Disclaimer: see chapter one.

ooOOoo

Chapter 62: Sirius in Question and Luna in Bas-Relief

Later on that morning, after all the relevant people had been found (and in one case excused from a detention), there was a meeting in Dumbledore's office. What with all the prefects, teachers and various other interested parties, it was a crowded meeting.

Even in the midst of the commotion, Draco had secured himself a chair, although when Professor Sprout arrived a few minutes into the meeting he graciously offered it to her and moved to stand behind Dumbledore's desk. That the move gave him an air of expanded importance to the proceedings may have been entirely coincidental, but Harry, leaning against a bookshelf in Fawkes' corner, doubted it.

Trudi was sharing a chair with Luna, who had arrived early. Her eyes shone when she noticed Draco's gentlemanly action. Harry forced himself not to roll his eyes – there were too many people in the room who might take it the wrong way should he do so.

Dumbledore got right to the point. "My friends, I have something to tell you. But first I must ask you to promise that what you learn here is not to be discussed outside this room – not within the short-term future, anyway.

"Sirius Black – a man probably better known to you as that infamous Azkaban escapee – is on Hogwarts grounds…"

When the uproar subsided, Dumbledore continued.

"Firstly, you need to know that he is innocent. The reasons for his imprisonment were not only fallacious, but tragic in the extreme. As is public record, he served twelve years for betraying the Potters to Voldemort" – the room winced – "and the murder of a wizard and thirteen Muggles. What has not been disclosed, however, is the true nature of the crime. Mr Potter, would you care to explain?"

Dumbledore must have noticed the way some of the students – the Slytherins particularly – were watching him with cynicism so old and worn there were leather patches in the metaphorical elbows.

Harry nodded and stepped out of the corner. "It's true. The real man who betrayed my parents was Peter Pettigrew – trusted to be the Secret Keeper by and for my parents, but his real secret was his allegiance to Voldemort." (Another room-wide wince.) "Another of his secrets is that he's an Animagus. A rat Animagus. When Sirius worked out what had happened, he confronted Pettigrew. Pettigrew blew up a street, killing all those people, and scurrying off down a tunnel after cutting off one of his fingers. The Ministry gave it a hero's burial." Harry's mouth twisted in a mirthless smile. "They arrested Sirius, who blamed himself for trusting Pettigrew. Sirius went to jail, then broke out when he realised Pettigrew was back at Hogwarts."

There was dead silence.

Frowning darkly, Millicent broke it. "That's a bit unbelievable. Even for you."

Harry shrugged. "Truth, as they say, is often stranger than fiction."

Draco stepped forward. "Would it help if I said I'd seen Pettigrew? He's the one who sacrificed his hand to resurrect the Dark Lord. He's had it replaced with a silvery magical one. He's also the one who murdered Diggory."

Dead silence, mark II.

Someone, one of the seventh year Hufflepuff prefects, said, "And how would you know this, Malfoy?"

"My father told me."

After another pause, the prefect asked, frowning, "You believe him?"

Draco smiled coldly. "It's on record how he was under the Imperius curse for some of the Dark Lord's first rise. He was privy to quite a few secrets during that period."

There was a murmur from the back corner, the two Gryffindor seventh-year prefects and one of the Ravenclaws saying, "He knew the secrets, yeah, because he was You-Know-Who's right-hand man…"

"Who said that?" snapped Professor Flitwick, surprising Harry.

The trio flinched as if a whip had cracked.

"We will have none of that talk here, thank you very much," the Charms professor growled, managing to sound formidable despite the squeak he couldn't stop.

The Slytherins were beginning to look mutinous. Trudi's eyes were flashing; beneath heavy brows drawn together like gathering storm clouds, Bulstrode's primordially dark eyes glittered. Draco folded his arms.

"That's unproven speculation and not helpful to the matter under discussion," Harry put in before someone could say something with spark-like qualities in the sudden gunpowder atmosphere. "Sirius Black. He's the one we're talking about."

"He could be a Death Eater plant," Hannah Abbott pointed out. She was sharing a chair with Padma Patil, who nodded agreement. Behind them, Ernie Macmillan and Anthony Goldstein stood still, faces impassive, listening, but it was impossible for Harry to tell what they were thinking. He mentally crossed his fingers: Ernie had been a staunch (if pompous) supporter in fifth year, and Goldstein… well, Ron was trying not to glare at him, but that was only because Goldstein had asked Hermione out earlier on in the year. Harry personally thought the affable Ravenclaw was okay. Pansy Parkinson, on the other hand, was in the opposite corner from Malfoy, literally as well as (presumably) figuratively, with two Slytherins – a fifth and a seventh year Harry didn't know – and her squashed face was alight at the prospect of mayhem. Harry wasn't counting on her for anything helpful.

"She's got a point," said Pansy, her smirk not surprising Harry in the slightest.

"She does," Draco put in mildly, raising eyebrows through the room. "But then we've had Quirrell, Fake Moody, Umbridge – who wasn't intentionally a Dark Lord supporter but for all effects and purposes was – and who knows who else." His pale eyes flicked towards Lupin standing next to McGonagall's chair and away again. "Black has been here for quite some time now. But he's fought on our side – that's Hogwarts' side" – he added in an acid aside when someone sniffed and wondered none-too-quietly which side Malfoy considered as 'ours' – "and protected students regardless of House affiliation."

"How lovely," Pansy sneered. "You two are cousins, of course."

"We are, as it happens. Second cousins. As are you and Grindelwald."

Pansy went white as if someone had slapped her, then pink as everyone stared. For a moment only her short breaths, loud in the sudden silence, could be heard.

"And I'm a distant cousin to Abbott here," said Millicent, making people jump, and not sounding as if she was either proud or ashamed of this. "And Professor McGonagall. Oh, and my great-great-great-grandfather was Undirkski the Unholy, but you don't see me drinking baby blood. I suppose on a bad day I could probably stake someone through the heart with a chopstick if pressed, but that's not because of some inherited trait, it's simply that I am who I am. We can't help our relations. That's the way things go. Let's keep to the pertinent facts, please." She folded her hands across her lap.

"Well said, Miss Bulstrode. And as there are no chopsticks or escaped criminals here, I hope we can maintain the peace at Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," Professor Vector cut in, "but it's not established that Black isn't a criminal."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Would interviewing Black under Veritaserum allay your doubts?"

"Didn't they do that at his trial?" the Arithmancy mistress replied.

"In point of fact Black did not receive a proper trial," Dumbledore said. "His guilt was already assumed and he did little or nothing to convince them otherwise, so was shipped off rather hastily to Azkaban."

"It seems a little slapdash to me…" Vector muttered.

"And so we maintain our fine tradition of justice in the Wizarding world," McGonagall said with a tight smile.

Harry thought back to the farce he'd had to battle through at the beginning of his fifth year after using magic outside school to defend himself and Dudley from Dementors. It still rankled that his trial time had been changed at short notice and he hadn't been made aware of this until almost literally the last minute, which turned out to be only the first of the fiery hoops he'd been put through by the Ministry that year. He was heartened to hear he wasn't the only one who was aware of the lack of justice in the judicial system. But it was disturbing that no-one seemed to do anything about it. He'd not heard anything about Um-bitch being charged for sending the Dementors, even after she'd admitted to it in front of Fudge during that awful fiasco in the Ministry. Possibly it was something to do with her lapsing into a coma on the heels of her confession (even casting the spell that had put Umbridge in a coma couldn't redeem Bellatrix in Harry's eyes, not after how she'd nearly killed Sirius and threatened to torture Neville – who was now standing behind a hat rack with Ginny – into the same living hell as his parents), but still… Harry hadn't even been given the barest apology.

Vector was nodding. "All right. Severus…" she blinked "…Er… there must be some Veritaserum somewhere. Headmaster?"

"Yes, Severus gave me a fresh bottle for Christmas. Along with an unnecessarily snide note pointing out its usefulness in interviewing new staff, bless him," said Dumbledore, smiling. Flitwick and Sprout exchanged unhappy glances. McGonagall suddenly found the ceiling very interesting, and Filch (under the portrait of Dippet, whose sleep was obviously feigned unless people slept with one eye slitted open in paintings) began to stroke Mrs Norris as he scowled at the students. "I shall dig it out. We can administer it to Sirius and you will be able to question him on the reasons for his imprisonment."

"All of us?" asked Trelawney, who up until now Harry had assumed to be in a trance.

"All staff. And the students here assembled," said Dumbledore. "He is currently recovering from an injury, but should be healed enough for Veritaserum by noon tomorrow, although I will leave the final decision up to Poppy."

"Where is he now, sir?" asked a seventh-year Ravenclaw.

"In a safe place. I give you my personal assurance he will not do anyone harm between now and then, nor will he vanish."

"But…"

"The headmaster has given you his word," McGonagall said sharply. "Tomorrow at noon Black will be – where exactly, Headmaster?"

"He will be in the Infirmary. And while I expect to see all of you there at that time, I do not expect to see anyone else there unless they are on explicitly medical reasons. All those in this room, do you swear that you will conceal the fact of Black's presence until noon tomorrow?"

The room became suddenly noisier with the susurration of mutters, murmurs and whispers as the students and staff discussed it in small groups, heads together. Draco and Pansy had some sort of eye-contact thing going on; Luna was staring off into space, humming softly to herself; Ron and Hermione whispering, flicking glances at Harry; Dumbledore and McGonagall waiting patiently…

"Aye," said Anthony Goldstein. "I agree."

He was quickly followed by more nods and promises of silence on the matter. Finally only Pansy and Millicent remained.

"I agree," said Millicent, "on condition Black doesn't do something to endanger Slytherins or the interests of the Slytherin Republic."

Pansy's mouth tightened. "I suppose… all right, I agree not to tell anyone. But he'd better have some good answers under the Veritaserum."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed, but it was Trelawney, shocking everyone, who said waspishly, "Quite right, Pansy. Awful man. If he doesn't adequately explain himself I think we should chain him up in the deepest, darkest, most snail-infested dungeon until we get out of here and can call for the nearest Dementor."

Dumbledore brought his hands together. "A cheerful thought. That's settled, then. Noon tomorrow. And no further discussion of this outside – the walls have ears."

"Too right," said the portrait of Dippet, yawning.

ooOOoo

Harry wanted to have a quick word with Draco after the meeting, and was astonished to find Hermione and Ron had beaten him to it, three heads of sleek blond, fiery red or bushy brown hair close in whispered conference.

"What's up?" he asked, out in the corridor once more with the gargoyle leering at them.

"We're testing the barrier to see if other edge creatures can find ways through it," Draco said softly after making sure no-one was within earshot.

"I'd forgotten that Crookshanks managed to get a message through to me after the barrier went up," Hermione added, beaming.

Harry's insides went cold and brittle. "So Hedwig could have come through the barrier… unless she's dead."

Hermione's face fell. "Um… not necessarily. We think most familiars had been blocked by the Barricade with spells specific to their nature before the barrier went up."

"My owl hasn't been through since the barrier went properly solid either," said Draco.

"The last time I saw Pig was a week beforehand," Ron was quick to add, eyeing Harry worriedly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You have a pig as a familiar?"

Ron's ears reddened. "'S short for Pigwidgeon."

"Oh. Well, we thought that as Granger's cat is a cross between a Kneazle and a Muggle cat, it might be able to find a hole."

"Oh." Harry was mostly reassured, although he didn't like being reminded that Hedwig was still out there alone, looking for him, wondering where he was… it wasn't like there was anyone else in the outside world who cared for him like that. Then he felt guilty because he'd forgotten about the Weasleys and Tonks and everyone in the Order… "Okay. Need any help?"

"Not yet. We'll be sure to tell you when we do," Hermione said.

"Okay. I've got to… um… has Luna gone yet?"

"Looking for your weirdo girlfriend, Potty?" sneered Pansy, who'd just emerged from Dumbledore's office. "She's on her way now… but don't run off anywhere. If you two started breeding Hogwarts'd really be in trouble."

"Oh, curl up and die, Pansy," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "We all know you're just jealous because Potter's got a gorgeous blonde on his arm and you haven't anymore."

Pansy hissed, her eyes narrowing to slits. She looked ready to leap on Draco and claw his eyes out (Ron appeared interested in witnessing this), but then a heavy hand clapped down on her shoulder.

"Comrades," intoned Millicent, solid as a Muggle tank and only slightly less intimidating when she was in full Republican zeal. "No fighting within our ranks. Save it for the enemy."

"He's a collaborator," Pansy snarled, her fingers still curled into claws. "Look at him, fraternising with Gryffindors!"

"Comrade Draco is an ambassador representing the good will of the Slytherin Republic. He's maintaining ties with other Houses and creating future networking opportunities."

Draco blinked, looking as startled as Harry felt. It wasn't like Millicent to trot out a line like that. She'd probably been thinking Draco's new alliances over for some time, Harry decided.

"He's a filthy traitor…"

The two Slytherin girls disappeared down the corridor.

Ron's disappointment at Malfoy's reprieve was a brief flicker over his freckled features.

"Thus begins the counter-revolution," Hermione said, apparently thinking aloud. "Keep an eye on that one, Malfoy."

"Yeah. We've got elections coming up. I still don't know if I want a Presidency or not. It might be premature. Well, let's get going. I don't want to be in the Forest when it gets dark. Darker. Potter, you coming? I'm taking Simon with me, by the way."

Harry was pleased (and reassured) to be asked, but replied, "Sorry… I've got to… oh, Luna. There you are."

"Hello. Draco, are you sure you're not relying on Simon too much as a bodyguard?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay then. Just keep in mind he's a horse, not a hound. Harry, do you have that item to go into storage?"

"Yeah." He patted his pocket. "No time like the present, I guess. See you lot later."

He watched them go, mildly interested at the way Ron (whose ears were still more than usually pink) interposed himself between Hermione and Malfoy.

He couldn't seriously believe Hermione and Draco would ever be an item, would he?

Luna, apparently staring at the sky in the painting of a witch holding twin babies, said dreamily, "Ron's got a nerve calling me 'Loony' – not when he's jealous of Draco."

Harry shrugged. He didn't want to take sides in Ron vs. Luna. Even though Luna probably hadn't meant anything like that, Harry still felt it keenly every time someone insulted her; it was lucky Ron had stopped calling her 'Loony' in front of him because that would have meant he'd have had to take sides. And possibly break Ron's nose for him.

Funny – he hadn't heard Draco call Ron 'Weasel' to his face for a while, either.

Draco was really coming along with this whole diplomacy thing.

Scary.

ooOOoo

Luna led him down the stairs, along a little-used corridor (dust lay on the floor), down a back stairwell he'd not come across before, and along a series of narrow stone corridors where condensation dripped from the walls. The few portraits Harry saw were all of people wearing furs or winter-weight cloaks, and the walls hummed faintly.

By the time they were out of those corridors, Harry's hair was standing on end. He brushed it down with his fingers. Sparks crackled.

"Where are we?" he asked. "We must be in the Dungeons. Near Slytherin."

"Sort of. The Slytherin common room is under the lake. This is back into the hillside a bit. Still part of the Dungeons, yes, and very close to the places you're used to seeing, but tucked away behind some of the thickest walls within the body of the castle and not in a highly used area."

"All the better to hide victims?" Harry said, half-joking.

Luna smiled mistily. "Yes." At Harry's worried look she laughed. "And hide experiments gone wrong."

"Like?"

"Like Mendeleev gloves gone berserk. You don't want to release those outside the laboratory."

"I imagine not. So are we behind where we have Potions?"

"Yes. That's got very thick walls around it, too – you need them when people make things that go bang."

"So where exactly are we going?"

Luna beamed. "We're not going anywhere. We're here."

She stopped outside a wooden door. The wood was so dark it was almost black. Harry fancied he saw something leering at him from its shadows.

Something bright – a flicker of yellow? – moved in the corner of his eye. He turned, and realised he must have seen someone moving in one of the paintings. But that person (if such it had been) was gone.

"How do you open the door?"

Luna looked at him wide-eyed, as if he was a Space Bunny asking about the best place to buy radioactive carrot juice. She lifted a hand, placed it on the heavy black iron ring, and jerked. The door opened with only the faintest creak.

"It's not locked."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling stupid.

"Getting in is easy. Providing you touch the handle and not the wood, of course. Staying in one piece is trickier," said Luna. "Hello, my name is Luna."

"What?" Harry wondered if touching the door handle had sent her a bit… Loony. Then he saw it. "Hey… the door…"

The door was open, yes, but unlike every other warding charm he knew, this didn't seem to inactivate the protective spells. Quite the opposite. In the dark wood of the door, dark magic bloomed and darker things flashed. A tail flicked. A fin – Harry swore that's what it looked like – a triangular fin could be glimpsed as darkness swam within darkness. Something pale gleamed for a moment in a brief semicircle. It made him think of the grin of a shark. He gaped at the door, lifting his hand to see if he could touch the pictures he saw in the dark wood…

Another hand was there, resting on his wrist. "Leave it alone, Harry," Luna said quietly. You don't want to touch that. Now say your name."

"Er… Hello, my name is Harry Potter?"

"Harry Potter is with me, Luna Lovegood, on benign Hogwarts business."

The darkness settled.

"Good. Now we can step over the threshold."

"What would have happened… otherwise? Or if I'd touched the wood?"

"I don't know about crossing the threshold. But I think I tried opening the door and touching the wood one time just to see. I ended up in the Infirmary for a day or so until Madam Pomfrey cured me of thinking I was a chicken. Occasionally when I'm really tired I still have this urge to peck at corn."

Harry followed her into a rectangular room about thirty feet long. Suspicious light from windows along the long wall opposite their door showed the room to be stone walled with sinks set into granite benches beneath the windows. Cupboards were lined up along the opposite wall. Running down the centre was a narrow bench decorated with scorch marks. At one end was a stained metal bench with a hood over it; a fan set into the hood suggested air could be sucked out of the room. Harry had a moment's claustrophobia at the thought of being stuck in this room with its unbreakable walls if the door was locked and the fan sucked out all the air… When he moved sideways, he realised what he'd thought were windows were in fact floating a few inches in front of the wall. And each window showed a view from a different side of the castle. That was what had made the light seem so odd, then. So no escape that way should he need it. At the other end of the room was a door which merged into the shadows with ease. Next to it were shelves of glassware: it looked like a drunk glassblower had taken on a bet which involved him creating a range of ornamental pipes while he had hiccups. Harry's eyes began to water as he tried to follow one coil through to its end…

"Don't look at the glassware too closely," Luna advised. "It's alchemist-grade, and it's been made to go through a few more dimensions than usual."

"Oh. Right." Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "So are we going to hide the Sickle here?"

"Just though the door."

Harry eyed the shadowed door dubiously. Then a thought hit him. "Was this Snape's workroom?"

"Yes. His private quarters are through that way – oh, don't worry, we're not going into them. There's a short passage connecting the two areas."

"And we're going there? Why?"

"Because that's a good place to store the Sickle. Nobody comes here now. Except for me, of course."

"It must be a good place then," said Harry, somewhat sourly. He didn't like Luna's logic. Or her near-admission that she came here regularly. "Well guarded, is it?"

"Oh yes."

"Then how come you can waltz in and out?"

Luna peered at him with that infuriatingly vague gaze. It wasn't totally dissimilar to looking up at the moon and finding it looking back. "I told you before – Professor Snape helped me on my projects so that I didn't destroy the school. He's got wards on his personal living space I wouldn't be able to breach, but he didn't mind me using the labspace."

"He didn't mind?" Harry said, trying to reconcile the Snape from memory with Luna's relaxed mentor version.

"Well… he didn't take points off Ravenclaw. And sometimes he even stopped me poisoning myself. But only if the poison was lethal. Sometimes he just laughed when there was nothing life-threatening going on. People tend to forget his really brilliant sense of humour, you know."

That sounded more like the Snape Harry had known and hated. Luna must have been some form of entertainment. Like the reality television Dudley had become addicted to over summer, only for Slytherin sadists.

He missed Severus. He looked around the small room. Snape – Severus – would have been in heaven having his own space to experiment within. Harry could imagine Severus allowing Luna in: her lack of malice might have grated, but Severus would have enjoyed her flair for lateral thinking.

Snape wouldn't have let her through the door.

"Harry? You're a million miles away."

"Hm? Sorry. Just thinking…" Not a million miles away, no. Twenty-one years. "Er, d'you have Dumbledore's key for the door here?"

ooOOoo

The key turned out to be the password 'kinkajou', whatever that meant. Possibly an Indian sweet. Probably random enough that no-one – even those who knew Snape – would be able to guess it. Harry suspected there was some invisible, internal magic Dumbledore had given Luna, however: he sensed a certain drift to the magic in the room that centred around her as she spoke the password. The dark timbers rippled briefly ("Don't tell me; I mustn't touch the wood.") and the door swung open. It was very dark through the door, so Harry took out his wand and lit it. They stepped into the narrow, low-ceilinged passage and peered around. A door identical to the one they'd just come through closed off the opposite end a few meters away, the wand-light absorbing into its matt surface. To their left stood a series of tall wooden cupboards. Luna walked on and for a moment Harry feared she would go through the next door – the idea of going uninvited into Snape's personal rooms itched like nettleburn in Harry's conscience – but she stopped at the second to last cupboard. This one was tall, with a door like a wardrobe's. Harry moved to stand a little closer to her.

The wood, paler than the nearly black doors, was perfectly flat. In the steady light from Harry's upheld wand the grain seemed to move like the fur over a sleeping cat's ribs. There was a brass lock, unadorned under its tarnish.

"This is where we can leave the Sickle. Get ready," Luna said. She sounded like she was trying desperately not to sound frightened. Harry frowned and moved forward, lifting a hand to stop her.

Too late.

"Masquerade. Alohomora."

The spell shot out of her wand and into the lock. Which began to glow. Luna was stepping back, saying, "Harry, I think it isn't w-" when the glow pulsed out once.

Harry blinked as the afterglow flowered green and yellow in the backs of his eyes.

Luna was gone.

"Oh, shit."

"Don't swear, Harry," a voice creaked. It sounded like the wood of the cupboard was twisting.

Wand raised before him defensively, Harry sidled forward and peered at the cupboard door.

That was odd. He was sure there hadn't been a picture there before.

Because now there was. A bas-relief carved into the wood of a young woman tapping her wand against her hand in annoyance as she looked back at him.

Harry peered closer. "…Luna?"

"Harry," the cupboard door creaked. Oak grains moved to shadow the mouth as it moved.

"Oh my God… Luna! How do I get you out of there?"

"Go and get Professor Dumbledore, please."

"Hermione could –"

"No!" She seemed to be taking a deep breath. "The headmaster knows about the wards. But don't let Draco know I've asked for him."

"What?"

"Harry," the door creaked, "we need Draco. And do you think he'd keep working with us if he knew Dumbledore was involved?"

Harry had to admit she had a point. Although he wasn't sure why it was so important to keep Draco on side. "All right, all right… But if he asks then I'm telling him. I'm not going to lie."

The bas-relief nodded with, Harry thought, a shade of reluctance. "I guess you're right."

"You only guess?" Harry grinned, beginning to relax now it seemed she wasn't in any real danger.

"Huh. Just get Dumbledore and get me out, will you? I don't like being two-dimensional."

"Nobody does. You've got a hint of a third dimension if that's any help."

"Harry!"

"Okay, okay. I'm going, I'm going!"

ooOOoo

He was hurrying along the corridor when a voice called out to him, "So. It didn't go quite to plan?"

Harry looked around.

"Over here, sweetie."

It was the portrait of the woman in the yellow robes.

"Er… Stephanie?"

She curtseyed then smiled and straightened her robes. There were matching yellow ribbons in her brown hair.

"So you remember me, do you?" she said.

Harry paused. There was a twinkle in her eyes that came from more than paint. "Yes. You were there after the Shrieking Shack. How long have you known me?"

"More than twenty years." She laughed. "Longer than you've been alive. I was the only one who never had her memory altered. I take it the spell to open the cupboard door failed?"

"Yes. Luna's stuck."

"In the cupboard?"

"Er, sort of."

"Oh, in the door then. It could have been a lot nastier, considering who set the wards. Look, I'll go and get Albus. I suggest you go and get some hair from your horse's forelock."

"What? Why?"

A slight hesitation. Then, "Well, he's an edge-creature. Luna's stuck between two dimensions – stuck in wood, I might add. Oak, luckily. If all else fails, I hope you've still got that Sickle…"

"Shh! You know about the Sickle?" Harry hissed, keeping his voice down and looking around. But they were alone.

"Of course, silly. Now go on, off you trot. Or canter. Hair from the forelock – three strands, if you would. Run along, Harry!"

She sped off from portrait to portrait, climbing upwards and, Harry presumed, reappearing in another portrait upstairs.

Shaking his head, Harry nonetheless turned right at the top of the stairs and headed outside. He jogged towards the paddock.

ooOOoo

By the time he returned, Dumbledore was already in the little passageway. Harry heard his voice as he came through the workroom. He thought he heard the creak of Luna's replies.

"Headmaster?"

"Harry. In here. Careful not to touch the doors. My word, Miss Lovegood has certainly got herself into a state this time! I haven't seen such a spell put into effect in, oh, it must be nearly fifty years."

Harry peered through the doorway. "Let me guess, Tom Riddle used one like this?"

"Actually," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling like mad in the gloom, "it was used on him. Professor Boggle had a devil of a time trying to lift it. In the end young Professor Flitwick, who'd just been appointed, came and released him. He's always said since that it was the one misuse of magic he'd ever done, letting Tom Riddle out of the box. I still tweak him about it on occasion. The key," Dumbledore continued, taking out his wand, "that Filius found, was the use of hair from an edge creature. Or possibly the hair from the maker of the spell, and in Tom's case a certain young Miss Pince was most disgusted at the thought of donating a lock of hair for the cause, so Filius had to use some Kneazle hair. Did you get some from Simon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. If you please…"

Harry handed the hair over. Dumbledore wound the strands around his wand and tapped it against the flattened Luna's forehead.

There was another glow, and as it faded Harry saw Luna stepping out of the door.

She smiled in relief and jumped up and down, flexing her knees. "How awful. I'd hate to be a portrait."

"Oh, I think many of them enjoy their relative freedom," Dumbledore replied. "What do you say, Stephanie?"

"It's much better than being married," the portrait replied from the one and only painting in the passage. She was sitting in the frame of a small impressionist picture of a garden. She dangled a bare foot in a pool of water lilies. "Mind you," she said, pink lips now artfully angled brushstrokes curving with silent laughter, and she gestured with a careless hand around at her surroundings, "it was worth marrying husband number three – even if I only married him for his Monet."

"Now, now, don't sour them so young," Dumbledore admonished, his blue eyes brightening with amusement.

Luna, still brushing herself off, smiled up at the painting. "Isn't it lucky you didn't marry him for his Picasso? You'd never have managed to run and find the headmaster with a leg sprouting out of your ear."

The portrait laughed and stood, brushing down her robes. "Well, I'll leave you three to it. I've got an appointment for tea with Sir Cadogan. Honestly, never play cards with that man… chivalry is dead when it comes to collecting winnings…" And she left.

Luna sighed as she eyed the cupboard. "I'll try again. This time the unlocking spell first… then the password."

It worked. The door swung open with a faint whine of unoiled hinges. They peered into the cupboard.

Something leered back out at them – someone with a white face and black robes.

Harry drew a sharp breath and whipped out his wand. The hex was on the tip of his tongue when Dumbledore put a hand on his and pushed it down. "It's all right, Harry."

Harry's heart was beating triple time. It slowed as he realised what he'd seen as dark eyes staring out of him from behind Death Eater's mask were just shadows.

But the mask was real. As were the robes.

"Sorry," Luna was saying. "I should have warned you these were here."

"Yeah…" Harry took a shaking breath. He reached in and, when nobody stopped him, took out the mask. It was cold to his fingers, but it didn't sting with static evil as he'd been expecting.

"Put it back," Luna said quietly.

Harry shot a look at her. Her face was drawn and nearly as pale as the mask. "Sorry," he said.

She shrugged. "'S okay."

But it clearly wasn't.

Feeling guilty, Harry hung the mask up again. "Well. Do you think the Sickle will be safe in here?"

"Given the secrets stored in here, there's no place safer," said Dumbledore. He looked as unhappy as Luna.

Harry hadn't really meant he was worrying about someone coming and finding it – it was obvious no-one came looking for things here – or no-one did now – but he was worried about something rubbing off onto the Sickle. This mask might have been made by Voldemort. What would it do in the presence of such a powerful artefact as Hufflepuff's Sickle?

"Harry…"

"It's just a mask now," said Dumbledore firmly. "Inert and without purpose. Its only danger is in its symbolism."

Harry didn't need any more urging. He put the Sickle into the small box built into the back of the cupboard's base and closed the door quietly.

It was difficult to shake the feeling that the mask watched him go.

They went back into the workroom and closed the door to the passage with a sense of relief. Dumbledore clapped his hands together and said, "I think it's about time we had something to cheer us up. Dobby?"

Harry jumped as the house elf appeared out of thin air – he'd probably never get used to that.

Dobby beamed at the sight of the three, with particular warmth for Harry. "What is it you is wanting, sirs and young lady?"

"Hot chocolate," said Dumbledore. "And some macaroons, please."

Dobby bowed and disappeared with a sharp crack!

Luna looked around. "Huh. It still needs tidying."

"I don't think Professor Snape was keen on having house elves come in here on a regular basis," said Dumbledore. "Not after that unfortunate incident involving the carnivorous fennel."

"Yes, you can still see the bite marks in the table." Luna pointed at the other end of their table, which had been made from very old oak (or possibly it had been soaked in tea for decades, or there had been a lot of fires in this room – whatever the source of the staining, there was no doubt the table had suffered from it). Harry frowned at the bite marks.

"I didn't know carnivorous fennel got big enough to make such marks," he said.

"It helps if it's been watered with engorgement potion."

"Ah. Yes, that would do it."

Dobby snapped back, a tray balance on one hand. "Sirs, Miss. Hot chocolate with marshmallows," he declared proudly. "And macaroons aren't cooked, so Dobby brings gingerbread. Most good!"

"I'm sure it is," Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Dobby."

"Is pleasure."

With another of those whip-crack noises, Dobby was gone as soon as dismissed.

Luna was still looking at the marks on the table. "I think these ones are from acid… it's a bit lighter. As for those ones," she went on with the smile of someone romping through the soft pink cotton-candy clouds of happy reminiscences, pointing at a set of deep grooves sliced into the wood with the ease commonly attributed to hot knives and butter, "I think they were from the Mendeleev gloves I tried to make. They became a little violent when I cast the binding spells for the anti-ley energy."

"I thought Severus was the one casting those spells," Dumbledore said. His eyes weren't twinkling, and his shaggy silver eyebrows had drawn together forbiddingly. Harry had the sense he was suddenly very angry, although it was hard to tell from the mild tone. "That's very Dark Magic…"

"Well, he taught me to put up a soul wall," Luna said idly, and bit into a slice of gingerbread with obvious enjoyment.

Dumbledore opened his mouth but nothing came out. It was rare to see the ancient wizard stumped for words.

Eventually, he croaked, "That's rather an unusual ability."

"Is it?" Luna's protuberant eyes widened further. A few gingerbread crumbs hit the surface of the table, and she brushed them away. "Well, Professor Snape could do it. I think he knew a few people who could do it, too. I expect Draco could learn it quite easily."

"Why?" Harry asked jealously.

"You get that feeling just being around him. Some people shouldn't use Dark Magics, but others – well, I'm not saying they should, but they can shield against the backlash if they have to use them. Professor Snape could. And don't worry, sir," she added to Dumbledore, "he only let me work with anti-ley energy after I'd proven my soul wall."

"How comforting."

"It is. Should I teach Harry?"

"I should hope it's not something he needs to learn. However, if he wants to learn, he should discuss it with Professor Lupin."

"What about Sirius?" Harry asked, uncomfortable with the idea of extra lessons with Remus.

"He can't manifest a soul wall. Remus can."

"Is it strong?" Luna asked.

"My goodness, I wouldn't know. I've never been able to raise one in my life."

Luna nodded as if that wasn't surprising. "I guess you're someone who's never needed to. But if you use Dark Magic without one, well…"

"D'you reckon Voldemort can?"

Luna and Dumbledore exchanged glances. "Good question," Dumbledore said. "I don't think he's ever wanted to. Most people who delve in the Dark Arts are not concerned with the welfare of their souls."

"I wonder if Pettigrew could," Harry mused.

"Another question to ask Remus. And now, I should go. It's not a good place for me to linger," said Dumbledore, looking around the dark workroom with an air of regret Harry found odd. He stood. "I shall take my leave of you, trusting that you and your friends will not do anything I wouldn't do." He winked, his blue eyes having regained a part of their usual twinkle. He patted the door frame on his way out. "Ah, good solid oak… it's absorbed a lot of explosions in its time…"

"Potions or temper?" asked Harry, thinking of Snape.

Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head. Harry heard him speaking softly to a few of the paintings as he walked off along the corridor.

Luna began to bustle around the cupboards, making Harry frown with her familiarity with the room. She tipped water out of a cauldron sitting in one of the deep stone sinks. "Deary me. It's going to rust through… I should have cleaned this out weeks ago. What on earth was in here, anyway?"

"Are you sure you want to find out?"

Luna smiled at him. "No. But I think it was just something for Madam Pomfrey. We had that rash of rashes after the house elves tried whipping up Nettle Surprise…"

"Oh yes." It would have been quite palatable except the house elves had mixed Stalking Nettle with Screaming Pasta. That had been… interesting. "That was right before Voldemort attacked Hogwarts." And Snape had been killed. "Hey, isn't one of the Aurors hiding out down here?"

"Who, Price? Yes, I run into him occasionally. Make sure he realises you're not one of the Marshmallow People, and he's harmless."

"What? Why are you hanging out down here in the Dungeons?"

She dragged out a smaller pewter cauldron, banged it on a bench, and shrugged. "It's peaceful down here. Most of the Slytherins are used to seeing me around by now and it's a good place to come and think when it's raining and Simon's in one of his moods. Here we go – this is the grade we're looking for. Come on, Harry – shake a leg. See if you can find the right kind of stirring rod. They're in those drawers there…"

"What are we making again?"

"A base for something Hermione and Draco are working on. I told them we could whip something up in half a jiff – you don't mind, do you?"

"Er, I guess not… but… yeah, I'm fine. It's not like I can do anything until we bring Sirius down tomorrow. What exactly is it that Hermione and Malfoy are trying to do?"

"They're trying to – Harry, don't touch that!"

ooOOoo

When Harry woke up it was to see Madam Pomfrey bending over him. The ceiling of the Infirmary was white and lofty above, and cool sheets and a soft pillow told him he was somewhere restful. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Puk, puk, puk-erk!" clucked Harry.

Oh, blimey, he thought. I must have touched the door.

ooOOoo