Life fell into a peaceful rhythm of classes, Quidditch practice and studying. Harry got far too many harsh looks from Hermione if he tried to interfere with Ginny’s study schedule. Instead, he snatched brief moments with her before breakfast or after Quidditch practice. Although they often found themselves in the empty changing rooms after practices there was no further attempt to do anything but get changed and hasten back to the castle before they froze; winter was coming early and with a vengeance. Neville began to fret about the strength of the charms on Greenhouse Three despite learning them from Professor Sprout and casting them himself. He could often be found tending his plants between classes and after dinner. Professor Crockwell made great inroads into making Muggle Studies a meaningful subject, although her credibility slipped a little when she suggested Draco Malfoy play Twister with Seamus Finnegan.

“I’m not playing some ridiculous party game with that … buffoon!” he screeched. Seamus made a face behind Malfoy’s back and Professor Crockwell attempted to look stern.

“Young man,” she said, turning to Malfoy. “I am not accustomed to being … defied in this manner.”

“You cannot, in all sincerity, suggest that Muggles play this game?”

“Indeed they do, Mr Malfoy,” Professor Crockwell insisted. Malfoy looked distastefully at the mat. The look was mirrored on the faces of a number of other students, including Hermione.

“I am not sure playing Twister is teaching us anything,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth to Ginny.

“I dunno, Hermione,” Dean whispered from behind her. “It’s actually very enjoyable ... in the right circumstances.” He nudged Ginny with the toe of his trainer and smirked at her. Ginny turned a very interesting shade of red and refused to look anywhere but at the floor.

“I am not playing this ridiculous game,” said Malfoy, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, I am!” exclaimed Seamus. “Audrey?” He smiled suggestively at the girl but Harry rather thought he looked more disturbing than alluring. Audrey visibly shuddered and distanced herself as far as she could from Seamus.

“Right then, Mr Thomas,” said Professor Crockwell briskly. “You’ll do. Up you get.”

“Him?” squawked Seamus as Dean grinned broadly and swaggered over to him. Professor Crockwell was too busy spinning the selector to notice when Dean swatted Seamus on the behind exaggeratedly.

“Stop that,” Seamus hissed, batting Dean’s hand away.

Later Harry and Neville had to listen as Seamus moaned about his lost chances with Audrey after she’d witnessed his face up close and personal with Dean’s crotch. Harry was very glad when Professor Crockwell moved on from Muggle board games to literature. He could sleep through that and it didn’t make him want to hex Dean for playing suggestive party games with Ginny. He tried not to laugh when he caught Malfoy with his nose in a book of Romantic poetry in the corridor.

Harry spent part of every weekend with Teddy and returned to Hogwarts after a few days or a few hours with stories he told Ginny as they lounged by the common room fire late at night and photos that he spellotaped above his bed. Defence classes were moments where Harry could really be himself. The seventh years perfected their defensive spells and staged mock duels. Draco Malfoy began to look at Harry with something less than loathing, while Professor Fiesche continued to glare at him haughtily from the Head table and in the corridors.

“What do you think his problem is anyway?” Ron asked after he had encountered the Professor for the first time as the two of them hurried through the Entrance Hall on the way back from the Quidditch Pitch late one Saturday afternoon. Harry shrugged.

“He never speaks to me he just sort of … stares like that,” Harry replied, blowing on his fingertips before shoving his hands deep in his pockets in an attempt to thaw them. Ron turned to look at the retreating professor.

“Looks like a Death Eater,” he grunted. Harry rolled his eyes at Ron behind his back.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s go shower before it’s time to eat. I don’t know why you wouldn’t just shower in the change rooms.”

“Not going to go in there after the last time, thanks,” Ron muttered. “Who knows what you’ve been up to in there?”

“Nothing has gone on in there!” exclaimed Harry indignantly. Ron just grunted and took the Grand Staircase two at a time.

They were about to step off the third floor landing and head to the fourth floor when the staircase suddenly swung around and they found themselves going down.

“This is the stupidest staircase in the whole world,” muttered Ron as they jumped off at the second floor landing before the staircase forced them back down again.

“No argument from me,” Harry agreed as he pushed open a nearby portrait. The occupant of which was a slightly balding wizard holding a very large tray of sandwiches. “Come on, why are we bothering with the staircase? Let’s go through the secret passages.”

“There’s one here?” Ron asked as he clambered through.

“Yeah, Ginny and I found it last week,” replied Harry absently as he lit his wand and started climbing the steep steps on the other side of the portrait.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, we didn’t feel like talking to Filch and the portrait sort of ... summoned us, I guess, you could say,” Harry said flicking his wand upwards and inspecting the torches on the wall. “It whistled and swung open. Hey, can you light these torches, mate?”

“You and Ginny … miraculously found a secret passage?” Ron sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Harry swung his lit wand tip in Ron’s face. He was smirking.

“Honestly Ron,” Harry huffed at him. “This staircase is so steep it’s practically a ladder! It’s not exactly the safest place for-”

“Oh, I dunno, that could makes things interesting,” Ron chuckled. Harry shuddered.

“I am going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” The two of them kept climbing the staircase, lighting the torches as they went. The stairs went up and up in one long, straight line almost directly vertical. Harry was starting to feel just a little dizzy.

“Where does it go, mate?” Ron asked eventually, leaning on the wall.

“Well, the other day it went to the seventh floor,” Harry said. “It wasn’t this long, though. This is really odd.” He peered ahead but the staircase vanished into darkness.

“It’s structurally impossible as well,” Ron grumbled. “Shouldn’t it curve or have landings or something?” Harry lit his wand again and began shining it around. The walls were smooth stone and cobwebs hanging from the wall torches spoke of disuse. If he looked down too hastily he felt like he was going to fall. He noticed Ron had one hand tightly on the wall as if to hold himself up. There was no handrail and Harry suddenly felt distinctly unwell.

“This is really weird,” he said, shuffling towards the wall. He put his hand out and was startled to see it disappear into the wall. Harry pulled it out again with a yelp.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron said incredulously. “Did your hand just … vanish?” Ron shuffled over and prodded the wall experimentally. It didn’t give and his hand did not vanish. He shrugged.

“It did … but it isn’t now,” said Harry, frowning.

“You reckon it’s like the platform?” asked Ron, running his hands over his side of the stairwell. “Why would it be there one minute and not the next?”

“I dunno, it’s weird,” murmured Harry. He reached out to press tentatively against the wall. A wave of nausea washed over Harry as his eyes flicked downward and he put out his other hand to steady himself, losing it up to his elbow in the stone. Ron made a wordless, strangled yelping sound.

“That looks so weird,” he said, shaking his head. Harry wriggled his fingers experimentally before pressing his other hand to the wall, next to the first. He could still feel his hands; he just had no idea where they were. Harry pressed further into the wall. He was soon shoulder deep into the wall with both arms.

“Well I guess it’s time to stick my face in,” Harry said, glancing at Ron nervously, “and find out where it goes.”

“We could just … you know, walk away,” Ron said pensively, staring at where Harry’s arms met the wall.

“We could …” Harry trailed off, staring at Ron. Suddenly Ron grinned.

“You honestly thought I was serious, didn’t you?” Ron asked, shaking his head. “You’re going soft now you’ve taken out old Moldyshorts!” Ron cackled gleefully and pushed at the back of Harry’s head, tripping over his feet. Both of them fell, sprawling through the wall of the hidden staircase and landing in a cavernous room that was empty save for a couple of pieces of dusty, broken furniture and a few scattered paintings hanging crookedly on the walls.

Harry scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off hurriedly before slowly stepping into the room. He gazed about, noting the elaborate chandeliers which seemed to glow with a strange light, making the gilt-edged frames around the paintings shine. There was a low door at one end of the room and the chaise lounges lining the edge of one wall looked as though they had once been upholstered in very opulent red velvet. Now they looked a bit faded and threadbare.

“All a bit Gryffindor, isn’t it, mate?” Ron said shuffling up behind him. His footsteps caused clouds of dust to rise from the faded red carpet under their feet.

“Where do you suppose we are?” Harry asked, inspecting a nearby sleeping portrait and rubbing ineffectively at the nameplate at the bottom.

“Godric’s boudoir?” grinned Ron.

“Do you think of nothing else?” Harry asked in exasperation. He rolled his eyes at his friend. “It looks more like a dance hall.” Harry wandered along the wall, squinting at the snoozing portraits and stopped in front of a particularly pretty landscape featuring a lake.

“Yeah, if you dance on carpet,” said Ron, stomping his foot dramatically and making a cloud of dust rise up around them. Harry coughed and spluttered. Ron continued. “It’s a bit odd, isn’t it? That this room is here; it was never on the map.”

“Neither was the Room of Requirement or the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry shrugged as he crossed to a plinth that was leaning drunkenly against one wall, the marble bust that had probably once been atop it smashed below it on the floor. He straightened the plinth and waved his wand at the broken pieces of the bust. “Reparo.”

“What do you reckon it is?” Ron asked as he used the sleeve of his robes to wipe the grime off the brass plate on the edge of the plinth.

“A room … a big empty, dusty room,” replied Harry wryly. He stared around. “There’re lots of places in this castle that are old and unused.”

“Yeah, but it’s not on the map,” Ron said again as he gazed at the ceiling. It was high and arched, etched stone forming decorative mouldings around the chandelier hangings.

“Well it’s a bit uninteresting, to tell you the truth,” muttered Harry, striding towards the wall they had come through. “Come on, let’s get up and showered. I’d like to spend some time with Ginny this weekend.”

“Right,” said Ron, easily overtaking Harry to get to the wall. “Don’t want to get in the way of the lovebirds, Hallowe’en’s not far away.” Harry smacked him in the back of the head and Ron grinned at him.

“Stop that,” Harry snapped. “It’s disturbing when you push us together.” Ron chuckled and reached out and put his hand on the wall and it met with solid resistance. Harry groaned.

“Fantastic,” Ron said sourly.

“Well, I guess we try the little door then,” Harry sighed. “Why can’t my life be easy?”

“I’m never going to fit through there,” said Ron, eyeing the doorway speculatively as they stood in front of it. He clapped Harry on the back soundly. “Good thing you’re a skinny little runt!” Harry glowered at him as he grasped the handle. As soon as he touched it the door began to change shape, to grow until it was just the right height for Harry to go through. The space beyond was dark and Harry looked at Ron who had pulled out his wand.

“Think we should go through?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “Dunno where we’re going but … here, let me go first.” Harry started to protest and then saw the look in Ron’s eyes. He wasn’t about to let anything hurt or harm Harry at that moment and Ron was going first. Harry stepped back out of the way and Ron sidled past, ducking through the doorway and lighting his wand as he stepped over the threshold. Harry followed closely behind.

Ron swung his wand in a wide arc, the light from the tip bouncing off a vast array of metallic objects that hung on the walls. There were suits of armour hanging drunkenly from wooden beams, a cluster of swords and fencing foils and a case lined with vicious looking daggers. There was no carpet in this room and no gilt edging. The stone walls were blackened with scorch marks and rough looking torches were hanging haphazardly from wall sconces. Harry cast Incendio at the nearest torch and he and Ron shielded their eyes at the sudden light that infused the room.

“What do you reckon all this is?” Ron asked.

“Belonged to someone who liked blades,” grimaced Harry imagining the room as a chamber in one of Dudley’s particularly violent video games. “The carnage you could create with this stuff …”

“I don’t think that was what it was for,” Ron said thoughtfully, advancing into the room. He lit another of the torches and the remainder of the room was lit up, revealing it was bigger than Harry had first thought.

At the other side of the room from the doorway through which they had entered stood a duelling platform. It was slightly raised and looked as though it had once been slightly padded although the fabric on it was torn and rotting. What looked like horsehair spilled from the gashes in the fabric and a pair of protective gloves lay idly at one end.

“You reckon they practiced duelling in here?” Harry asked, picking up one of the gloves and turning it over in his hands.

“I think they may have taught it here,” Ron murmured as he ran his fingers over a nearby case of oddly shaped helmets.

“Long time ago,” Harry added, laying the glove back down. “So, how do we get out of this room?”

“Fireplace?” Ron shrugged, waving carelessly at a huge stone fireplace to their left.

“Got any Floo powder?” Harry was ready to be sarcastic when Ron pulled a bag out of his pocket.

“How did you think I would get home?” he asked. “You know McGonagall doesn’t allow me to keep the Floo powder on the common room mantle piece, in case some first year gets it into his head to Floo home for lunch.”

“I’d forgotten that,” Harry said quietly. Harry had forgotten that Ron was leaving soon, that Ron didn’t live here during the term any more, wouldn’t snore all night, wouldn’t be around in the morning. It was easy to forget, roaming the castle with Ron and uncovering new delights that things weren’t as they had been … before.

“So where do you think we should Floo to?” Ron asked, sticking his head in the fireplace and peering up the chimney.

“Common room, I suppose,” Harry shrugged. Ron lit a fire in the grate and took a handful of Floo powder.

“Gryffindor common room!” he called out as he threw the powder. Ron whirled away and it was then Harry realised he’d taken the Floo powder with him.

Cursing, Harry made his way back to the first room, dousing the torches as he went. Ron couldn’t bring the Floo powder back to him through the fireplace considering they had no idea where they were. Harry would have to try and get back through that ridiculous wall. He slammed the door between the two rooms shut and watched as it shrank back down before stomping across the room, raising dust with his feet. He stopped halfway across the room, something glittering on the floor catching his eye. Harry bent down to scoop it up.

It was a piece of jewellery, probably part of a necklace. There was a broken golden chain and a pendant studded with tiny jewels slipped off the end of it as he picked it up, bouncing across the carpet. Harry scooped it up and turned the shiny bauble over in his fingers carefully. The pendant looked familiar, like he’d just seen it and he struggled to remember where from. It looked valuable, too valuable to be lying broken and forgotten on the floor of an old, empty room.

Harry looked up and scanned the room as if it could tell him where the pendant came from. Idly spinning it in his fingers Harry began to inspect most of the paintings, skipping over the landscapes and focussing on the portraits. Who were these people and why were their portraits hanging in this hidden room?

Hidden room … Harry turned the words over in his mind as his fingers worried at the pendant. He paused in front of a portrait of a rather corpulent lady in long flowing red robes. She was dressed much as the Grey Lady was, like most of the portraits Harry realised. He gazed at the portraits, all of whom were sleeping. The paintings were old, some had cracked paint and all of them were dressed in a very old-fashioned manner. He stopped suddenly at the one he had tried to clean the nameplate of before. There, lying against the breast of another fairly robust woman was the pendant he now held in his hands.

With increasing urgency he rubbed at the nameplate once again. He laughed at himself after several futile minutes and got out his wand, aiming at the frame and muttering a Scourgify. The gilt frame gleamed and even the paint seemed to brighten. Harry peered at the nameplate.

Glenda Gryffindor

The dates underneath were indistinct but Harry thought one might have read 1359 or something similar. There was nothing else to indicate who the sleeping woman was but Harry rather thought Ron might be at least partially right — something about this room told him it belonged to Gryffindor; the House or the man, he could not be certain. He looked around, seeing nothing else that would give him a clue as to who this room belonged to. A few portions of wood panelled wall caught his attention.

They had probably been there before, the room had given no indication of changing itself around him, but they seemed strangely out of place on the stone walls. Slipping the pendant and broken chain in his pocket he padded over to the wood panels. He stood in front of them for a moment with the absurd urge to start knocking on them. He had a mad picture of himself in his head, like a character in one of Dudley’s television shows, finding a secret passage that led to solving an age old mystery.

Harry snorted to himself. How many years had he spent in an enchanted castle finding secret passages and tunnels and still, for a moment, he thought he was James Bond? Ending his silent speculation of the panels he started to poke them, running his hands over the smooth surfaces, looking for indentations, things to push, levers to pull. Nothing happened. Harry took a few steps back and surveyed the panels thoughtfully. He knew they hid something. He had no idea what it was or how to get to it, but he desperately wanted to find out. He studied the panels carefully looking at the patterns etched around the edges.

They weren’t patterns he suddenly realised, they were runes. Harry cursed himself for never taking Ancient Runes and wished he had some parchment to copy them down to show Hermione when he suddenly heard a scratching sound coming from the wall he’d fallen through earlier. He watched with fascination as a hand suddenly pushed its way through. He thought he could hear whispers murmuring at the wall from the other side. The hand abruptly disappeared. Harry stole over to the wall wondering if it had been Ron or … no one else knew about this room he was sure of that. No one had probably been here in centuries.

The hand appeared again, as suddenly as it had vanished last time. Harry studied the hand carefully. It was devoid of freckles. Not Ron then. He took a step backwards. The hand came further into the room and Harry imagined he heard someone whimpering. He didn’t feel threatened and yet he pulled his wand out anyway, taking a few steps backwards. He was only just in time to avoid Neville stumbling through the wall.

“-just like the bloody platform, you wimp!” Ginny followed Neville through, falling on top of him, the two of them landing in a heap on the floor and raising a cloud of dust. Harry coughed and waved frantically to clear the air.

“Oh that’s nice,” Neville muttered mutinously, disentangling himself from Ginny. “I do this to save your boyfriend and all you can do is swear at me like a sailor.”

“Where are Ron and Hermione and Luna?” Ginny stood up and examined the wall, pressing her hands against it urgently. “Why didn’t they come through?” Neville looked up and noticed Harry watching them in amusement.

“Harry!” the other man said, sounding incredibly relieved. “We found you!” Ginny spun around so quickly she nearly lost her balance.

“Harry! You’re all right!” She threw herself at him, holding him in a vice like grip, which threatened to cut off his oxygen supply.

“Ron came flying out of the fireplace and then he stood there, watching it for ages. It was really weird,” Neville said as Harry loosened Ginny’s hold on his neck. “Hermione asked what he was doing and that’s when he held up his bag of Floo powder and sort of went white.”

“He said he lost you,” Ginny murmured into Harry’s chest.

“Stupid git took the Floo powder through the Floo with him,” muttered Harry. “You lot took your time coming to find me.”

“Ron couldn’t get through the wall,” Ginny said looking up at him. “He tried and tried and nothing worked we’ve been wandering up and down the stairs and then Neville and Luna showed up-”

“We were just trying to get away from Filch,” muttered Neville. “He watches us. I think he thinks we’re sneaking off to … you know.” Neville blushed a bright red and waved a hand ineffectually. Harry grinned.

“So he started helping us,” Ginny continued. “Ron said you were probably trapped, you couldn’t get through the wall again and … I didn’t think we were going to find you!” Her eyes were shining brightly with tears and Harry realised she was close to tears or hysteria.

“Shhhh, you’ve found me now,” he soothed, stroking her hair softly.

“Yeah, only how will we get out again?” Neville said glumly. “Ron’s still got the Floo powder.” Neville cursed violently and swung his fist at the wall.

No one was more surprised than Harry to see Neville’s fist go sailing through it. Neville lost his balance and his head and torso fell through the wall, his legs sticking out from the wall on the floor incongruously.

“What the …” Harry darted to the wall, stretching his hand out; he hovered in front of the wall uncertainly. Ginny had no such qualms and slapped the wall with both hands as Neville’s feet dragged through and vanished.

“It’s solid!” she cried exasperatedly. Harry looked at her before carefully pressing his hand against the wall.

“Only Ron tried to get through before,” Harry said as his hand disappeared into the stonework. Ginny’s jaw dropped. “I’m not sure why, but … it’s me and Neville …”

Taking a deep breath he pushed his face through the wall. Hermione, Ron, Neville and Luna were standing on the other side.

“Hello!” he said cheerfully. Hermione gave a strangled scream.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” Luna said calmly. Ron stared at him before slapping the wall near his left ear. Harry winced and stretched an arm through the wall, grasping Hermione’s hand.

“Neville, grab Ron and step through,” Harry said and pulled himself back through the wall. Hermione followed.

“Merlin, Harry!” Hermione breathed when she caught her breath. Neville and Ron appeared at that moment. Neville had a sort of grimace on his face suggesting he was not in favour of this method of travelling through walls. Harry grinned at him and stuck and arm through the wall. He felt Luna grab his hand and pulled backwards but her hand slipped out of his grasp and his own was empty when he pulled it back through.

Harry frowned and tried again with the same result. He cast a helpless look at the others and stepped fully through the wall and into the staircase.

“I do not think I can get through, Harry,” Luna said serenely. She was perched on one of the steps, leaning against the opposite wall. She pulled a Quibbler out of her bag. “I will wait here until Gryffindor’s room has finished showing you its secrets.”

Harry just stared at her, nodded and stepped back through the wall into the cavernous room beyond.

“-so it must be, don’t you see?” Hermione was standing in the middle of the room flushed and excited. “Oh Harry, it’s another secret chamber!”

“Secret room,” muttered Ginny mutinously. “Can we please call it a room?”

“Not just a room,” Ron said, striding to the tiny door and grasping the handle. The door swung open but did not get larger. “That’s odd.” Ron frowned at the door and pushed it closed before opening it again.

“What’s odd?” asked Neville. He looked awestruck and stared wide-eyed around the room.

“Harry opened it and it grew big enough to fit him through,” Ron said, pushing the door closed again and turning to face the others. “Harry, where’s Luna?”

“She um … she couldn’t get through,” Harry shrugged. “She told me she’d wait for us after Gryffindor’s room had finished showing us its secrets.”

“Told you it was a room,” Ginny smirked. Neville made his way to the little door Ron was glowering at and reached out a hand, grasping the door knob. Hermione gasped.

The door was growing, expanding, getting wider and getting taller.

“How come it works for him?” Ron grumbled belligerently.

“Well, obviously the room responds to them,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “They are the ones who can get through the wall as well.”

“Because they’re Gryffindors?” Ginny asked, frowning.

“We’re all Gryffindors,” Ron retorted. “Except Luna.”

“And she couldn’t get in at all,” Hermione mused. “What have Neville and Harry got in common then?”

“Blokes of the same age,” Ron said immediately. “Which would mean something if I wasn’t also a bloke … the same age as them.” He looked glum and glared at the door malevolently. Neville had pushed it open and was peering around the doorframe.

“It’s not the prophecy is it,” he said as he pulled his head back into the room. “We were both … mentioned … sort of …” Hermione shook her head, beginning to pace around the room. She stopped in front of the portrait Harry had cleaned. She peered at the nameplate.

“Glenda …”

“Who’s Glenda?” Ron asked loudly, still glaring at the door into the duelling room.

“Gryffindor?” Ginny asked, crossing swiftly to where Hermione was examining the portrait of the woman wearing the pendant. “Glenda Gryffindor was the last known descendant of Godric Gryffindor. She was a teacher here at Hogwarts until sometime in the thirteen hundreds and she ... went missing.” Ginny shrugged.

“How do you know all that?” Ron asked incredulously.

“I read, Ronald,” Ginny replied loftily. It was such an uncanny impression of Hermione that Harry struggled not to laugh.

“I can’t believe the last Gryffindor was a girl,” Ron grumbled. Ginny’s eyes flashed fire and Harry spoke hastily before she could react.

“Hermione can you come look at these runes?” he asked, overly loudly and gesturing towards the wooden panels. Hermione hurried over, immediately lost in the runes.

“C’mon,” Harry gestured to Neville and Ginny, “we’ll show you the duelling room.” The four of them went through the doorway and, lighting the torches on the wall, gazed around at the glittering array of weaponry and armour.

“It’s like some sort of … armoury,” Neville murmured. He wandered to a nearby display case of swords and daggers lying open on a side table. The metallic instruments were strewn haphazardly. Neville picked up one of the daggers.

“Are you sure that’s safe, Neville?” Ginny asked, alarmed. Neville swung to look at her, the blade of the dagger flashed in the torchlight.

“It matches the sword,” he said excitedly. “Look!” Encrusted with rubies, the hilt of the dagger indeed resembled that of the Sword of Gryffindor.

“Gryffindor’s room indeed,” murmured Ron.

“But … there weren’t any other artefacts,” Harry said, staring at the dagger.

“I’d say this room is full of your artefacts, mate,” grinned Ron.

“And I know why only you can Neville can communicate with the room,” Hermione announced from the doorway. The four swung to look at her. She was clutching a piece of parchment and her cheeks were flushed.

“The Hat gave you the Sword,” she said. “The runes, they’re a … a sort of prophecy.” Harry groaned audibly.

“We can get in because we got the Sword?” Neville asked, his brow furrowed.

“Only a true Gryffindor could pull that sword from the Hat,” Harry murmured, staring at the rubies glittering on the dagger Neville still held.

“Don’t you see?” Hermione practically bounced up and down in the doorway.

“Not really, Hermione,” Harry sighed.

“The runes, listen!” Hermione backed out into the carpeted room. The others followed. “I translated it. It’s sort of like a prophecy … only not really and not really instructions either, sort of a cross between the two.”

“Well, what does it say, woman?” Ron demanded and Hermione gave him a piercing look. Ron remained unrepentant, grinning at Hermione cheerfully. She shook her head, straightened her parchment and read. “When two come, true and strong, pure of heart and courage long, then shall the secrets throng, when two hands join along.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Ron asked.

“Neville and Harry can probably reveal whatever is behind these wooden panels,” Hermione explained.

“How did you get that, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“It’s the Sword,” Ginny murmured. “You two are the only ones who received the Sword. I think … I think it’s like you are recognised by this room or something.”

“There’s something behind these panels and together Neville and Harry can open it,” Hermione said.

“Open it? How?” asked Neville. Hermione shrugged.

“Well I’m not doing anything about it right now,” Harry said decisively. “Luna is outside on the steps waiting and I still haven’t showered and it’s nearly time to eat. It’s obviously been here for hundreds of years, it can wait a few more days.”

Neville and Harry took the others back through the wall and soon they were all clustered on the steep stairs. Harry looked up. The stairs no longer vanished into darkness, he could see a landing and the six of them trooped up and out onto the seventh floor.

********************

There was little time for Harry and Neville to explore the hidden room in the next few weeks. Harry and Ginny had been overseeing the conversion of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place into a children’s home and Neville spent every spare moment with his plants or Luna. Harry had selected a band of hopeful first and second years who were training with him to be ready for next year’s Quidditch trials. Between all that, schoolwork and Quidditch practice for their upcoming match against Slytherin, time seemed to slip away faster than the sand in an hourglass.

The days before Hallowe’en seemed to fly by particularly fast until the day was upon them. Harry felt a strange sense of peace about Hallowe’en that he had not felt before. He supposed it was the effect of the end of the Second War. He couldn’t recall a Hallowe’en since he was eleven when he felt only soft memories of his parents and not the horribly grim reality that they had been murdered.

It was a Saturday and the first Hogsmeade weekend but the first Quidditch game of the year was the following weekend. Practice was higher on the agenda than a visit to Honeydukes. After a fast and furious Quiddicth practice that left Ginny aching after a few too many Bludgers got sent her way, she kissed Harry thoroughly before excusing herself to soak in a long bath, nodding to Hermione who was brooding in front of the common room fire.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry sat down quietly next to his best friend.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” Hermione said vaguely, staring at the flickering flames.

“What’s up?”

“Do you think … do you think I should … that Ron and I … that is … is it a good idea for us to … there’s the next level …?” Hermione spluttered and stopped. Her eyes pleaded with Harry to understand what she was saying without making her say it.

Harry was surprised. He had assumed Ron and Hermione experienced pretty much all the things a romantic relationship had to offer. He had not expected to be asked this question; especially not from Hermione.

“Erm …” he said rather eloquently.

“You see, I just was so sure that I wanted to wait and then I wasn’t and, Merlin, Harry, some of the things you can do without doing well …” Hermione bit her lip and stared at him. Harry forced himself to look calm. Inside his belly was churning. She couldn’t be asking him this.

“I think you should write to your mum,” he said weakly.

“She doesn’t know Ron,” Hermione turned soulful eyes on him. “All she said was ‘Be careful’.” Hermione snorted. Harry smiled. Soon the two of them were laughing, Harry rolling about on the hearth rug like Ron had on the day Harry had first kissed Cho Chang.

“Ron loves you,” Harry said when they had finally calmed down. “He has for years.”

“I know,” Hermione nodded. She grinned at him. “Want to go see Hagrid?”

“Race you,” answered Harry and he darted out of the common room, Hermione on his heels.

Harry and Hermione spent most of the afternoon arguing with Hagrid over getting rid of his Quintaped. The creature was now the size and disposition of one of Aunt Marge’s overfed bulldogs. It could stick one of its five clubbed feet out of the steel cage Hermione had transfigured and tried to swipe at Harry and Hermione repeatedly.

“Hagrid, you’ve got to set him free,” Hermione pleaded. “He’s all squashed up in there. Take him to Mr Weasley. He can let the relevant department at the Ministry get him home.”

“He’s perfectly fine when it’s just me and him,” Hagrid said stoutly. “Likes Grawp too.”

“Well, you’re giants,” Hermione said exasperatedly.

“I’m only half,” Hagrid protested. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

“Won’t it attack Arthur?” Harry said warily eyeing the monster. It flashed its horrible teeth at him.

“Oh ‘e’s still jest a baby,” Hagrid said, “and he’s friendly like too. All bark, no bite this one.”

“Looks like he could bite,” Hermione muttered.

“Oh ‘e’s still too little to be doin’ anyone any real ‘arm,” Hagrid said airily. “Iffen ‘e bit yer, it’d be no more’n a scratch.” He dismissed Hermione’s concerns with a wave of one dustbin lid sized hand.

“You’d have to stun it to transport it,” Hermione looked at the Quintaped with some distaste.

“Can’t I jest set ‘im lose in the forest?” Hagrid pleaded. “Then ‘e can come visit.”

“He’ll find his way to the castle, Hagrid,” Hermione said exasperatedly. They argued, at odds, on and off for hours between bucket sized cups of tea and treacle fudge so hard it made Harry’s jaw ache when he tried to be polite.

“Please, Hagrid,” Hermione pleaded as she wound a scarf around her neck and lower face. “You’ve got to take him back home. He’s a terrible danger to us here.”

“Always something around here is a terrible danger,” muttered Harry darkly as the two of them made their way back to the castle. “It’s probably been sent here to kill me. Everything always is.”

“Oh Harry,” said Hermione exasperatedly. She rolled her eyes at him. “I thought you were done feeling gloomy on Hallowe’en?”

“Can’t help it,” Harry complained. “It’s dark and creepy out here.” The shadows were lengthening over the grounds.

“The forest is creepier than this!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes at him. “You are being melancholy. No study for you and Ginny tonight. You need a distraction.” Harry grinned at her as she marched ahead of him and pushed the doors open and stepped into the Entrance Hall. A whole evening with Ginny and the only price to pay was a few moments of melancholy. It was too good to be true — but he’d take it.

They stayed at the feast only long enough not to arouse suspicion. As soon as Harry had bolted down a slice of treacle tart and Ginny had delicately eaten a bowl of trifle they excused themselves with murmurs about studying. They seemed to be taken at their word; only Neville hid his smile behind his ice cream. Harry took the stairs two at a time back up to Gryffindor Tower, Ginny hurrying to keep up.

She eventually cornered him on the fifth floor landing and, draping her arms around his neck she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Harry stared at her for a long moment as her words sunk in.

“You want to what?” he asked weakly.

“The Gryffindor room,” she said again. “I want us to go there, be … there.” It made sense, Harry mused. No one could get in except Neville. It wasn’t very cozy, though. He said as much to Ginny as she pulled him down a flight of stairs heading for the portrait that concealed the staircase.

“It’s a bit … big and … sort of ballroomy, don’t you think?”

“Ballroomy?” Ginny arched an eyebrow at him and leapt off a moving staircase onto the third floor landing. Harry shrugged sheepishly. “There’s a fireplace …” Ginny trailed off and Harry looked at her. She was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Harry felt a sudden tenderness sweep over him. He reached out and pulled her towards him.

“Yeah in the duelling room,” he murmured against her neck, kissing her delicately. Ginny shivered.

“Firelight is very … romantic,” she said breathlessly.

“There’s a fireplace in the common room,” Harry reasoned.

“But in the common room … people could walk in,” Ginny seemed to be holding her breath. It hit Harry like a tonne of Bludgers.

“Oh,” was all he said. Ginny reached up to kiss him then and he was lost. This woman could have whatever she wanted as far as Harry was concerned. If she wanted to be in front of a fire, all alone, then he had no objections whatsoever.

***************

Harry and Ginny crept back to Gryffindor Tower up the secret staircase several hours later. Harry was Head Boy and unlikely to get a detention for being out after curfew, but he still didn’t want to run into anyone — not looking quite as dishevelled as they currently did. The pair of them held hands and grinned stupidly at one another. At the top of the staircase Harry pulled Ginny to him and kissed her softly. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. Harry groaned.

“Stop that,” he whispered. “We need to get back to the common room.” Ginny pouted at him and trailed her hands down his chest, around his waist and under his shirt. Harry shook his head at her ruefully. If anyone ever tried to insinuate he had taken advantage of Ginny Weasley … they’d have it wrong.

“No one will miss us,” Ginny whispered back. Her hands fluttered to his belt and Harry grabbed at them.

“Is it too late to get Ron to start defending my honour?” he asked against her lips.

“Too late for defending anything,” Ginny giggled. Harry blushed.

“We’re not telling them that, are we?” he asked her urgently.

“Our little secret,” Ginny promised, reaching up to give Harry a kiss. “I like your little Gryffindor room.” Her hands began travelling over his torso.

“I used to hate Hallowe’en,” he murmured as he gave up any pretence of stopping her. He had just decided to take Ginny back down the stairs and through the mysterious wall when he heard shouting and frantic footsteps in the corridor. Harry exchanged a look with Ginny and the two of them raced back up the several steps they’d just come down and burst into the corridor.

Instead of a darkened, deserted corridor they saw a brightly lit scene of pandemonium. The Fat Lady hung open at the end of the corridor and students milled around the entrance but Harry couldn’t tell if they were trying to get in or out of the portrait hole. The portrait was yelling obscenities at the students for unbecoming behaviour. Professor Crockwell stood at the portrait hole remonstrating with the Fat Lady in an ineffective manner. Hermione and Neville were thundering towards Harry and Ginny; Dexter was screeching something about Bart and Gerald Chumley leant against one wall his head in a book looking bored while Crookshanks and several other pets milled around the feet of the students.

“Where have you been?” Hermione panted as she and Neville drew level with them. “It’s just awful.” She grabbed his sleeve and began pulling Harry back to the common room.

“What’s going on?” demanded Harry as he stumbled over his own feet when he began hurrying back to the portrait hole at her insistence.

“There’s a Quintaped in Gryffindor Tower!” Hermione said. Harry stopped dead and stared at her.

“A what?” he asked weakly. Hermione gave him a knowing look that neither of the other two noticed.

“A Quintaped!” exclaimed Neville. “I don’t know how it got here but those things are dangerous and … blimey, Harry, they’re deadly!”

“What are we going to do?” Ginny asked.

“Professor McGonagall’s gone to fetch Hagrid,” Hermione said briskly. “Let’s go and calm these students down. It can’t hurt any of them — Neville managed to lock it in the Seventh year boys’ dormitory.”

“What if it gets out, Hermione?” Neville said looking towards the portrait hole nervously.

“Well, didn’t you seal the door?” Hermione said as she pushed her way through the students outside the common room.

“Seal?” squeaked Neville.

“And Imperturb it?” Hermione said, turning just before she climbed through the portrait hole. There was a splintering sound from upstairs and a shout.

“I just pulled the door shut,” Neville shouted frantically. “It hasn’t got hands to open the door-”

“Maybe it doesn’t need hands!” Seamus yelled as he hurtled out of the stairwell. He turned frantically. “DEAN!”

“Dean’s up there?” Harry asked, horrified.

“He was right behind me,” Seamus said as he hurtled back to the stairwell, Harry on his heels.

Harry dimly heard Hermione and Ginny screaming at him and Neville bellowing Seamus’s name as he took the stairs two at a time. He and Seamus got to the first landing and found Dean stumbling down the stairs, his wand dangling from one hand and blood dripping through the fingers of his other as he clutched his thigh.

“Damn thing got me,” he said through gritted teeth. “I stunned it but it took a bit of effort. I dunno how long it’ll stay down.” He swayed a little and sat down suddenly on the last step before the landing.

“Seamus, get him to the hospital wing,” said Harry. He stepped around Dean, his wand out.

“Harry, where d’you think you’re going?” Dean asked. “It took four stunners to take that thing down! It’s a killer!”

“When Hagrid gets here, send him up!” was all Harry said as he took the rest of the steps two at a time. He ignored Seamus and Dean bellowing up at him and kept running frantically up the stairs until he came to where the Quintaped lay in a heap outside the sixth year dormitory.

Five legs twitched feebly but it didn’t move apart from that. Harry approached cautiously. He wondered, not for the first time, how the creature came to be here if the island it came from was Unplottable. Harry looked around the cramped landing. It would be easier for Hagrid to re-cage this monster downstairs and thankfully, McGonagall would make him give it up to the Department for the Care and Control of Magical Creatures. Harry began to levitate it downstairs.

He was halfway down and manoeuvring the creature around a particularly tight corner when it stirred. Harry looked at it warily but it still seemed to be mostly out. If he stopped to cast a Stunner he’d probably drop it. He just had to get down quickly. The landing he was on didn’t allow for more than a few centimetres between Harry and the splayed legs of the hairy monster. He shuddered and screwed up his nose as the hairs brushed his arm. He’d be glad when he got rid of this. Dean probably deserved a medal for taking this thing out. He could hear people calling him faintly but didn’t answer them as he concentrated on getting the Quintaped around the corner without banging it on the wall and waking it up.

The next landing was as tricky as the one before it and just before he sent the creature straight down the flight of stairs he heard Hagrid thump into the common room.

“I swear ‘e were goin’ back to the Ministry on Monday,” Hagrid’s voice sobbed faintly. “I didn’t mean for this to ‘appen.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may,” Professor McGonagall said stiffly. “You have scared an entire House and injured at least one student!”

“It’s my fault Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said. “I knew about the Quintaped but Hagrid swore he’d look after it and he promised to send it back when it was grown!”

“While it may have been ill advised of you not to have informed another Professor,” McGonagall’s voice was clipped, “it is not your responsibility, Miss Granger. We can only hope no more students are injured.”

“But ‘e were locked up, Professor,” Hagrid protested. “Everyone were at th’ feast. Ain’t no way Monty coulda gotten inter th’ Tower.”

“Where is Mr Potter?” Professor McGonagall sounded worried.

“He’s up there,” Ginny replied. She sounded more worried. “With the Quintaped.” Harry levitated the hairy beast another few steps. One landing and the last flight to go and he could get rid of this thing.

“Step back,” he called, his voice wavering with the strain of maintaining the levitation in such a cramped area. “This thing is coming first.” He grimaced as he bumped the Quintaped into a wall and then stumbled into it. One of the legs waved ominously. Harry held his breath and concentrated on just getting the Quintaped the last few metres and then never seeing the thing again.

“Harry, are you all right?” Ginny called.

“Yeah, just … I’m nearly-”

“ ‘Arry! I’m sorry ‘bout that, Monty were secured before I came up!” Hagrid practically bellowed.

It all happened so fast, the Quintaped roused itself when it heard Hagrid’s voice and began to thrash violently. Harry jumped out of the way of one clubbed foot but his levitation spell was wavering badly and the Quintaped swung towards him, its eyes had flickered open and razor sharp teeth were flashing dangerously. Harry had next to no chance in the tiny stairwell and although he tried to jump out of the way a flailing club-foot caught him on the chest and Harry slipped down several steps.

With an anguished cry his concentration broke and the Quintaped came crashing down on him. Harry threw his arms up to shield his face and a glimpse of sharp teeth dripping with saliva was the last thing he saw before his head hit a stone step and blackness descended upon him.

**************

When Harry awoke his left arm and shoulder were on fire and a herd of Hippogriffs were stampeding through his head. Something wet and sticky covered his neck and he felt as if he were slowly floating away. He didn’t want to go, he wasn’t supposed to go. When someone grasped his hand, he held on tight as if he were holding a lifeline. He thought he heard someone whisper that they wouldn’t let him go but he couldn’t be sure because the pain was unbearable, like a siren screaming through his brain and he couldn’t hear anything but his own thudding heartbeat pounding along with the herd of Hippogriffs and the sirens of pain.

He couldn’t be dying; it didn’t hurt this much to die.

Harry gripped the hand holding his own and concentrated on staying alive. He almost laughed to himself. How did you concentrate on staying alive anyway? Now ironically, dying was something he knew how to concentrate on. The pain began to recede and the grip on his hand seemed to loosen and hysteria welled up inside him, was he dying now? He had to see Ginny.

“Ginny …” Harry whispered. It hurt to talk, it hurt to breathe.

The world came into sharp focus right before the blackness claimed him again. He could hear Hermione whisper softly. He heard Hagrid weeping and Professor McGonagall speaking briskly, coldly. He felt gentle hands on his arm and neck and he saw Ginny hovering over him; she brushed his hair from his face gently.

“Hang in there, Harry,” she pleaded as his eyes slid shut against his will. “Madame Pomfrey’s coming; just please, hang on.”

Harry squeezed her hand again and let the blackness claim him. It was easier that way.

**************

Harry could hear whispering. He moved experimentally. The back of his head still throbbed but the herd of Hippogriffs had gone. His left arm and shoulder tingled but there was no more burning sensation. He reached up to touch his neck; a bandage replaced the wet, sticky coating. He opened his eyes tentatively. The whispering had stopped, now there was rustling. He was in the hospital wing and only one lamp lit the small space around his bed. A small space that was crammed with people.

“Harry?” Ginny was hovering over him just as she had been when he closed his eyes. He opened his mouth.

“How are you feeling, son?” Arthur enquired. He was standing on the other side of Harry’s bed with Molly.

“Awful,” Harry admitted ruefully with a painful cough. “What … happened?”

“Don’t try to talk, dear,” Molly said. She smoothed the blankets across his chest and stroked his cheek tenderly.

“The Quintaped got you,” said Ginny, her voice wavering slightly. “But you’re fine now. You’re going to be fine.”

“Hagrid?” Harry croaked. Ginny frowned slightly.

“He … he’s really sorry,” Hermione’s voice came from behind Ginny. “He didn’t break any regulations so he’s not in any legal trouble.” Ginny’s face clouded over.

“Not in any trouble?” Molly huffed. “I’ll show him some trouble. Fancy having that … that thing near a school! He’s going to hear a few things from me! If he thinks he’s not in trouble for nearly killing one of my children, he can think again!”

“Well he is in an awful lot of trouble with Professor McGonagall,” Hermione allowed.

“I should think so!” Molly exclaimed. “I honestly don’t know what he was thinking! How did it get so far into the castle? That’s what I’d like to know.”

“It’s a good thing no one was in that dorm,” Ron said as he peered over Ginny’s shoulder. “Neville said he thought you were, at first. You and Ginny left the feast early and he couldn’t find you, thought you had gone upstairs.” Harry met Ginny’s eyes and noticed the faint blush on her cheeks, but no one commented on where they had been.

“Someone had to let it in,” George said suddenly.

“The password,” Percy murmured. Was the whole family there?

“Well that’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?” Ron said sarcastically. “Or do you think dangerous creatures with a taste for human flesh routinely roam the castle and Gryffindor Tower?”

“Who would want to let one into the Tower?” Percy asked. He was pacing at the foot of the bed. “How’d Hagrid get a Quintaped anyway?”

“Down the pub,” Ron said bitterly, “where he gets everything.”

“S’not Hagrid’s fault,” Harry said, breathing heavily.

“No, it’s mine,” Hermione wailed suddenly and Harry heard her flee in a flurry of footsteps. The doors of the hospital wing crashed open and Ron muttered a hasty apology and vanished. Harry closed his eyes and willed everyone else to go away.

“We need to go,” Arthur said quietly. “Let you get some sleep.”

“Thanks …” Harry breathed, “for … for coming.” The Weasleys murmured their goodbyes and left the room quietly and Harry let out a sigh and groaned at an unexpected pain that shot through his arm.

“Harry? Are you in pain?” Ginny asked. Harry opened his eyes swiftly. He thought she’d gone and that he was alone. It was the only reason he’d groaned. He stared at Ginny wide eyed for a moment. She stared back.

“I can get Madame Pomfrey,” Ginny said quietly.

“No … that’s okay,” Harry said, knowing that if she fetched the matron she would also be sent away. He suddenly wanted her to stay very badly. “Stay.” He couldn’t reach for her, his arm felt like lead but she seemed to know what he wanted and pulled a chair close to the bed and pulled his hand into her own before kissing his cheek and sitting down.

“It’s late,” she whispered. “Get some sleep.” Harry closed his eyes and leaned into her touch as she began smoothing the hair back from his face tenderly. He only had a vague idea what was going on but somehow, everything felt right with the world.