgotten that, have you?" Peeves landed on the book, his back to the door of the girls' toilet. "Well, Peeves hasn't forgotten."
Harry pointed his wand at the book. "Give back my book, Peeves," he said tightly.
"Say you're sorry for hexing old Peeves last year," Peeves said in a cajoling manner, "and Peeves will give back the book."
Harry bit back an angry retort. Sighing, he let his arm drop to his side. "Are you sure you'll give it back, then?" he asked wearily.
"Peeves is sure. Cross his heart and hope to die," Peeves said, making an X in front of his chest.
"Fine, then," Harry said. "I'm sorry for hexing you last year."
"Thank'ee, Potty," Peeves said, beaming. "Nice of you to be so kind to old Peevesy. And let me just say, Mr. Potter – TRICKED YOU! Peeves doesn't have a heart!" The door flew open and Peeves shot backwards, still standing on the book.
"DAMMIT, PEEVES!" Harry roared. He ran forward, slamming against the door, flinging it open as he charged into the rest room. Looking around quickly, he saw no sign of Peeves or his book. He turned and began slowly walking past the stalls, looking underneath them. The floors in the stalls were all rather grungy and foul; Harry seriously hoped Peeves hadn't thrown his book into anything unpleasant.
The bathroom door creaked open again and Harry turned, expecting to have to explain to some female student why he was in the girls' bathroom. But before he could complete his turn, a voice cried out "Expelliarmus!" and his wand flew from his hand, landing somewhere out of sight with a sickening plunk that told him it had landed in a toilet.
Standing in front of the door, Harry realized with a gasp, was Draco Malfoy, accompanied, as always, by Crabbe and Goyle. Floating behind them, Harry saw, was Peeves, holding his book. Draco's wand was pointed directly at Harry's chest.
"Good work, Peeves," Malfoy said, gloating, while Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly. "That trick worked beautifully."
"Now Potty can pay for what he did to Peeves," the poltergeist crowed, with a leering grin that made him look all too human. "Give him the hexy-hexy, Draco!"
"In good time," Draco said, smiling triumphantly. "I want to savor this moment. More importantly, Potter," he told Harry, "I want you to imagine what I'm going to do to you if you don't give me what I want."
Harry was judging the distance between them, but it was hopeless; he couldn't possibly break through them and out the door before one of them hit him with a hex or curse. More importantly, he couldn't abandon his wand where three Slytherin could get a hold of it. Harry hoped he could stall until an opportunity presented itself.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
"What do you think I want, you dolt?" Malfoy snarled, enraged at Harry's question. "I want that Purse back!"
"What makes you think I've got it?"
In response, Malfoy pointed his wand and said "Telumus!" An arrow shot from his wand and embedded itself in the stall door Harry was standing next to.
"Don't play games with me, Potter!" Malfoy said in a dangerous tone. "There's almost three thousand Galleons gone missing from our vault since you took it!"
"I don't need your money!" Harry shouted back. "I've got enough gold to last me for years!"
"Of course you do! From our vault!" Malfoy spat back. He, Crabbe and Goyle advanced a step, and Harry stepped back instinctively.
Peeves slid closer as well, cackling "Hexy, hexy, cursey cursey!"
Furious at the distraction, Malfoy spun, pointing his wand at the poltergeist as he shouted, "Damn it, you ruddy spook! Get out of –"
Harry charged forward.
He slammed into Malfoy's shoulder, knocking him into Crabbe and grabbing at the wand in Malfoy's outstretched hand. He got it, but a crack in the stone floor caught his foot and sent him sprawling. Goyle, who had stepped back, startled by Harry's charge, now grunted angrily and aimed a kick at Harry's midsection.
Harry rolled away and pointed Malfoy's wand at Goyle as he advanced for another kick, shouting "Levicorpus!" Goyle flipped end-for-end into the air, suspended by his ankle.
Malfoy and Crabbe were disentangling themselves as Crabbe fumbled for his wand. They were both gripping it when Harry pointed Malfoy's wand and said "Expelliarmus!" Crabbe's wand flew into the air, landing in the far corner of the room. Both Crabbe and Malfoy scrambled toward it as Harry said "Accio Wand!" His wand flew out of a nearby stall and into his hand.
Harry then pointed both wands at Crabbe and Malfoy, who had almost reached the corner and Crabbe's wand, and said "Aguamenti!" spraying both of them with jets of cold water while they sputtered and tried to shield their faces.
Quickly pocketing Malfoy's wand, Harry shouted "Accio Crabbe's Wand!" and it flew past the cowering Malfoy and Crabbe; Harry caught it in his free hand. A sudden motion made him turn quickly toward Goyle, but the inverted Slytherin student's wand had dropped to the floor and he was groping wildly for it though it remained just out of his reach.
Raucous laughter assaulted his ears; Harry turned and looked behind and above him where Peeves was guffawing hysterically. "Haa-haha-haaaw!" The poltergeist rolled about on the ceiling, pointing at the upside down Goyle and the sopping, bedraggled Malfoy and Crabbe. "Lookit the big, bad Slytheries! Little Potty-Wotty sure made them all wet! Hee-hehe-heee!"
"You've got to be kidding me!" Harry said loudly, and Peeves stopped laughing and stared down at him. "D'you think this is a joke, to sic Malfoy and his thugs on me because you got back some of what you give out every day?"
Peeves giggled one last time, then picked himself up off the ceiling and floated down to a spot level with Harry's head. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out Harry's book and dropped it on the floor in front of Harry.
"Lighten up, Potty-Wotty," he said with a shrill chuckle, "You'll get worry lines." He zoomed backwards through the wall and out of sight.
Heaving a sigh, Harry turned around to survey the scene: Goyle was hanging by his ankle a few feet from Harry, still trying to reach his wand, while Malfoy and Crabbe were leaning up against the far wall, sopping wet. Pointing his wand one final time, Harry collected Goyle's wand as well.
"HARRY POTTER!" A voice suddenly screeched, right behind him. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE!" Putting his hands up to cover his now-throbbing ears, Harry turned to see a furious Moaning Myrtle glaring at him, her pearly-white, translucent features twisted with rage. "NOBODY IS SUPPOSED TO BE IN HERE MESSING UP THIS BATHROOM BUT ME!"
"Sorry, Myrtle," Harry said, feeling bad for the temperamental ghost. His apologetic demeanor softened Myrtle's anger somewhat. She looked at Malfoy and the other Slytherins, recognition dawning as she saw Malfoy's sharp, pale features under the sheen of water.
"Oooh. It's you again," she said, softening even more. "You're not trying to kill each other in my toilet again, are you?"
But it appeared, however, that Malfoy didn't want either Crabbe or Goyle knowing he'd ever talked to Myrtle. "You stupid ghost," he said, standing up and flapping his arms to throw off excess water; it rained down on Crabbe, who covered up again.
"I don't care whose bathroom this is supposed to be," he said contemptuously. "You don't have any business speaking to us."
The effect of Malfoy's speech on Myrtle was dramatic: she floated stock-still for several moments then, with a loud wail, sailed into the air and down one of the toilets with such force that it exploded, sending a geyser of water and porcelain into the air. Suddenly and unexpectedly all of the other toilets, and the basins as well, began spraying water into the air.
"Get out of here!" Harry shouted, and ran for the door, dropping Goyle to the floor with a shouted "Liberacorpus!" as he ran past the upended Slytherin. He, Crabbe and Malfoy scrambled through the door behind Harry.
Several dozen students had gathered outside the door to listen to the commotion going on inside. Harry even caught a fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Norris scampering silently away, no doubt to alert Filch to the disaster. Malfoy may have seen her too, because he took a threatening step toward Harry and demanded, "We'll have our wands, Potter. Now!"
"And what if I refuse?" Harry snapped, making no move to hand them over.
"Then as Head Boy I'll begin deducting points from Gryffindor until you do."
"What is going on here?" Professor Snape had suddenly appeared, looking astounded at the devastation he was seeing. "What is going on in there?" he demanded again, indicating the girls' toilet, which was now showing signs of real damage as water had begun flowing underneath the door.
"Let me get this straight," Snape said slowly, his dark eyes drilling into Draco's. "Potter attacked the three of you in this –" Snape pointed to the bathroom door "– toilet? Is that what you're telling me, Draco?"
Draco looked somewhat abashed, as if hearing it the way Snape said it made it sound less than believable. Nevertheless, he put his hands on his hips, assuming a pose that dared Snape to contradict him, and said, "Yes, sir, that's what I'm saying."
Snape looked silently from Malfoy, to Harry, then at Crabbe and Goyle. Closing his eyes, he squeezed the bridge of his long nose between thumb and forefinger.
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape finally said, wearily, "that must be the singularly most unbelievable story I've ever heard you concoct to avoid punishment."
Malfoy, Goyle and Crabbe's mouths all fell open in shock. Several students looked at each other in wide-eyed shock. Snape, failing to back up the Slytherins he always bent the rules for?
"However," Snape continued, throwing them all a flinty look. "It is clear that you were all fighting, something that cannot be tolerated here at Hogwarts. Ten points is deducted from Slytherin. Apiece."
Malfoy was speechless with astonishment and outrage. Harry smiled grimly. Thirty points from Slytherin, not bad, he thought.
"And because Potter was the clear instigator of this brawl, twenty points will be deducted from Gryffindor," Snape finished smoothly, his eyes flashing as he glared at Harry.
Murmurs of outrage rippled through the students standing about. "Unfair!" one Hufflepuff, a third-year boy whose name Harry didn't remember, shouted at Snape.
"What is going on?" Headmistress McGonagall arrived. "I was just given a report there'd been a disturbance down –" she stopped, staring in shock at the water pouring out from under the door of the girls' toilet "– here…"
"An unfortunate altercation between students with too much spare time on their hands," Snape said dismissively. "It's been dealt with, Headmistress."
"Unfairly!" one of the Ravenclaw students spoke up. "The professor penalized Gryffindor almost as much as Slytherin even though he knew the Slytherins were lying about what happened!"
McGonagall turned to Snape, her eyes narrow, glasses glinting in the flickering torchlight. She turned to Harry. "Tell me what happened," she said.
Harry went through the events that led up to their arrival in the corridor several minutes before; McGonagall repeated the question for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. At the end of it, she held out her hand.
"Let me see their wands," she commanded. Harry reached into his robe pocket and produced the three wands.
There was a sound of running footsteps and Argus Filch came stomping up, cursing luridly. The sight of Professor McGonagall, however, brought him up short.
"Ah – er, good afternoon, Headmistress," he stammered, abashed. "What, uh, seems to be the problem here?"
Sparing Filch only a momentary glance, McGonagall strode over to the toilet door, waving her wand so it flew open for her, then stepped inside and gestured at the still-spurting toilets and water basins. All of them immediately stopped shooting water and the toilet that had burst when Myrtle dived down its drain flew back together.
"Mr. Filch," she said calmly as she reappeared in the corridor. "Please clean up the excess water. And," she added, gazing at him sternly, "in the future I would appreciate it if you didn't attend to you duties with quite so colorful a vocabulary."
"Yes'm," Filch said, then hastened away to get a mop and bucket, Mrs. Norris at his heels.
McGonagall walked over to Snape and handed him the three wands. "I trust you will attend to any detentions you see fit to hand out, Professor Snape," she said, raising an eyebrow archly.
Snape matched her eyebrow. "I see no reason to give out detentions," he said easily. "I have deducted points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor, as I saw fit to do."
"Excellent," McGonagall said. "Then in similar fashion I will make some adjustments as well." Snape inclined his head fractionally in acknowledgement of the head's prerogative.
"I award thirty points to Gryffindor for a well-conducted defense that caused no lasting damage and left no student seriously hurt."
The students in the corridor burst into spontaneous applause. "Silence!" Snape shouted. The clapping quickly died away and Snape, turning back to McGonagall, said disbelievingly, "Surely we cannot ignore the damage done, Headmistress –"
"Done by Myrtle, not by Harry, Severus," McGonagall reminded him.
"But –" Snape began to protest.
"I'll hear no more of it," McGonagall cut him off. "You've made your assessment and I've made mine. Shall we leave it at that, or would you prefer we have a full review of each of these boys' actions in my office tomorrow morning?"
"No," Snape said quietly. "That will not be necessary, Headmistress." He turned, gesturing for the Slytherins to follow him, and they departed.
McGonagall turned to Harry. "Get your books and follow me, Mr. Potter," she told him. Harry walked over and picked up his book bag from where it had fallen in the corridor, then, remembering, walked back into Myrtle's toilet and retrieved his last book, now soggy with the water that had spilled during the geysers.
He was still holding it as he walked up to McGonagall. "Tsk," she said, and tapped it lightly with her wand, saying "Reparo," softly. The book immediately dried out, its pages and binding unwarping back to its original condition.
"Fine. Now follow me," she said. She led Harry back to where the stone gargoyle stood guarding the entrance to the Head's Office. "Montrose Magpies," she said; the gargoyle leapt aside and the wall split open to reveal the spiral staircase. McGonagall gesture for Harry to take the stairs, and she stepped on behind him.
"Do you fancy the Magpies, Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked as they took the staircase upwards to her office.
"I try not to play favorites, Mr. Potter," she said, looking back at him with a mildly disapproving frown. "However," she added, "there are a few teams I enjoy watching."
They reached the top of the moving staircase and entered the Head's office. Nothing had changed much since the last time Harry was here. McGonagall gestured toward a small table with two chairs on either side of it, and Harry sat down in one; McGonagall took the other.
"It's been some time, Potter," she said carefully, "since we've had a chance to talk."
Harry nodded silently. It hadn't escaped his notice that neither Professor McGonagall nor anyone else from the Order of the Phoenix had contacted him since he first returned to Hogwarts. He no longer counted Snape as a member of the Order; in fact it was unclear, even now, what his status was with Lupin and the other members. As far as Harry was concerned, however, he would never forgive Snape for killing Professor Dumbledore, however necessary he, Snape, or anyone else might claim it had been.
"If you'll recall," McGonagall continued, "the first time you and I met here, after Dumbledore's … passing," she said finally. "I asked you what you and he had been doing that evening."
Harry remained silent, but nodded once again.
"Since that time, circumstances have changed. Remus has informed me of what you and Dumbledore were up to that night," McGonagall's eyes bored into Harry's. "While I … understand what Albus was doing, however, I am sorry to say I can't approve of it."
Harry shrugged. "I have to do what I believe is right, Professor McGonagall," he said earnestly. "Isn't that the choice Professor Dumbledore always spoke of – the choice between what is right, and what is easy?"
McGonagall looked unhappy, but she nodded as well. "It is a quandary, Minerva," another voice said, coming from across the room. Harry and McGonagall both turned toward McGonagall's desk where, encased in a golden frame on the wall behind it, hung Albus Dumbledore's portrait; Dumbledore himself was smiling benignly at them. "I myself was often confounded with the problem of protecting my students while trying to instill in them the need for independent thinking."
"As I've come to understand as well, Albus," McGonagall sighed. She turned to Harry, her eyes filling with emotion. "I am proud of you, Harry," she said, very clearly and sincerely, "for the task you've undertaken. I wish I knew of another way to accomplish it."
"I do, too," Harry said, a ghost of a smile on his lips, one which both McGonagall and Dumbledore's portrait echoed.
McGonagall sighed deeply, then suddenly rose to her feet. "I do have another reason for bringing you here, Potter," she said, her manner once again crisp and businesslike. "Someone would like to speak with you."
"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said, rising as well and turning to the portrait of the former headmaster. But Dumbledore was not there, the chair was empty. McGonagall, turning to it as well, was not smiling.
"Yes," she said, disapproval in her voice. "And," she added, loudly enough, perhaps, for her voice to carry to wherever Dumbledore was, "although I am not happy that secrets are being kept from me even within my own office, because it is Albus Dumbledore…"
Instead of finishing, McGonagall moved toward the door. "I will be downstairs when you're finished here, Mr. Potter. Please be quick about it." The door shut behind her.
Harry looked back and forth between Dumbledore's portrait and the door, feeling torn. Surely at least Professor McGonagall, of all people in this school, would know about Horcruxes, could be trusted just as Hermione, Ron and he were…
"Ah, Harry, you're here!" Professor Dumbledore had stepped into frame, and Harry turned to face him with a mixture of relief and apprehension. What could be so important that a former Headmaster would usurp, even temporarily, this office from its current holder?
"Hello, Professor," Harry said, trying to smile. "How are you, sir?"
"Very well, Harry, thank you," Dumbledore said with a nod. "It has been some time since we saw each other last, has it not?"
"Er – yes, it has," Harry said, uncertainly. Did Dumbledore mean while he was alive, or was he speaking of the picture of himself?
"How have your efforts to locate Voldemort's Horcruxes gone?" Dumbledore asked, his tone now serious.
Harry hesitated only a moment before answering truthfully. "Not well," he admitted. "Although we have discovered that the Helm of Gryffindor, thought to be a legend, actually exists and was in the possession of the Crabbe family until about 30 years ago."
Dumbledore looked quite interested at this. "Do you suspect it to be a Horcrux, Harry?"
"It was taken from the Crabbes by Lucius Malfoy's father in return for a large amount of gold."
Dumbledore smiled broadly, looking delighted. "Ah! Splendid news, Harry! I'd always wondered whether I'd come across the Helm of Gryffindor in my search for the Founders' artifacts. It appears that you, instead, were destined to find it."
"It was Hermione who found it, actually," Harry demurred.
"Indeed?" Dumbledore looked pleased to hear this. "She has been quite the resourceful young witch, hasn't she?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what of the other Horcruxes?" Dumbledore pressed. "I take it you've had some difficulty there?"
"Yes," Harry said. It was not easy admitting this – he knew Dumbeldore was counting on him to find them.
"Have you been out searching for more clues where Voldemort has been seen or known to have been?"
"Er –" Harry didn't want to say what kinds of things they'd been up to for the last six months. "We've – we've been looking for clues in the school Library," Harry said, to show Dumbledore they had been trying. "That's how Hermione found the Helm."
"I see." Dumbledore gazed intently at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "Harry, I apologize."
"For what?" Harry said, dumbfounded at the former Headmaster's apology. "You didn't do anything, sir."
"I left you ill-prepared for the task ahead of you, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said, sighing heavily. "I did not completely anticipate the potency of Voldemort's potion in the cave – it drained me quite beyond my expectations, and I wasn't able to give you something you yet need in your pursuit of Voldemort's Horcruxes."
"What's that, sir?" Harry asked.
"Come closer," Dumbledore urged him. Harry stepped up to his portrait. "This picture, Harry, like the one that hangs before the opening to Gryffindor Tower, may be opened with the proper password. Behind it, you'll find a small compartment with a book you'll need to help you dispose of Voldemort's Horcruxes. I regret I was not able to convey to you, at the beginning of the school year, my intent to have you retrieve it."
Understanding dawned on Harry. So that was what Dumbledore had been staring at him so intently for, the last time he was here! "Can you tell me what the password is, sir?"
"In a moment, Harry. I'll be brief, as Professor McGonagall is no doubt most anxious to return to her office." Dumbledore permitted himself a small, rueful smile. "I do regret keeping secrets from her, but she would no doubt attempt to dissuade you from your quest."
"I won't be dissuaded, sir," Harry said earnestly. Talking to Dumbledore had revitalized him and renewed his resolve to see his task on to completion, come what may.
"I believe you, Harry," Dumbledore said, nodding gravely. "But even the best-laid plans oft go astray. Professor McGonagall, or any of the Order, in fact, would attempt to persuade you to allow them to help you in your quest, and while their intentions would be well-meaning, we both know how difficult it is to keep a secret once more than a few people know of it.
"Now, if you will, the password is 'nitwit.' "
Harry repeated the word, and Dumbledore's portrait swung aside. As it did so, a section of the stone wall behind it retracted and slid aside, revealing the compartment Dumbledore had spoken about.
Reaching in, Harry removed a single item, a large tome bound in faded black leather. The title, nearly unreadable, was Secrets of the Darkest Art. "That book," Dumbledore's voice said from the other side of the portrait, "is the book Tom Riddle used to learn how a Horcrux was made. I removed it from the Restricted section of the Library after I became Headmaster, and placed it in that compartment. It will also tell you what a Horcrux is vulnerable to. Guard it well, Harry." The portrait swung closed and Dumbledore's image regarded Harry soberly.
"I – I will, sir," Harry said, looking at the book with a mixture of awe and disgust. "But… how will I get it past Professor McGonagall? It's a rather large book – it will be difficult to hide it under my robe."
"In that case, I would advise a stealthy approach to the situation," Dumbledore said, giving Harry a knowing look. When Harry continued to look confused, Dumbledore asked, "Do you have your Invisibility Cloak with you?"
"Oh," Harry said. "Of course." He took the Cloak out from under his robe and draped it over himself, but then turned back to Dumbledore. "Sir, I have to ask you a question."
"What is it, Harry?"
"Why did you trust Snape? He betrayed and murdered you! What could he have possibly done to earn your confidence?"
Dumbledore sighed. "Professor Snape, Harry. And that must remain between him and myself, even now."
"But –"
"Harry, please. A promise is a promise, and in some cases they must remain in place even though we leave the world behind. If it is ever meant that you should know, it will be given to you.
"For now, however, you have a piece of the puzzle, and soon, I hope, more pieces will begin to fall into place. Remember my words, Harry – they may yet come in handy, the next time you need something from me. Take care."
Harry regarded Dumbeldore silently for several moments before he realized he'd been dismissed. Nodding, he slid the Invisibility Cloak over himself, then exited the office and went down the spiral staircase, avoiding Professor McGonagall as she looked stepped inside as the entrance opened at the bottom. "Potter?" she called as Harry stole away down the corridor. "Are you up there? Potter!"
Harry went back to the Gryffindor common room where he found Hermione and Ron, who'd heard about the fight and him going off with McGonagall. He told them of his conversation with Dumbledore and produced the book he'd been given. Hermione quickly flipped through the pages, looking nauseated as well as intrigued. "This will help quite a bit when we actually find one," she said softly. "But we still haven't gotten very far on that front."
"I know," Harry said, feeling frustrated Dumbledore couldn't give them more help. "At least we're not completely ignorant, now."
"I wonder if there's any good hexes in there," Ron said, nodding at the book in front of Hermione. "In case Malfoy tries to ambush you again."
"I think I did okay holding them off," Harry said with a small smile. "Besides, I don't intend to walk into any more girls' toilets, no matter who's trying to get me in there!"
That Saturday, as Harry was walking toward the Quidditch pitch for one of their practices, he met Ginny going the same way and asked her about the parchment scroll. "You hadn't heard of it?" she said, surprised. "It went up the day after that business with the Aurors snooping around the school – but no one heard a word about it until we started asking Professor Tonks about it in Transfiguration class. She wasn't to keen to talk about it, either, but she told us that only the seventh-years needed to worry about it, since only they had weekend liberty."
After practice was over, Harry wandered into the entrance hall to check out the scroll Lupin had told him about. It was hanging in a glass-covered frame on the wall next to the liberty logbook. A large list of names and the year they were in was written on the parchment in shining black ink. Examining it carefully, he saw his name and year
Potter, Harry James – seventh year
written between "Perks, Sally-Ann – seventh year" and "Pritchard, Graham Ernest – fourth year."
"Found your name, have you, Potter?" a voice behind Harry said gruffly; he turned to see Argus Filch shuffling up, with his cat, Mrs. Norris, at his heels. "Yes, indeed," the hunchbacked caretaker said, a smug, self-satisfied smile on his lips, "this will make my job a lot easier – and yours a lot harder!"
"Er – what do you mean, 'my job?' " Harry asked, perplexed.
"Sneaking out of the castle is what I mean," Filch growled. "Oh you needn't try to deny it, Potter – you and your friends have been sneaking out on weekends, gallivanting all over England. There were rumors a' plenty, mind you! But Headmistress McGonagall said we must give you the benefit of the doubt. Feh!" He caressed the frame, staring at the names, then looked at Harry maliciously. "Well, this'll leave no doubt, you mark my words!"
"How does it work?" Harry asked, wondering if Filch could tell him anything, even accidentally, that would be a clue to how to defeat the scroll's enchantment.
Filch snorted. "Simple enough," he said, waving toward it with a gnarled hand. "Look there, at the top of the second row," and Harry saw that the name there, "Goldstein, Anthony Edward – seventh year," was rather more gray than black; in fact, it was barely distinguishable from the pale parchment itself.
"A name that's nearly faded shows that the student has left the grounds," Filch said, shuffling over to the stand where the liberty logbook stood open. He looked over the page, finally stabbing the same name written there with a crooked fingertip. "Goldstein's signed out, see?" he said, scowling at Harry. "If I catch someone who's name's like that on the parchment and ain't signed out, I fetch Headmistress McGonagall or one of the other teachers and we both log it in the book." He smiled nastily. "A few of those in this book and even McGonagall's prized students will be out on their ears."
Harry said nothing, but merely looked at the parchment and the logbook.
"Thinking of having a go, then, Potter?" Filch said, eyeing him with some inner glee. "It would do this old man's heart good to turn you out of here – you and that lot of ungrateful, rule-breaking hooligans you call friends." He chuckled, a low guttural rasping, with Mrs. Norris, at his heels, mewing as if joining in his amusement, then turned and shuffled away.
"Thanks for sharing that," Harry said under his breath as Filch left the entrance hall.
Today was Round Nine of the Vault Tournament, the first of the year, and while Ron had talked hopefully of making the trip to Diagon Alley, Harry still hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Jon or to come up with a plan to get around the enchanted parchment.
Ron hadn't taken not going to the Tournament well – he'd sulked through breakfast the disappeared back upstairs to "study something," he'd said, though Harry doubted it had anything to do with schoolwork or N.E.W.T.s. At Quidditch practice, his performance had been lackluster, and he'd disappeared again immediately after changing out of his uniform robe.
By Sunday evening at dinner, they had hardly seen Ron that weekend – he'd only appeared at mealtimes, barely long enough to eat a plateful of food. He would sit sullenly across the Gryffindor table from Harry and Hermione, sketching idly on a scrap of parchment with a charcoal pencil, not even looking up at them, then disappearing again when they both got up after eating.
"Why is he acting like this?" Hermione fretted as they walked back toward Gryffindor Tower. "Surely he realizes it wouldn't be a smart idea to travel to Diagon Alley in any case, not so soon after the Ministry's investigations."
"Yeah, he's acting like a real prat," Harry agreed.
"I didn't say that, Harry," Hermione said, rounding on him.
"Alright, alright," Harry conceded, trying not to be annoyed. "I just meant that he's not acting like his normal cheerful, happy self."
Hermione laughed, in spite of herself, and Harry smiled. "Really, though," he added in all sincerity, "I don't know what's up with him and this Vault – it's almost like he's obsessing over it."
"He talks about it a lot when we're alone together," Hermione confided, lowering her voice. "Sometimes it's been even more important to him than … well…"
"Snogging?" Harry finished matter-of-factly. Hermione blushed, but nodded. Harry didn't say anything, but he supposed it was a good sign that they were getting on well enough that they still fancied snogging each other.
Settling in at an unoccupied table, they began going through homework assignments for Transfiguration, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was slow going, made worse for Harry by the absence of Ron interjecting humorous comments during some of Hermione's more prolonged explanations of their reading assignments and the homework questions.
Just when Harry felt he was ready to nod off at the table from exhaustion at trying to grasp any of Hermione's many comments on their homework, the common room portrait swung open and Ron climbed through the entrance, still carrying the parchment scraps he'd been drawing on earlier. Spotting them, he started to turn away, toward the boys' dormitory staircase, and Harry felt Hermione sag next to him; but a moment later Ron reversed himself and, slouching over to stand in front of the table, said, "Hey."
"Hey," Harry said in return. Hermione looked at him expectantly, a small but hopeful smile on her face.
"Sorry," Ron said. "I shouldn't be acting like this."
"We know," Harry said, then added "Ouch!" as Hermione kicked his leg.
"Are you feeling better?" she inquired sardonically of Ron; but she no longer sounding annoyed with him. "Thought it through and all that?"
"Yeah," Ron said, looking at the ground. "I just really wanted to go today."
"Hopefully we can make it next time," Harry said, really hoping he could keep his promise.
"What were you drawing earlier?" Hermione asked, indicating the parchment pieces Ron was carrying.
"Just some things I was remembering about the clock Uncle Archie build for Mum and Dad," Ron said, putting the scraps in front of them. Harry looked; Ron had come up with some decent illustrations of the Weasley clock, with its nine hands and locations rather than numerals around the face edge. He'd done a very detailed job, as if he'd been looking at the clock itself rather than working from memory.
"These are quite good, Ron!" Hermione said, impressed. "I didn't know you could draw this well."
"I guess I hadn't thought about it," Ron said, shrugging.
"Do you want to study some?" Hermione asked brightly. Harry's head fell forward onto the table. "Oh, stop it, Harry!"
"No, I'm beat," Ron said. "I'm going to go to bed."
"All right, then," Hermione said, sounding a trifle disappointed.
"I am, too," Harry added, standing up and gathering his books into his book bag.
"Fine, I may as well call it a night as well," Hermione gave in.
In their dormitory, Harry and Ron changed into pajamas and crawled into their beds. "Good night, Harry," Ron said, and rolled over without any more comment.
"Night," Harry said, taking off his glasses and placing them on the bedside cabinet. Ron was usually chatty after apologizing for bad behavior; but it was late and Dean, Seamus and Neville were already sleeping. Harry rolled over and fell fast asleep within minutes.
He was dreaming of a long corridor, somewhere in the school. It was dimly lit, and there was a dark figure standing at the far end, beckoning him forward. "Come," the figure was saying, and while Harry didn't want to, he found himself inexorably drawn forward, as if against his will. "Come," the voice said again, indistinct and echoing in the long corridor. "Come to me."
Harry looked down. He could see his feet, shuffling slowly, haltingly, as if against his will, drawn forward by the echoing voice that continued to urge him forward. "Come to me!"
It was almost as if he were emptied of will, Harry thought, watching his feet plodding forward. Emptied of will – that phrase evoked memories of the time he had felt exactly this way, when he had felt there was no choice but to obey, even though he did not want to. "Come to me," the voice beat into his brain, now so close that he recognized the voice and looked up into the face of – Snape.
Harry jerked upright, awakened by the shock of seeing Snape so suddenly. He sat unmoving for several moments, listening to the sounds of his classmates breathing or snoring. He could hear everyone except – Ron. Looking over at his bed, Harry was surprised to see it empty, the covers rolled back as if Ron had suddenly leapt up out of bed. Perhaps he'd had to pay a call to the bathroom. Harry rolled out of bed and checked, but Ron was nowhere to be found in their room or in the nearest bathroom.
Curious, as well as a bit unnerved by his dream and wanting to talk about it, Harry padded down to the common room. It was empty, but something near the exit caught his eye: picking it up, Harry found that it was one of Ron's slippers. Had he left the common room with only one slipper on? Harry started to push the portrait open, but with a sudden inspiration he dashed back upstairs and retrieved his Invisibility Cloak. He draped it over himself and went through the portrait hole to corridor beyond.
An immediate problem presented itself: How could he guess where Ron might be in this entire castle? How long ago had Ron left Gryffindor Tower? He could be anywhere. How could Harry, in his wildest dreams, expect to guess where –
His dreams!
It was so obvious Harry could have kicked himself for not seeing it immediately. What if he'd seen in his dream what Ron, not he himself, was doing? He went cold at the idea – it meant that Snape was involved, somehow, and not in a good way. He'd have to guess quickly where Ron might be. Harry concentrated, trying to remember details of the corridor. His memories were fuzzy already, but he could think of one spot close by with a long corridor. Hurrying as quickly as he could without making any noise, Harry set out for the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.
Nearing the corridor, his breath caught as he heard, unmistakably, Snape's voice. Even under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry was cautious as he leaned around the corner. Standing not far away he saw both Snape, facing away from him and Ron, with a slipper missing from his foot, looking dully at Snape. Snape's lighted wand was held aloft, casting long shadows toward Harry. He still wasn't sure if Snape had found a way to see through his Invisibility Cloak, but he could hear the conversation well enough where he was.
"Are you sure there's nothing else to report?" Snape whispered harshly as Harry listened. Ron's face, in the light of Snape's wand, was slack, expressionless, as if he were sleepwalking. Or Imperiused, Harry added, grimly.
"No," Ron replied dully. "We went nowhere this past week."
"Do you plan to go anywhere in the next week? Diagon Alley? Azkaban? Anywhere?" It appeared Snape was fishing for information.
"Harry said we might try to go to Diagon Alley for the next round of the Vault Tournamnt."
"Are you sure you don't know what Potter and Granger are up to?" The question sounded as if Snape had asked it before. "It could be important to the Order to know what they're planning."
Harry felt himself tense; his hand had gone, unbidden, to his wand. If Snape did not already know about Voldemort's Horcruxes, Ron could reveal their most closely guarded secret.
But he stood mute, shaking his head. If Snape believed any different, he said nothing.
"Typical of Potter," Snape muttered, more to himself than Ron. "He's either walking about in a daze, waiting for the Dark Lord to reappear, or he's running about fighting useless battles everywhere between Hogwarts and London."
Harry bridled at the remark, but let his hand relax from his wand.
"What about the American, Crown?" Snape continued. "Do you think he knows something of what Potter's plans are?"
"I don't know," Ron replied. "But we haven't been talking to him for the past few weeks. Harry thinks he knows something he's not telling us about whether You-Know-Who will succeed in his quest soon."
"Ridiculous," Snape said shortly. "He's just posturing for that backwards girlfriend of his. He knows nothing more of the Dark Lord's true quest than Potter does."
"I don't know," Ron repeated, dully.
"That much is obvious," Snape sneered. "Very well. Keep pressing for a visit to Diagon Alley. I believe I can arrange for a suitable greeting for you there.
"What if we can't figure out a way around the Naming Scroll?" Ron asked.
"Well then you won't be going to Diagon Alley to try and figure out that Vault, will you?" Snape sneered, and Ron hung his head, intimidated. "Besides, Potter had the Marauder's Map all of those years – didn't he ever figure out how it worked? The principles are nearly the same." Snape's voice became gloating. "I wonder what Potter would think if he learned that it was I, not Lupin, who solved the greatest problem of the Map – how to plot an Unplottable section of land." Harry's eyes grew wide in shock. Could that be true?
"And stop playing the misunderstood teenager in school," Snape went on. "We don't want your little friends to start worrying about you, and asking questions – they may find out what you've been doing for me these last few months."
Months? Harry thought furiously, almost grinding his teeth in anger. Snape's had Ron Imperiused for months?
"As usual," Snape finished, sounding perfunctory. "You will not remember this conversation. You will continue to obey the commands I've given you. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Back to your bed, then, and be careful not to wake anyone. If you do, tell them you've just been to the bathroom."
Ron turned, walking back down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower, while Snape turned and strode away in the opposite direction, extinguishing his wand as he did so. Harry hurried ahead of Ron, taking a shortcut, and arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady perhaps a half-minute ahead of him. Pulling off the Cloak, he gave her the password, then hurried through and dashed up the staircase to his dormitory room. He flung the Invisibility Cloak under his bed and slid beneath the covers. By the time Ron slipped into the room a minute later, Harry was breathing softly and steadily, as if he'd been fast asleep the entire time Ron was gone.
But Harry's mind was whirling feverishly with what he'd learned this night. Ron, Imperiused by Snape and giving him their secrets! He would have to tell Hermione – and Jon, and Ginny, and Fred and George, so they could guard their speech around him, at least until they worked out what to do about it.
What Snape said about Jon also made Harry realize that the American probably wasn't as much of a threat to them as he'd thought. If Snape thought he was on the wrong track, then he probably wasn't working with Voldemort or other Death Eaters, or even the centaurs. If that was the case, then, they might be able to use his help, if he'd give it, figuring out what to do about Ron.
The next morning, Monday, Ron was like a new man in class – smiling, cheerful and talkative. Hermione was thrilled, of course, but Harry, who knew why his attitude had changed so suddenly, was less enthusiastic about it. He would have to tell her, and soon, what was up with Ron.
Unfortunately, with Ron's new outlook on life, Hermione and he began spending more time with each other outside of classes. Harry, who normally would have been happy to leave them alone for a while, began hovering around Ron all the times he was near Hermione, ready to divert the conversation if it began to lead into discussions of Horcruxes, at least until he figured out what to do about Snape controlling him.
At least, Harry thought, he hadn't had a chance to dicuss the book he'd gotten from Dumbledore yet with Ron, so there was no chance he could betray its existence to Hermione. He did show it to Hermione, however, and together they studied the various aspects of Horcruxes, how to create them and, most importantly, how to destroy them. He also managed to impress on Hermione the importance of not mentioning the book or its contents to Ron without explaining why, though he'd had to suggest that Ron didn't really need to know.
His previous animosity toward Jon wasn't helping much now, either. Jon and Deirdre usually disappeared after the classes they had together, or he would dash off to find her after the ones he had with Harry, Ron and Hermione. It wasn't until Wednesday in Defense Against the Dark Arts class that Harry managed to pass Jon a note asking him to meet later that evening in the Gryffindor common room, at midnight, after everyone else had gone to bed. Jon read the note, then looked at Harry for a long time before nodding.
Now, just after midnight, Harry pushed off his covers and slipped out of bed. He'd slid on a pair of jeans under the covers and was wearing a T-shirt. Neville, Dean, Seamus and Ron were all asleep.
Moving silently, Harry once again removed his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk and put it on. He also retrieved another item from his trunk, a book. Harry then closed and locked his trunk and padded down the staircase to the common room. It was empty; apparently Jon had not come down yet. But he had barely settled into one of the room's comfortable overstuffed chintz chairs when the Fat Lady's portrait swung open and he entered the common room, still carrying his book bag from classes earlier that day.
Jon looked slowly around the room in the dim lamplight, then walked up to the chair where Harry was sitting, still covered with his Invisibility Cloak. "Hi, Harry," he said in a low voice.
Harry slipped off the Cloak. "How did you know I was here? Can you see through Invisibility Cloaks?"
"No, just a guess," Jon said. He pointed from the chair to the portrait opening. "It was a good place for you to sit and wait for me." He looked at Harry. "What did you want to meet for?"
"I wanted to say – I'm sorry," Harry said seriously. "I started to think you were using Ron, Hermione and me, getting information from us to give to the centaurs, helping Voldemort."
Jon shook his head. "Harry, like I've said, I'm not your enemy."
"I know that now. I found out –" he hesitated, almost sick to say it aloud "— I found out that Snape put Ron under the Imperius Curse several months ago."
Jon looked stunned. "A Hogwarts teacher, using Unforgivable Curses on students?"
"We've told you what else he's done," Harry said in an argumentative tone. "He's acted dodgy the entire time I've been here at Hogwarts! Even Professor Lupin, who's always defended him because Dumbledore, our previous Headmaster, trusted him, no longer believes he's on our side. He murdered Dumbledore, right in front of me!"
"Alright, I believe you," Jon said. "The question is, do you feel you can trust me now?"
Harry nodded.
"Because," Jon continued, "it's going to be difficult to even leave this school anymore, much less travel to Diagon Alley and back."
"I know," Harry said. "And we still have to figure a way around the Naming Scroll."
"I checked out the Naming Scroll a few days ago," Jon said. "It might not be easy to get around – except for one thing."
"What's that?" Harry asked, interested.
"This," Jon said, pulling a book from his book bag and handing it to Harry. Harry looked at the book. It was neatly bound in black leather, but there was no title on the cover.
"Open it," Jon said. Harry opened the cover and read the title page:
The Making of the
Marauder's Map
By Remus Lupin
As Tramslated
and Extended
By Jonathan Crown
"What's this about?" Harry asked. Jon quickly explained about their finding the chartered accountancy book the clue left in Fred's hollow bedpost, and how they'd discovered it was really Lupin's description of how the Marauders had build the Marauder's Map.
"Amazing!" Harry said, impressed all over again. "But what do you mean by 'translated' and 'extended?' "
"All the text in the book beyond the Introduction was written in ancient runes," said Jon. "That's probably why Fred and George never knew anything about the Map beyond its basic operation. But I was able to translate the text and make a copy that wouldn't disappear every night back to the Library."
Harry was flipping through the pages of the book. There were diagrams, illustrations showing how the Map had been assembled, and spells written in languages Harry had never seen before. "But how could you have done that? You just told me that any knowledge about this book is either forgotten or erased once it returns to the Library. Why won't this book disappear, as well as our memories of it?"
"It would," Jon agreed. "If I'd copied it myself, either by transcribing it or by magical copying. But instead, I used a Wizard's Pantograph to copy each page into a blank book."
"A Wizard's Pantograph? I've never heard of such a thing."
"It's a very old technique for making copies by tracing the original text. The enchantment on Lupin's book Obliviates every memory of his book or its contents from the mind of anyone who has read or heard about it – including any spoken, written or inscribed copies, because it can use the memories of the person to locate and erase each physical copy.
"But the Pantograph isn't a living mind. It just makes a copy of whatever text it's given, so no 'mind' looked at the text in Lupin's book. I had a fifth-year Muggle Studies student retrieve the accountancy book from the Library and change it to Lupin's book – then I was careful never to even look at the book, keeping my eyes closed as I put it on the Pantograph for copying. It took several hours, but when it was done I had an exact replica of the book.
"After that it was simple – I've added some additional explanations of how we found the book, then used the Pantograph to make a mechanical copy of that page, which I added into the book. The next morning the page I'd written was blank, but the copy in the book was still there.
"I've made another copy of this book for you, Harry." Jon produced the copy from his book bag. "Even if you never use it to make another Marauder's Map, the spells and techniques Professor Lupin used to create it make fascinating reading."
Harry took the copy of the book, looking at it for some time. It was incredible that he remembered none of this, but that Jon had managed to not only find the book again, but to copy it for their use.
"It's too bad you didn't go ahead and remake the Marauder's Map," he said plaintively.
"Well – I did, actually." Jon produced a gold ring set with four gemstones – a ruby, a sapphire, an emerald and a yellow diamond – the four gemstones of the four Houses of Hogwarts. "This is the Marauder's Map, remade." He held it out to Harry.
Harry took the ring, looking at it carefully. It was made of highly polished gold and of exquisite workmanship; the stones were perfectly set and balanced across the top of the ring. "How did you come by this ring?" Harry wanted to know.
"I went down to the kitchens several weeks ago," Jon replied, "just after the start of the term, and I asked your friend Dobby if he would help me locate a finely-made ring with all four House gemstones on it. He located a goblin willing to perform the work for me, and I got the ring from him a few weeks ago. I've been working on its enchantments since then. In fact, I just finished it last night, and added the details of how I did it to each of the books."
"I'm – I'm very impressed," Harry said, and in truth, he was nearly amazed. "But I don't understand – how can a ring function as a map?"
"Go ahead and put it on," Jon prompted him. Harry did so, noting that the ring fitted perfectly on his finger. "You activate it the same way as the original Marauder's Map." Taking out his wand, Harry tapped the ring.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said, then flinched as rays of light shot from the gemstones and formed an image in the air in front of them in bold red letters:
Messrs. Potter, Granger, Weasley and Crown
in conjunction with
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs
Purveyors of Aide to Magical Mischief-Makers
are proud to present
The Marauder's Map
Harry had no more than read this than the letters faded, replaced by a translucent three-dimensional image of Hogwarts castle. Every window, tower and turret of the castle was visible.
"Wow," Harry said, impressed. When he tried to walk around it, however, the castle turned with him, preventing him from circling it.
"You don't need to move, the ring will do that for you," Jon said. "Rotate left one quarter," he said, and the castle promptly spun a quarter-turn. "The ring will respond to commands from the person wearing it, or from you or me," Jon said.
"What else can it do?" Harry asked, eager to see more.
"Ring, where am I?" Jon asked, and their viewpoint passed into the wall of Gryffindor Tower, moving through the walls until they came upon a view of the common room. There they saw two figures, standing in the same positions they occupied in the room, with the names "Harry Potter" and "Jonathan Crown" hovering above them.
"Excellent!" Harry said. "Can it find people other than students as well?"
"Yes, just like the original did," Jon nodded. "Where is Severus Snape," he said, and the image viewpoint sped through the school, flying through walls and corridors, until it reached Snape's private quarters located near his office. There, seated at a desk in what would be his bedroom, was a figure with the words "Severus Snape" floating above it.
"It can find anyone within the castle or grounds with a mind, including the house-elves, wizards in Animagus form, ghosts, even Peeves. I've noticed that the magic doesn't extend to things that might seem to be intelligent, but don't really have a mind of their own, like the Sorting Hat," Jon explained. "But I doubt if we need to worry about things like that."
"How far does it extend?" Harry asked while examining the gems and setting. It was really extraordinary workmanship, Harry thought; he couldn't imagine how much gold a goblin might charge to make something like this.
"It's roughly a circular region centered about the castle, including the grounds, the Quidditch pitch and the western edges of the Forbidden Forest and perhaps half of the lake on the south side."
"What happens if I ask it to show me someone who's not on the map?"
"Try it," suggested Jon. "Ask for Fred or George."
"Where is Fred Weasley?" Harry asked. The image didn't change, but Harry felt a buzzing sensation in his finger.
"It'll buzz like that if you ask it to do something it can't," Jon said. "I thought that was the safest thing for it to –"
"How much did this ring cost?" Harry asked suddenly.
"I thought it was impolite to ask how much a gift cost," Jon said with a smile.
"You're giving this to me?" Harry exclaimed, more loudly than he meant to. He shot Jon a glance, then took out his wand, pointed it to the boys' dormitory staircase, said "Muffliato," and repeated it with the girls' staircase.
Turning back to Jon, Harry said slowly, "I don't think I can accept this. It's not that I'm not grateful that you remade the Map – and you obviously put a lot of thought into it – but I – I don't know…"
"I think I understand," Jon said seriously. "You're not used to the idea of getting nice gifts from people you don't know well."
Harry made a gesture that was somewhere between a shrug and a nod of concession.
"Well, I have to tell you," Jon said, pointing at the ring as Harry held it up for inspection. "I'm really proud of the effort I put into that ring. It would take an hour to show you everything it can do."
Harry suddenly remembered what Snape had said about the Map. "How does the Map plot Hogwarts, if the school is supposed to be Unplottable?"
"Funny you should ask that," Jon smiled. "Lupin used exactly the technique I used to copy his book – he made a tracing of Hogwarts."
Harry shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand."
"Wormtail," Jon said. "Being a rat Animagus, he could go places where the other Marauders couldn't, even in their own Animagus forms. Lupin put a spell on him to trace his motions onto a sheet of parchment, then had him follow the edges of each room, staircase, and corridor in the school. Adding spells to make the images on the map track the position of the doors, moving staircases, and so on, were easy enough."
Harrys jaw dropped. Such a simple solution! But he never would have thought of it, perhaps not even if he'd had Wormtail at his disposal to do the tracing.
"The only room that didn't make it onto the original Map, and the one room I couldn't find a way to include in the new one, was the Room of Requirement."
"Considering how variable the Room of Requirement can be," Harry mused. "It probably defies even tracing."
"It seems so," Jon agreed.
There was a period of silence, which Harry finally broke by saying, "I'm not sure if we can go to Diagon Alley any more."
"Why not?" Jon asked. "Not that I mind, one way or another. But I'm curious."
"Because of Snape," Harry said flatly.
"I still can't believe a Hogwarts teacher would put an Imperius Curse on a student," Jon said, shaking his head.
"Ron must be resisting it somehow," Harry said, "Otherwise he might have told Snape…" Harry trailed off, realizing he'd said too much.
"Told him what?"
"Nevermind," Harry said dismissively. "Besides, we'd still have to get from Hogwarts to your car, wherever it is, then to Diagon Alley, and then back again afterwards. The Ministry may have Aurors in Hogsmeade again – we'd be running a risk trying to get to it there."
"Who said my car was in Hogsmeade?" Jon asked with a grin.
"Where else could it be?" Harry wanted to know.
In answer Jon gestured around him, meaning Hogwarts castle itself.
"Your car is in the school?" Harry said, stunned. "Where?"
But Jon held up a cautionary finger. "I'd show you now if we had the time, Harry, but we probably should call it a night. We have almost four weeks before the next Round, so I have plenty of time to give you a tour of my new facilities before then."
Harry nodded reluctantly. He was no longer sleepy at all, but it was well past midnight now, almost one a.m. in fact, and they would have to be up in seven hours or so to have breakfast and go to their first class, Charms. "Thanks for the ring," he said, with a genuine smile. "I really am happy to have the Map back – and I'm really impressed you were able to do it. Especially like this."
"I am too," Jon replied with a chuckle. He turned serious. "We will find a use for it when we're ready to go to the Tournament, you'll see. Alright, let's call it a night." He picked up his book bag, then he and Harry walked up the stairs toward their dormitories; Jon stopped off at the fifth one while Harry continued up to his own, trying to figure out what the faint whooshing sound he kept hearing was.