Unhidden
Dumbledore has already un-cursed Ben Brady by the time we get up to them, though Moody seems doubtful because he’d missed it, himself, but he felt a fraction better when I murmured it was a scaly side effect and not a matter of skill but a genetically varied degree of ability.
After Pomfrey offers a calming tonic, Moody questions Brady as well as he can, but Moody, Charlie and I can also see a fuzzy bit where his memory’s been altered.
“—that’s fine,” Moody insists, pressing the calming tea back at Brady. “But you’d be amazed at what rattles loose when you walk yourself through it a time or two. It’s not like you cursed yourself, man. But with everything happening lately, best to knock out a few options while we can, hm?”
Brady jerk-nods agreeably, already settling and I wander back to the bed I’d woken in this morning, sit and pull out whatever evidence I’d nabbed from the twins, though it doesn’t seem like much, at first glance. Then I open my other sights and gape in pure awe, because the constructed magics here— it’s complex and beautiful and I’m not sure how long I stare before I find the code to unlock it, pretty much the same time Lupin arrives.
“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” I murmur then grin with amazement—
"It’s a genuine miracle that hasn’t been burned by now,” Lupin huffs, dropping onto the cot with me and it’s only now with his voice in my ear that I see—
“Oh. My. Gods,” I breathe out as ink markers begin twining with the magic and I’m practically wriggling in place. “You helped make this, holy hells,” I huff. “The spell crafting in this— it’s beautiful,” I sigh, genuinely impressed and Lupin’s wolf preens.
“Where did you even find it?” Lupin chuffs, pulling a sheaf outwards to reveal Gryffindor Tower where Fred and George now are, pacing back and forth, likely freaking out now that their treasure has gone missing.
“Those two,” I huff, grinning and head-nodding to the tower.
“You stole it?!” He mock-gasps, then frowns his playful disapproval. “Thievery isn’t tolerated at Hogwarts, you know,” he intones faux-seriously through a smirk that I smirk right back.
“Temporarily misappropriated,” I correct, (mentally nodding respect for the writers of a TV show from eighty-three realities back), tugging more sections of the map out and up and continue my magical inspection. “No, really? This is a spell-crafted work of art; I wish you could see it like I can. Did you design it? Not just you—“
“Sirius Black... an old friend,” Lupin murmurs, his strutting wolf wilting a bit and I lean into him, a question in my eyes, but he just shakes his head, oozing misery from a long-ago, still-open wound.
“Another time,” he sighs, inspecting other sections fondly and I nod.
“How has that survived all these years?” Snape demands, looking a lot grumpier than he had ten minutes ago, but also mildly impressed, presumably that this little treasure has survived.
“It’s possible…” Lupin hedges, “that there was some liquid luck involved in the making of it.”
“Hmm.”
Lupin tugs it a bit closer, likely inspecting for accuracy and a bit catches on my robe until I lift—
I carefully lift the whole map and there, just below, is another level that has even Snape’s jaw dropping in surprise when we see it marked as 'Syn Slytherin's Flat', though obviously not mine, then he helps lift a bit higher, for another section below that—
“Uh oh,” I murmur. “You couldn’t have made it a tiiiiiny bit less good?” I gripe, seeing the Secret Chamber, complete with little circle prison ring marked ‘Basilisk’. Lupin lifts just a bit higher, ‘Syn and Wyn flat’ appears, but marked private in a single dark smudge of grey I can only be grateful for. “Well, that’s less terrible…” I murmur, but jesus, this is weird.
Then Snape lifts one level higher and there, somewhere even deeper than my and Wyn’s apartment is another, final section with two sets of footprints; one stationary set and a final set, pacing.
“Helga Hufflepuff,” I breathe out upon seeing the one apparently in the corner of the flat’s store room, and the pacing feet in a room marked ‘lab’ is clearly written: “Salazar Slytherin.”
It takes a few long seconds to realize this cot seems to be the new center of attention since we’re surrounded by gaping onlookers, including Brady, Pomfrey, Moody, Tonks, Charlie, Bill, and Dumbledore, who’s staring back, baffled.
“Found him,” I report, unnecessarily.
***
“So how do we get to him, then?” Moody demands, stomp pacing up and down between the cots, agitated.
Personally, I’m still a little too thrown at confirmation that both Helga and Sal are alive and just seeing those two sets of footprints that have memories burbling to the surface that aren’t doing me any good at all.
“—lyn?”
“—Devons?” Dumbledore’s voice filters through and finally, I look up.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, then wince and twitch a shrug. “If I keep saying it, it’ll eventually be true,” I add, but I can see he knows that for the lie it is. “That’s the philosophy I’m going with right now.”
“Really?” Snape asks from, oh wow, where he’s kneeling at my side looking like he’s been there for a bit, especially since half the room’s been cleared. “That’s a terrible philosophy when it’s clearly not working now,” he adds, judgy (read: worried) eyebrow lifted and all.
“Okay, but… I just saw near-proof that two of my childhood nightmares are still walking, talking, and breathing, so to speak. So… can I not be okay for a few more minutes?” I demand softly.
“Yes,” Snape huffs. “Much like the ‘not okay’ you’ve been for the last hour, which I’m sure you’ve not noticed, because you keep slipping away, mentally. So now you need to tell us what you need, because sitting here is likely doing more harm than good.”
“Severus—“ Dumbledore says, a warning in the tone that I sort of hate at this moment.
“I don’t know what I need,” I huff honestly, swallowing hard.
“Then lets get some air,” Lupin murmurs, pulling the map away and I hate to see it going but am immensely grateful when it’s soon swept out of sight and then I’m on my feet and yeah, I follow this time, because I’m gonna suck as a leader today, it’s a given. But with Lupin and Snape both bracketing me, I’m ushered up to the astronomy tower and hear the Hogwarts Express blare its whistle as it chugs out of town and spot the tiny figures of Charlie and Bill walking back from Hogsmeade.
There's a breeze that smells faintly like spring and I'm soon sucking in one cool lungful after another, then draw away to get a bit of space, enough to let my aura loose and stretch the spiritual portion of my wings wide and just feeling the breeze up here, slipping past my invisible scales, soothing, calming—
“Better?” Snape asks after a few minutes and I lean into his side where he’d snuck close and nod, then grip onto Lupin’s hand where I can feel it hovering like an offering of extra comfort and yeah, better.
“Much,” I breathe out, and finally open my eyes. According to the clock on the clock tower, it’s not even noon yet. “Still a lot of work to be done,” I murmur after a few minutes of silence. “And I’m almost scared to start, wondering what’s going to get thrown at us the second I do because that’s been an unsettling pattern so far.”
“It has,” Snape agrees. “I’ve been wondering that too… who put in the mirror and flame cameras? Was that you or Salazar?”
“Him,” I admit. “But I didn’t mind. I liked to watch when I couldn’t bear the company. But him….”
“He was just paranoid?” Lupin suggests and I nod once.
“To be fair, it’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you,” I point out. “And we’re definitely out to get him now.”
“So,” Lupin reasons, “if he’s not watching your mirrors…”
I blink, standing straighter. “It's because he has his own. Well… now I feel stupid,” I say bluntly, because I really do.
“Nah,” Lupin denies. “Just stressed.”
“Is there a way to track where other cameras are? Those that don’t get viewed from your lab?” Snape asks and damned but now I’m feeling twice as dumb.
“Yes… but clearing out any that might be in our collective common areas will be a dead giveaway we’re onto them,” I point out. “We’ll need to be a little sneakier. Somehow,” I mutter, chewing on my lip as I think.
“Can… can you see auras and all that through the mirrors?” Lupin asks slowly. “Do your gifts function that way? Would his?”
“No, unfortunately. Or, they don’t for me and I seriously doubt he’s improved in that field. Why?”
“Tonks?” Snape asks, a hint of an idea trembling the edges of the name.
“Has a knack for looking like at least one other person,” Lupin answers slyly.
“Ohhh… nice to know you two are on top of your game today,” I sigh, a bit ruefully. “But can she keep it up for hours on end talking shop with professional curse breakers while I hang out elsewhere and actually break one? Seriously, I actually do need to talk shop or we’re getting nowhere with whatever the hell magical antimatter was in the phial. It’s impressive enough he actually made it to begin with.”
“Unless he didn’t,” Snape points out, looking thoughtful. “Is there a chance in Merlin’s coldest hell that Rowena took herself out deliberately? To keep it from getting any further than it already has?”
Much as the very idea makes the cynic in me want to laugh myself sick over that concept… it’s possible. “Yes,” I admit quietly. “If she’d already lost most of her sanity and knew it, she’d value what was left. That kind of destruction isn’t what she wanted to be known for. She may have been one of the coldest people in any given room, but she was definitely one of the smartest; she wanted to be admired and respected for her contributions to magic. Making that phial is definitely something she’d do… just to see if she could. But she’d hate that someone could use something so well crafted to besmirch whatever dignity was left in the Ravenclaw name.”
“That’s… a disturbing and comforting thought,” Lupin offers.
“It is,” Snape agrees.
It’s a moment of silence before I have to add, “You two need to stop agreeing or the world might genuinely end. And if it does? It’ll be all your fault.” But it’s awesome how I know, even eyes closed, that Snape’s smirking and Lupin’s grinning into the distance and that alone makes it all okay.
But there's work to do, so... "Let's get it done."
***
It takes some doing and some coordination, but eventually, Moody and I manage to scan enough rooms to know which are ‘bugged’ and which aren’t. And the perfect one that’s definitely not? The room of requirement.
“We’ll still need a full potion’s stock,” Snape points out.
“But my lab needs to remain untouched,” I add. “Can you live without yours for a week or so?”
Snape looks (absurdly fake, to my eye) aggrieved, but agrees, so Tonks (as me) goes out for a long walk with Lupin on the grounds, Moody and one more Auror following along, but at a distance while (and watching Snape’s face was priceless when Charlie suddenly looked like a second grumpy, human bat) Charlie played Snape long enough for Bill, Snape, Vector and I, plus a spare Arithmancy genius and a spare Potions genius (both compliments of the Ministry) (that both drove Snape and Vector annoyingly crazy), we managed to transform the RoR into a place we could all work. Yay us.
I’m not sure who’s on ‘map’ duty to keep an eye on the basement levels, but one of the Aurors (who’s kid sister is a current Gryffindor fourth year) is happy enough to be locked into a secret keeping spell with both Dumbledore and Moody to help keep watch on what the Auror considers ‘the original evil’. It's not the best system for privacy, but in the short-term, it works.
We all break for an hour before dinner, half the ‘guard’ heading for a half-hour, stress-relieving mini-game of quidditch, the other half trading off just after and nearly all of us manage to fill the tables for dinner together with little talk of the upcoming ‘work’ to be done. (Bill is hilarious when trying to talk-bribe-bargain Snape out of his newly-coveted ingredient cabinet) and has us all (minus Snape, who sticks with smirking) laughing so hard, I gladly provide Bill with the plans to have one made up by the time dinner ends, plus suggestions for a more portable option if he finds a quality craftsman for it.
I regretted it (for an hour) when Bill seemed to have little hearts in his eyes and followed me like a happy puppy until I finally showed off how I managed to rid myself of Peeves when needed. (Then Snape laughed, excused himself, then likely laughed some more.) Bill was a bit wary around me for a bit after that until the shop talk began and we all got down to business.
We only kept at it until midnight, slept, then right back to it after breakfast when things began to ‘brew’ and I put myself into a short trance to puzzle out the possibilities we’d worked up so far. ‘Short’ for me was six hours, but I had a lot more input to offer then and neither of the Ministry geniuses were smirking at the ‘kid genius’ anymore. I’m not sure what they’d seen or what I might’ve said, but both Snape and Vector (and Lupin, when he dropped in) smirked like smug little fiends when the Ministry brains hung on my every word.
When it seemed certain we had a solution the third day, I trance-advanced it and came out shaking my head nine hours later and began brainstorming on my own when no one but Snape seemed to agree, which was fine, honestly, since I tended to work better alone anyway. But when option A failed, it was easy to catch them up to B quick enough. Sadly, my next seven-hour trance failed B, too, and I took a micro-break in the kitchens for some chocolate therapy.
“We all knows you’ll get it,” Fleppy assures me while I watch her sculpt a chocolate Bill Weasley, ponytail and all. (The house elves are designing one for all the castle’s current inhabitants as a thank you for saving the school and their home, which is crazy sweet.) “Yous has already done wonders for the school,” she murmurs, tongue caught between her teeth and squinting in concentration while she works Bill’s devil-may-care smirking smile with nothing but a sewing needle and a toothpick. “Ands it helps thats yous is in the come and go room; even elveses find it a good room to think when its is needed.”
“It is a wonderful room,” I agree around another huge bite of cookie, then pause, chew, swallow, take a sip of milk and finally ask. “You call it the what room?”
“The Come and Go room!” Is cheered in unison from at least seven elves, all grinning while Fleppy scowls at the tiny mark she’d just left in Bill’s forehead.
“The Come and Go room,” she agrees, nodding and squinting again. “It comes and goes as needed!”
I blink a few times and feel dumb. Wyn said I’d find it if I was smart and patient. It would’ve been smart to ask the elves from the start because barring the apartments, there’s no part of this castle they don’t know. Wyn’s gallery has been right there all along. (I would totally facepalm, but my hands are smeared with chocolate and cookie crumbs.)
“I can’t wait to see what these all look like when they’re done,” I confide. “But for now, I need to go be smart again. But thank you all for the company! And the cookies!” They all holler a chipper goodbye as I knock my way back to the RoR, magicking my fingers clean and feeling revitalized— only to stop dead in my tracks seeing Dumbledore and his somber expression waiting with the others.
“This is totally going to ruin my chocolate high,” I guess as the door snaps shut behind me. “What happened?”
“Helga’s vanished from the map,” Dumbledore announces— not neutrally. Nor sympathetically. I’m not sure if there’s a descriptor for this tone because it’s the tone one uses when they’re not sure what one’s reaction is going to be. I’m going for ‘logical’, myself. I just got my chill back; I’m not ruining it now.
“So… she’s either dead or hiding,” I surmise.
“Hiding?” Ministry Genius A (I haven’t paid much attention to their names, to my own shame, but think it's Ocham) repeats, almost pityingly. “That map covers everything… doesn’t it? I mean— it seems like it, so…”
By now, the poor guy’s gone a bit red and it’s me who’s feeling a bit of pity for his precious, genius, idiot mind. I don’t feel like hurting feelings now, though, so.
“It’s Hogwarts. “‘Seems’ doesn’t always work here,” I say kindly. “And we’re talking about a Founder. If anyone were ever to build a place that can’t be found, even by an awesome magical map, it’d be a Founder,” I add. “Until there’s a body, assume nothing.” I cringe at my own callousness, but Snape, Bill and Dumbledore are nodding like that’s totally fine. “And… it is the badger. If anyone was going to unexpectedly outlive all their opponents by being unexpectedly more clever than anyone has ever assumed she was, it’ll be her.”
Dumbledore is huffing a half-nod with a tired smile and sad eyes… and something in my heart swells and aches all at once. I’m not surprised to have at least three wands aimed at me when I magically slam Dumbledore against a wall a split second later, I'm pinning him there by the throat now admiring a truly fantastic disguise.
“Jacklyn!” Bill chokes out, but I wave everyone else back and Snape’s there a second later, wand pointed at the not-Headmaster.
Dumbledore just stares at me with that same tired smile as the disguise shifts and melts away until all that’s left is her.
“Hello Helga,” I say softly, and everyone behind me sucks in startled breaths. “Did you hurt Dumbledore?” I ask, letting my wolf claws prick out enough to show I’m serious.
“No,” she sighs, sounding roughly the age she looks, which is close to a hundred, unlike Godric or Rowena. “I believe he’s still with the map, in his office. Harming him in any way is senseless. But when I felt you realize where Wyn's gallery is, I had to come.”
Snape moves two steps toward the door and knocks his way into Dumbledore’s office, returning with the man himself (plus a bonus Moody) ten seconds later and all the while, Helga’s eyes remain on me, scanning my features, like she’s relearning my face and almost without thought, I let my full vision loose and try not to vomit at the sorts of things now marring and scarring her soul.
“They hurt you,” I rasp softly and her responding flinch is microscopic, but as obvious to me as a dismal round of applause. She’s ashamed of her inadvertent past as I am for my own. Well… I chose Hufflepuff for a reason. I release her when I feel my eyes welling up. I won’t cry over this. Over her.
“Why are you here?” I demand, backing away and almost back into a table sporting four boiling cauldrons before Snape gets to my side and lets me press into his side instead. “And if you say it’s to apologize," I warn, "I will genuinely go nuclear. There will be a crater where Scotland used to be.”
But Helga, aged and grey and wilting just shakes her head sadly. “No, not that you don’t deserve roughly fifty thousand apologies alone, but no. That's too close to asking for forgiveness, and I’ve not earned it. I've helped where I could since you landed in the dance, but too little, too late.”
“Fifty thousand?,” I croak, head shaking. "One million eight thousand, three hundred and fifty-one... it's not me you owe those apologies to." Now Helga flinches, but Wyn... “But you helped him get away.”
“The little I could do,” she offers with a sigh, slumping with exhaustion. “Knew you’d need your brother when you got back, so I gave him the last gift I could, before he left. A gift of living memory; a memory of a story that must be told. It must be known.” I suck in a breath, swallowing hard and shake my head almost infinitesimally and her expression hardens by a fraction; damned Hufflepuff determination. “It’s memory that kept me here when I should’ve been running as far as I could, as fast as I could. I can’t afford to hide anymore, and neither can you, child.”
“Do not,” I hiss, “mistake me for a child. I stopped being one the first time you watched them take me and ignored the blood still visible afterward.” For all that I know there's others here, I'm too focused on Helga to see their expressions that match their awkward, shuffling feet.
“I know,” she agrees, wincing and curling in. “You didn’t have the luxury of being one, not after what we did.”
“What the hell do you want?” I grind out, then suck in a breath when I realize it’s not my perception of her aging— she is aging, rapidly; too rapidly and it’s not just me that sees it, maybe, because Dumbledore is already shooing all the extra people out and away, to their dismay at missing the fatemaker versus Hufflepuff drama. Bill looks like he’s pleading to me to keep him here with a near-duplicate of Lupin's soulful puppy eyed expression, but Vector yanks him out the door just as Lupin squeezes in, door shutting and sealing behind him.
“For you to stop hiding and heal. You only think you’re not ready,” she says gently, slumping against the wall and I’ve got the sudden, horrifyingly terrible thought—
“Don’t,” I croak, shaking my head. “Please, don’t.”
“You have never… been the one… to blame,” she grits out, and presses her hand back to the wall to connect with the castle. “Not once was it ever your—“
The room goes dark then and even with Snape’s firm and comforting grip around my shoulders, I can’t keep in the miserable, choked-off groan, still shaking my head, and then it begins.
***