Giselle peeked around the archway.
Snape and a woman in a torn black gown were facing each other in front of the windows, several paces apart.
At that very moment Giselle felt herself pulled forward into the room by an irresistible force; she and Hermione both. Their wands increased in weight and fell to the floor with a loud thud. It was a suffocating feeling, as though a giant invisible fist was holding Giselle and Hermione in a tight grip.
Giselle could not speak. It was all she could do to breathe. She stared at Charlie and Harry who suddenly stood by the far wall, their faces and clothes smeared with paint; the wall behind them blurred, as though its paint had been smudged. Their wands hit the floor like bars of iron. It seemed that no one could move.
Except Snape. He held his wand at his side, eyeing the woman coldly but with a cynical smile.
Giselle sensed that the woman was the witch in the forest. She could feel Hermione gasping in labored breathing next to her, sensing that Hermione too recognized the woman. Charlie and Harry were gritting their teeth, apparently trying to break the stasis spell.
Why was Snape just standing there? Had he overcome the spell? Had it failed to effect him?
Then Giselle noticed that the woman had her wand pointing toward Charlie, or maybe at Harry, and that Snape could not attack the woman without risking Charlie's life. 'Yes, that must be it,' Giselle thought, aching with despair, 'for surely he doesn't really care what happens to Harry.'
"Ha. Witches have quicker reflexes than wizards," the woman said.
"An interesting assessment," Snape responded. "Shall we put it to the test?"
"Dare you try, my love? What would Dumbledore think if Charlie should die, due to your miscalculation?"
"That is hardly my concern at the moment, Hexaba. You are delaying us. You are giving Sanguino time to accomplish a misdeed of grave significance."
"Clever thinking, Severus. But there is more here than a complex stasis spell. My use of your shield's energy has a higher purpose than being merely a delaying tactic. How would you and your fellowship like to become a part of this painting, forever trapped in a two-dimensional world?"
The woman smiled, glancing at Charlie while staying focused on Snape. "Charles, my love. I owe you for killing that insane wizard who was such a torment to me with his incessant flirtations. Oh I know it was jealousy that made you kill him, but even so, a gallant act you performed in relieving me of such a nuisance."
Giselle just wanted to die. Snape noticed the pleading look she gave him, sensing that she somehow believed that he could alleviate her misery over this terrible accusation.
"That is far from the truth," he said to the woman in an aggravated tone. "The Wizengamut convicted you of the murder and exonerated Mr Weasley of all charges. The fact is, he tried to save Studmann from your lethal intentions."
Giselle's heart swelled. But this satisfaction was momentary. Their predicament had not improved. This talk of becoming a figure in a painting had her panicking again.
"But enough of your delaying tactic," Snape continued. "Let us contend with the present situation. You lured us here by imitating the voice of Lily Potter."
The woman looked at Snape with a furrowed brow.
His expression brightened. "Speak in my voice," he said.
At sight of her deepened confusion Snape flicked his wand. She was thrown back against an ottoman couch, her plain generic wand scooting across the floor where it was trapped under Snape's shoe.
The complex stasis spell instantly dissolved. Giselle ran to Charlie as Hermione turned to stare wide-eyed at the girl sprawled in a daze on the ottoman.
"My God, it's Bea Swiddle!?"
Snape touched a window with his wand. It crashed open. He stepped out onto a narrow balcony and gazed down at two figures moving at considerable speed for the painted horizon.
He came back into the room where Charlie, Harry, Hermione, and Giselle stood around Bea, assisting her in getting her wits back. She was shaking her head with her hands pressed to her cheeks.
Snape examined the generic wand. It was badly cracked.
"What did you see?" Charlie asked him. He was wiping paint off his hands with a doily taken from an armchair. "All I know is that Harry and I were brushed up into this chamber like dabs of oil, like we were being painted into the scene!"
Snape nodded. "I saw the real Hexaba LeStrange and Sanguino, fleeing the painting for another one, no doubt. This is a school wand. Hexaba abducted Miss Swiddle in the castle and ensorcelled her after deceiving us with Lily's voice."
Harry turned to him, flustered and angry. "WHY my mother's voice?"
Everyone looked at Snape, awaiting his answer. He tossed the useless wand onto the table and stared a moment at the lit candles. Then he glanced briefly at the goblin tapestry.
"A ruse," he said, "inspired by the boggart's shape change."
Giselle knew that his answer wasnt the whole truth of the matter. But apparently he did not want to antagonize or in any way upset Harry too greatly.
"Miss Swiddle," he said to the shaken girl, "there is no time for explanations. Keep close to these other students and do as you are directed."
The storage closet door in the Trophy Room was opened by Dumbledore.
He and Professor McGonagall looked in at the stored paintings, and noted that three of them were propped against the back wall, beneath the shelf that held the Goblet of Fire.
"Hmm," mused the Headmaster. He went in to better view the three paintings. McGonagall stood by him, a hand to her ruffled collar.
"My word, Albus! Who managed to get in here? And why are these three set off by themselves?"
"For a purpose, I suspect, that will facilitate Sanguino's scheme. I'm not at liberty to reveal my source of information, but suffice to say that Sanguino and Hexaba LeStrange are aware of Severus' expedition and have taken defensive steps. And Lily's portrait is involved."
"You're sure of that? It would certainly motivate Severus."
"This one here," said Dumbledore, pointing to the painting of a boudoir. "Hummerhorn's painting of Lily's room. It hung in Severus' quarters. Her prison, we might say, since Severus took pains to see that she would not be able to visit any of the other portraits. But Severus didn't reckon on Sanguino changing the rules of the game."
McGonagall leaned forward to inspect the painting next to the boudoir. "This is the hermitage tower on Skull Hill," she said, "Sanguino's hideout in the thirteenth century. This means that he and Hexaba are there?"
"Part of their defensive measures, probably. And this landscape with wildflowers... hmm. This figures into their plan, in some way."
"You ARE in communication with Fawkes?"
"Through him I can strongly sense the presence of those he views," Dumbledore replied, "but that is all. I can not tell where the principals are precisely located, or what their situation is. It is unfortunate, Minerva, but within this alternate reality, Fawkes is a crow. Merely a crow, and nothing more."
McGonagall blanched. "Then how are we to assist Giselle and the others if we can not work spells through Fawkes? We will have to enter the paintings ourselves!"
"But which ones? These three are the portals, but there are many other paintings that Severus can pass through, he and his group. We shall have to examine all these dozens of paintings, in hopes of seeing the expedition in progress."
He took up two large paintings at random and leaned them against the one that depicted Lily's room.
And that was very poor timing. For not a minute later Snape halted his group at the end of a stone passage and stood gazing at the boudoir.
Giselle looked up at his face. She could see by his expression that this scene meant a lot to him.
She was nudged into the room by Hermione, who was curious to check out the canopied bed and wardrobe, the vanity, the mahogany desk with its books and rolled-up scrolls tied with ribbons in bows. The air was heavy with fragrances from potted flowers and a row of perfume bottles.
"Strange," said Charlie, "but there isn't a door. And no windows."
Harry went over to the desk, idly, and watched Bea going through the drawers of a dresser. A glint of gold caught his eye, and reaching across the desk he picked up a locket on a necklace.
"How lovely," Hermione said, putting down a book and going up to Harry.
Giselle was watching Snape. He seemed depressed. He was looking around without really seeing anything. His thoughts were seeing things that his eyes could not.
"What--!"
It was Harry. He had opened the locket and was gaping at the tiny photo within. Hermione had her hands to her mouth, staring at him as if he had become something frightening.
"Harry?" said Charlie. He looked over Harry's shoulder.
Then he turned to scowl at Snape.
"James and the baby," he said. "The locket belonged to Lily."
Harry turned slowly and looked at Snape. Giselle could feel the electricity between them, like the build up of storm clouds on a humid day.
"My mother is somewhere in this maze of paintings," Harry said to Snape, "isn't she? ISN'T SHE?"
In the silence that followed there was only the sound of Harry's fierce breathing. Snape stood impassive. He was looking at Harry as one would look at an object that was out of place.
"Yes," he said, "she is."
Everyone stood as still as a statue. Giselle realized that no one but herself knew what Snape knew. She felt guilty. She leaned back against Bea, whose hand lightly touched Giselle's arm, as if for reassurance.
"It wasn't Sirius who betrayed my parents," Harry said through his clamped teeth. "It was Pettigrew, and someone put him up to it. Someone encouraged him, someone helped him. Someone who hated my father. And that someone is... You bastard!"
"Harry no!" cried Charlie, seizing the hand that held the wand, pushing the boy half over the desk. "We'll get to the bottom of this, but not by fighting!"
Bea shrieked. "The leaves are coming!"
Charlie turned to her, his wand out. He too heard the peculiar cry of avian dragonettes coming up the passage. He looked at Snape. "Stun them with me, Professor. We can use one of them to lead us to the lair, is there's a passage here that connects to it."
Snape drew his wand.
"It's getting louder!" yelled Bea, grabbing onto Giselle.
Hermione sidled up to Harry, who seemed completely out of touch with what was happening.
It was like an eruption of beaks and wings, a barrage of hideous noise and darting shadows. But a moment later the storm subsided as the grotesque fledglings piled up on the carpeted floor from the effects of the maximized stun spells.
Giselle lowered her wand. She had thought to do her part in casting the immobilizing effects, but her canto was seriously out of key and Bea's grip on her had fouled up her flourish. The spell had evaporated the moment she cast it.
She looked sheepishly around at Hermione who was coming out of her wand stance with a confident serenity. Well, she didn't have Harry clinging to her, Giselle thought consolingly.
Charlie touched one of the creatures with his wand. It stirred, rather like a mechanical toy.
Flapping its feathered wings it rose up and fluttered about, ready to do the bidding of its new master.
"Show us to your lair," Charlie said to it, waving his wand in a strange gesture.
Lucius Malfoy came out to the back veranda of his mansion.
He wore his blue serge smoking jacket and tapped the tessellated tiles with his favorite dragon-headed cane. He tossed his long blond hair and gazed at the stars and moon as if they were part of his property.
Life was good. At any rate, it was good when events proceeded in an orderly and positive fashion. The plan was going well. Not flawlessly, and not as quickly as he would like, but it was moving forward on track.
Lucius had received a letter from Nestor earlier that evening. A little bad news, true, but mostly good news. Yes, there was a concerted effort in the works to bring back Voldemort to a semblance of his past glory.
But the good news was that the effort would likely fail, or be a very minimal success. Best of all, the Grindelwald Society was moving forward in favor of throwing their support to "the Malfoy Cause," as Nestor put it. The Society was always short on funds, and Malfoy was very wealthy. Very wealthy indeed.
Lucius smiled at the moon. Yes, he would own it. And why not? The stars would be his pocket money. And the wizarding world would know who to come to for advice.
Advice. He smiled at that, too. Advice was the polite word for a commanding authority.
He looked toward the garden walk. Narcissa? But she would be curled up with a good book by this time, surely.
Then who--?
Lucius went over to the border of the garden, tapping his cane.
He was surprised. This was entirely unexpected.
"Is it you?" he asked. "Septima?"
"Darling!"
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