Chapter Thirty
"Led by Sheep"

Page One

The Great Hall was incredibly tense. When, at long last, Professor Flitwick arrived, every single person in attendance literally jumped into the air when Flitwick came crashing through the doors, startling them all half to death.

"Sorry," he peeped, as a few murderous looks shot at him. He scuttled up to the head table where Hagrid, Madam Pomfrey, Ron, Hermione and Professor Malfoy sat, waiting for his arrival so they could go off in search for Professor Ceres and Harry, who had disappeared several hours ago.

"Finally," sighed Professor Malfoy, standing up from the table to greet Professor Flitwick. As soon as he approached the table, Malfoy immediately whispered some very precise instructions to not let anyone leave the Great Hall; then he motioned to Hagrid, Ron and Hermione to follow him. Madam Pomfrey stood up, but Malfoy whispered to her, "It'd be best if you stayed here. The students need someone to comfort them and you're the best for the job."

"But…" protested Madam Pomfrey.

"Now, now," interrupted Malfoy. "Please, stay here, I know what's best."

She could say no more for at that instant, Malfoy swept Ron, Hermione and Hagrid away, leaving her standing next to Professor Flitwick at the head table.

Malfoy led them out of the Great Hall through the small door at the back of the hall, behind the head table.

They marched along a dark corridor none of them seemed to recognize, Malfoy leading the way. They turned many corners, opened countless doors. They continued on in silence until Hagrid couldn't stand it any longer.

"Shouldn' we split up 'er somefink?" he asked.

"No, Hagrid," said Malfoy, a bit annoyed by the interruption. "We need to stick together. We can't get separated now, not yet…" his voice trailed off as they reached an intersection of hallways. Three ways to go and he wasn't sure which way to lead them. He pointed to each hall in turn, obviously thinking very carefully.

"What are you doing?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

"Nothing," muttered Malfoy. "Come on, this way."

They marched off to the right and went up a grand flight of stairs. With every step they took, it seemed to be getting darker. Ron nearly screamed when the shadow of a flickering candle appeared on a stone wall, casting eerie shadows into what appeared to be a very large spider inching up the wall.

"You have 'ta tell us where yer leading us, Malfoy," demanded Hagrid, after he saw the fear on Ron's face.

"Shh!" hissed Malfoy, his brow furrowed. "I think I hear something."

They turned one final corner and right in front of them was a plain bronze door. Malfoy turned the doorknob and held it open for Hagrid, Ron and Hermione, who eyed him skeptically as they entered the room.

Hermione, who was the first to enter, screamed at the top of her lungs, "Turn around! It's a trap!"

But, before the others could react, Professor Malfoy slammed the bronze door behind them, locking them inside the room.

Hagrid, Ron and Hermione had stepped right into a large hall, almost entirely filled with stone gargoyles and statues. The side walls were lined, as if it were a giant chess board, the gargoyles facing out toward the center of the room. And, at the far end of the hall, there was a massive statue of a man, on one knee, wearing a flowing black cape and holding a large cane in his hand. His eyes were haunting, as they seemed to follow you around the room. His face seemed harsh, yet contemplative.

The staff he held in his hand was at least seven feet tall all by itself. On the very top of the elegantly carved staff, sat an opal of unusually large size. It sent millions of prisms around the room, resting on the gargoyle's faces, illuminating them with brilliant hues of color.

"Somnus!" Malfoy shouted, pointing his wand at Hagrid, Ron and Hermione. Each one of them immediately slumped to the floor, in an unconscious sleep.

"Nice wand work," came a sneering voice from the side of the room.

"Oh, shut it, Pettigrew," retorted Malfoy, "and help me with these bodies."

The gargoyles weren't what had alarmed Hermione. Directly to her right stood Peter Pettigrew, leaning nonchalantly against a rather putrid looking gargoyle.

He walked over to Malfoy, who was leaning over the unconscious bodies of Hagrid, Ron and Hermione.

"What is he going to do with all of them?" asked Pettigrew, trying not to sound like he was asking a question.

"Tie up the giant and the girl," retorted Malfoy snottily. "He wants the red head with the others."

"No…" Pettigrew's face went white. "The red head? Why does he want him with the others?"

"I don't know!" cursed Malfoy. "All he said was something was bunged up by someone else and he had to set it straight."

Pettigrew gulped hard. "I don't know if I like this…"

* * *

The sounds of shifting gears and cogs returned to McGonagall's miniscule chamber, awakening her from a dreamless sleep. She was huddled in a corner of the cell, her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. The rainfall had stopped, but she was still completely soaked, her hair a sticky mess on her back and her nightdress clung to her skin.

She didn't bother to look up as the noises continued. Something was bound to happen, she was certain of it, but she had grown rather indifferent to her situation. Whether it began to rain again; if lightning struck; if she suddenly lost all consciousness and died, she really didn't care. Life had become a monotonous trifle, something that was merely tolerated. Life or death, it really made no difference in her mind.

The resounding echoes of metallic shifting slowly quieted down and then disappeared. But, a new sound quickly took its place. Something much more pleasant began whispering through the walls… something that sounded strangely like a piano, somewhere in the distance. This odd, unexpected sound sparked McGonagall's curiosity. She raised her head and opened her eyes to see that the wall opposite where she sat had disappeared and in its place there was a long, dark, stone passageway. She quickly got to her feet and walked towards the hall, half welcoming this possible escape route and half expecting it to be some sort of trap.

The distant pianist continued to pluck at the keys, sending haunting echoes through the corridors. McGonagall turned corners, opened doors and marched down hallways, following the music. With every step she took it grew louder, leading her onward until finally, she entered a corridor where at the far end was a small bronze door, sculpted with the faces of at least half a dozen gargoyles, surrounding a single, solitary female figure wearing a long night-dress. Her hair was decorated with chains of flowers and she sat reclined on an ornate fainting couch. The art of the door was exceptional, the quality far surpassing anything McGonagall had seen before. The detail in the bronze was astounding to say the least.

The door was open just a crack, letting a small amount of light break free from the room beyond the door, along with the delightful melody being played inside. Finally it was loud enough for McGonagall to recognize the tune: her favorite classical piece, Eric Satie's Gymnopedie. Its melody was light and methodical and yet, as it was being played at that moment, it seemed different, almost depressing in nature.

Unable to restrain her insatiable urge to know who was playing this piece so artistically, she stepped forward and placed a hand on the door, easing it open so it wouldn't make a sound.

The light that escaped the room bathed her damp pale face as the door inched open. She slid into the room as silently as a creeping panther. Her back against the wall, she looked forward down a long, rectangular shaped room. French provincial in style, there were great draperies hung around the room, lining the walls in deep purples, blues and reds. Where the walls were bare of draperies, they were covered by majestic murals painted with a renaissance flair, framed by antique wainscoting. Scenes from nature were painted in between the great draperies along the side walls. Elegant skylines of mountains being tickled by clouds, pleasant utopian hillsides, ravens soaring through the heavens, et cetera. At the far end of the hall, a painting covered the entire wall. Gargantuan in size, it was a masterpiece in art; a painting of three personages; two men, one woman. One man stood in the middle, wearing flowing robes of dark green. He was taller than the others by maybe a foot at least; the woman stood to his right, the man to his left. The woman was tall, slender, with a straight nose and dark black hair that fell to her elbows in length. She wore a plain black sheath that flared slightly at the bottom, creating a train that strolled off to one side.

The man to the left was dressed in black as well; basic black robes that scraped the ground. He was a tall, well-built man, with hair the color of a raven and eyes that were so brilliantly blue they seemed to shine as if they were sapphires that had been put in place of the paint.

The trio was looking down at the base of the painting, where bright orange, red and blue flames had been painted with such exquisite detail they seemed as if they would leap off and set the room ablaze. In the very center of the flames there was a small white bundle. Nothing but the whiteness of perhaps linen encased, almost cushioned, by the dancing fire.

In the background, a sun was rising behind them, illuminating the canvas with uncanny hues of blues, pinks, purples and reds. The colors were expertly reflected of a few lingering clouds in the distance, highlighting a few of the colors, each in their own turn.

At the utmost part of the painting, there were two moons, one towards each corner. They were both almost mere shadows, trumped by the sun's light and being forced to retreat for the day.

Still visible, it was clear that the moon in the left-hand corner was at half phase; the one at the right was at full. This perplexed McGonagall to no end, but she didn't have much time to contemplate it.

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