Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 25:3

Lightning raged outside the windows of the Great Hall, and across the enchanted ceiling. Kneeling beside the warm flames of the hearth, Aruzula Darc struggled to escape the enchanted chain. And while Fred and George should have been facing Professor Dumbledore silently, as they had been told, they wandered the room, transfixed by their bodies and attempting with difficulty to walk.

"Oh, this does not feel right," said George, as he adjusted to his new legs.

"Feels more right than left, if you ask me," Fred disagreed, listing to the right.

Dumbledore and Professor Mulligan watched them without uttering a word. Something very serious was taking place, and they were ready to get to the bottom of it.

Just then, Mr. Filch entered the Great Hall with Lexington Parsimonae in tow, who stared at the twins, completely livid with one of them. That is, until he saw that Aruzula Darc had been captured.

The witch writhed on the floor for another minute, and then screamed so loud that everyone covered their ears. She continued shrieking, even after Dumbledore placed a silencing spell on her throat. And when the torches were snuffed and the wicks of the many candles above them flickered out, Aruzula closed her mouth and sat eerily still.

Their eyes adjusted to the weak light of the fire, and Dumbledore waved his wand repeatedly at the hovering candles. The returning flames never lasted more than a few seconds.

"This is ancient magic," said Dumbledore guardedly, raising an eyebrow at Darc. "Even with her voice removed, she wields it."

Mr. Filch sidled up to Aruzula, appraising her with a nasty leer. "Should I escort her down to the dungeons, Headmaster?" Her mouth moved rapidly. "She ain't talkin'."

"We've not yet learned why she has resurfaced. I will return her speech when I am prepared to hear what she has to say," he remarked soberly. "Keep your distance, Argus."

"Professor Dumbledore, we know what's happened," Fred acknowledged with pleading eyes. "They're trying to find the treasure."

"Darc was in Slug Club, sir. Check the photo in the Restricted Section," George continued. "She has old friends here at the school. They learned about the Treasure of Hogwarts and have been working together to steal it."

"Kettleburn! He was in Slug Club with her...they planned this whole thing!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Boys, you do not know what you are saying."

"Quirrell is involved, too."

"And Parsimonae."

"Probably Montague, as well..."

"Silence, please," he instructed, as Hagrid stumbled into the room. He was partially shackled to Professor Kettleburn and held the frame of a painting in one hand.

"Someone got lost on the way back here, Albus," said Kettleburn, as he thrust Hagrid to the ground. "I found him in the fourth floor corridor taking a painting off the wall. I'd say, he has some explaining to do."

A boom of thunder rumbled through the Great Hall followed by an intense flash of lightning.

"I'll take it from here, Sylvanus," said Dumbledore softly, approaching the gamekeeper with a gentle step. "What is this painting you've brought me, Hagrid?"

"It's the reason she's here, sir. I know exactly why, Headmaster," he said with a great sniff. "I been talkin' ter 'im all year, I have. Can't talk back, though. Didn't know who he was 'til jus' now. I shoulda known it from the start. Had ter go find 'im...he keeps leavin' his portrait ter hide. That's why so many o' them paintin's been destroyed, yeh see? He was runnin' off ter avoid the attacks. She tried her best ter kill 'im, an' he managed ter get away safe every time."

"But...we heard Parsimonae threatening the paintings!" said Fred, pointing to the investigator.

"I was trying to scare them into telling me where he was hiding," Lexington replied.

"After all the fightin' was done, Professor, sir," Hagrid explained, "I thought I'd find 'im back in his old frame. Went down ter the corridor an' there he was. They're drawn ter their paintin's, yeh know. Not many people know tha'..."

"Slow down, Hagrid. Why would you think that the figure in this painting was so important?"

"It's ah...er...well, I'm embarrassed ter say, Professor Dumbledore, sir..."

Suddenly and abruptly, Dumbledore moved closer to the canvas. He adjusted his glasses and perused the portrait.

Aruzula struggled, screaming silently as Dumbledore lifted the painting to the Gryffindor house table. Hagrid and Kettleburn propped up the frame with a stool, so they could best examine the artfully painted scene in the firelight. Inside the portrait was the wizard dressed in vibrant green robes, his face covered by an iron mask. In the distant sound of thunder, Albus pressed his finger to the canvas, feeling the aged texture beneath his touch. The wizard in the mask raised his hands to where Dumbledore had left his finger. Tilting his head approvingly, the wizard's half-hidden eyes seemed to shimmer through the slit of tarnished metal.

"Those robes...it...can't be..." stammered Dumbledore, mystified. He glanced back at Parsimonae, who had never looked so pleased, and then back to the painting. "Is it really you?"

The wizard in the iron mask nodded gravely.

"This is...this..." Dumbledore stepped back, a grief-stricken frown lowering the sides of his mouth as rain showered the windows in sheets. "This is Black Magic."

He sent the beautiful witch a malicious look. Aruzula returned an evil, yet delighted stare.

"Stand back," said Dumbledore in a powerful voice. "Everyone."