Harry stared at the portrait, feeling a cold anger building in his chest. Beatrice Haywood was trapped behind what looked like ordinary paint and canvas, but he could sense her soul was genuinely imprisoned inside. The young Hufflepuff girl looked back at him with wide, frightened eyes, her mouth moving as if she was trying to speak, but no sound came out.
This wasn't just a prank or accident. Someone had deliberately set this trap.
"Show me," he had said, and now here they were, just ten meters from the Grand Staircase, staring at what might be one of the cruelest magic Harry had ever encountered.
Before anyone could explain further, the portrait of Merlin next to Beatrice's prison suddenly spoke up.
"Ah, young Potter," Merlin's painted form said, stroking his long silver beard. "I see you've discovered our latest... predicament."
Harry turned to face the legendary wizard's portrait. "Sir, do you know what happened here?"
Merlin's expression grew grave. "Indeed I do. This portrait curse is nothing more than a trap guarding the mouth of an all-consuming beast. A faceless interloper has been tampering with the portraits throughout the castle."
"Faceless interloper?" Tonks asked sharply. "You mean someone from R?"
"I know not what letter they claim," Merlin replied with obvious disdain. "But I can tell you this… if a member of Slytherin House had been running this school, this predicament would never have happened. Salazar would have recognized the signs immediately and acted accordingly."
Everyone rolled their eyes at Merlin's comment about Slytherin superiority.
Even in a crisis, some things never changed.
"Is this portrait curse linked to the Cursed Vaults?" Charlotte asked, getting straight to the point.
Merlin's expression grew thoughtful. "In the case of the vaults, one curse begets the next, each building upon the last…"
He stroked his painted beard slowly. "To understand the nature of the curses placed upon each vault, you must first know what they were built to hold. This current curse is the punishment for abandoning ancient magic. To the vaults themselves, the people in this castle are the curse."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean by 'ancient magic'?"
Merlin smiled mysteriously, the same way Dumbledore did when he was being deliberately unhelpful. "That, young Potter, is knowledge that must be earned, not given."
While his friends continued fruitlessly discussing the matter with the unhelpful Merlin, Harry kept staring at the portrait where Beatrice was trapped.
He could definitely sense her soul stuck inside the canvas, but figuring out how to free her was another matter entirely.
Divine healing wasn't meant for situations like this. It could mend wounds, cure diseases, even purge dark magic negatively affecting living beings, but this wasn't damage to repair.
This was a cursed object.
Beatrice was either forcibly transfigured into paint or it was making use of some kind of Extension Charm to create a space inside the painting.
He couldn't heal paint, and forcibly breaking the portrait was way too risky, who knew whether Beatrice would survive having her prison destroyed while she was still inside?
His eyes shifted to scarlet red with a single black tomoe as he activated his Sharingan, hoping to see something the others had missed. But the enhanced vision revealed nothing special about the portrait. He'd suspected as much since the Sharingan couldn't see magic, just life energy, but it was still disappointing.
His eyes returned to their normal emerald green.
Feeling slightly hopeful, he tried disabling the effects of standard physics for both himself and Beatrice.
Sadly, while he could tell the ability had activated, it didn't achieve much.
He was now operating under 'fantasy' physics instead of normal ones, but those rules were designed to let him use his strength without causing excessive collateral damage.
They didn't give him the ability to reach into paintings.
Sighing, he kept staring at Beatrice. The painted girl looked back at him with wide, frightened eyes, just standing there. He tried asking her how she'd gotten stuck, speaking clearly and slowly, but she only stared back.
It seemed she couldn't speak.
The curse had taken away her voice along with her freedom.
Even with his high talent for painting, Harry couldn't think of a solution. But that wasn't all that surprising, since this matter required the use of a counter-curse. If the counter-curse wasn't known, it would require extensive research and experimentation to devise a way to free her.
And did they have that kind of time?
Harry turned back to Charlotte and the others, shaking his head reluctantly. "I'm sorry, but I can't figure out a way either. I could destroy the portrait in various ways, but doing that while Beatrice is still inside... it's way too risky. We'll have to wait for the professors to find a solution or see if resolving the Cursed Vault will do the trick."
But that was when Harry felt a warmth from his Hero's Journal.
Pulling the treasured book from his dragon-hide belt, he opened it to the latest page and waited as new lines began forming in elegant script across the parchment.
The painted prison holds more than meets the eye. Justice has severed the rat's fate, but what the rat would have revealed now rests with the keeper of chaos, for among his collection lies the key.
The rat's fate severed by Justice?
That had to be referring to Pettigrew, right? Did he change fate in some way by capturing him and letting him rot in Azkaban for life? But why would fate have changed in such a manner?
Did the offers let him defy fate's trajectory?
He assumed they did.
Back in their visit to Greece, Alexandros made a prophecy to his face about 'each gift consumed births greater thirst, till sweetest honey turns to worst', but did anything ever come of that?
Initially he had a guess that the prophecy referred to the offers, but he didn't think that was possible. Faith was cleansed by his Hun Soul and turned into Divine Energy, so he didn't think that was the issue either…
So it had to be the dragon hearts?
Harry knew full well that if he didn't have the offer that made his Po Soul resistant to unwanted physical transformations, he would've slowly turned more and more into some kind of dragon in a permanent manner.
If the prophecy couldn't take into account his future offers, then it was understandable that he could be corrupted by each 'gift' he consumed to further increase his power.
And the last line of 'the truth lies burning in the fire' also makes sense.
Dragons were often associated with fire.
Would the original transformation through eating dragon hearts turn him into a stable dragon or some monstrosity of scales and flame?
It was highly probable that the second scenario would come true.
So in the end he had saved himself a great deal of trouble by not seeking power before he was ready for it, hadn't he?
If his offers did indeed allow him to change fate, then it could also explain the entire situation with Pythia. The Oracle of Delphi was capable of divination, but even she couldn't divine other worlds. Could she divine future offers if she couldn't even divine the side-effects of one of the offers he already had?
He didn't think so.
That must be why her attempt to overwrite his existence with herself had failed and why his encounter with the wizard-monk Mohan resolved everything smoothly in the end.
But what would Pettigrew have revealed in fate's original plan?
He didn't know. And Harry wasn't keen on paying him a visit in Azkaban if he could avoid it.
This keeper of chaos... that sounded exactly like Peeves. The poltergeist was notorious for collecting random objects throughout the castle. Half the missing items from students' dormitories probably ended up in whatever hiding place Peeves used.
If Pettigrew knew of the 'key' to this situation, and it rested with Peeves, then he knew what to do.
Harry closed the journal, knowing he couldn't reveal his source of information to the others.
He'd have to be clever about how he guided them toward this solution.
"Actually," he said slowly, "I just had a thought. What if we're missing something obvious? This portrait curse is most likely connected to the Cursed Vaults, right? And Peeves has been around this castle for centuries. He might know about curses related to the vaults."
Tonks snorted. "Peeves? That poltergeist barely helps with anything. He's more likely to make jokes about Beatrice being stuck than actually help."
"True," Harry admitted, "but think about it. Peeves collects things, right? Students are always complaining about missing items. What if he's picked up something related to the vaults over the years?"
Charlotte nodded thoughtfully. "It's worth a try. And honestly, we're running out of options. Where do we usually find Peeves?"
"Causing trouble somewhere," Chiara said with a small smile. "But if we're lucky, he might be in the Great Hall dropping water balloons on first years."
They made their way through the castle corridors, and sure enough, they could hear Peeves' cackling laughter echoing from the Great Hall. When they arrived, they found the poltergeist floating near the ceiling, juggling what looked like dungbombs while a group of terrified second years huddled beneath the Ravenclaw table.
"Peeves!" Harry called out. "We need to talk to you."
The poltergeist spun around mid-air, his wild grin widening when he spotted Harry. "Ooh, if it isn't little Potter! Come to scare Peevesy away from his latest masterpiece again?"
"Actually, we need your help with something serious," Harry said, trying to keep his tone somewhat respectful.
Peeves responded better when you didn't immediately antagonize him.
Peeves' expression shifted to mock surprise. "Help? From Peevesy? How deliciously unusual!" He floated down closer to them, the dungbombs disappearing into thin air. "What's the pretty Potter want from old Peeves?"
Harry ignored the comment about his appearance. Ever since accepting that body purification offer, people had been making remarks about how he looked no matter where he went.
It was getting old.
"There's a student trapped in a portrait," Charlotte explained. "Beatrice Haywood. We think it might be connected to the Cursed Vaults."
"Ooh, trapped in a painting! How wonderfully wicked!" Peeves clapped his hands together. "Serves the little ones right for poking around where they shouldn't!"
Tonks scowled. "This isn't funny, Peeves. She's really stuck."
"Everything's funny if you squint hard enough!" Peeves replied cheerfully, doing a complete barrel roll in mid-air. His grin stretched impossibly wide across his translucent face. "But portrait curses... oh yes, nasty business that! Haven't seen one of those in ages and ages!"
Harry felt a spark of hope. "So you do know about them?"
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't!" Peeves spun upside down as he cackled. "Depends on what's in it for Peevesy!"
"We just need information," Charlotte urged. "Anything that might help us free Beatrice."
Peeves suddenly stopped spinning and floated closer. "You know, now that you mention portraits... I did happen to acquire a rather interesting painting not too long ago. Very mysterious, very vault-y looking thing. All dark and gloomy too!"
That had to be what the Hero's Journal was referring to.
A portrait connected to the vaults that Peeves had somehow gotten his hands on...
"Where did you find it?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
"Find it? Who said anything about finding?" Peeves giggled, doing a loop-de-loop around a chandelier. "Let's just say it was... liberated from a dusty old room where nobody was appreciating its artistic value!"
In other words, Peeves had stolen it. That was hardly surprising.
"Could we see this portrait?" Charlotte asked hopefully. "It might have clues about how to free Beatrice."
Peeves' grin somehow managed to get even wider. "Oh, you want to see Peevesy's precious painting? Well, well, well! That's going to cost you!"
"Cost us what?" Tonks asked suspiciously.
"Entertainment!" Peeves clapped his hands together and spun in a tight circle. "Peevesy is so terribly bored these days. The professors have been far too vigilant lately, and the students have gotten much too good at avoiding my pranks. I need some fresh chaos!"
Harry sighed, knowing where this was going. "What kind of entertainment?"
"Oh, nothing too difficult!" Peeves said innocently, though his expression was anything but innocent.
"Just a few tiny little pranks. Three should do it, I think. Complete three pranks for Peevesy, and I'll show you my lovely vault portrait!"
Charlotte bit her lip. "What kind of pranks?"
Peeves rubbed his translucent hands together gleefully, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, nothing too terrible! Just some harmless fun to brighten up this dreary old castle!"
Harry noticed Penny step forward, her eyes still red from crying. "I'll do whatever you want," she said firmly. "Beatrice is my little sister. If pranks will help us save her, then I'll pull every prank in the castle."
Penny's determination was admirable, but Harry worried about what Peeves might have in mind. The poltergeist's idea of "harmless fun" usually involved someone getting covered in something unpleasant or ending up dangling from the ceiling.
"Wonderful enthusiasm!" Peeves cackled, doing a cartwheel in mid-air. "Now, for the first prank..." He paused dramatically, floating upside down as he stroked his chin. His gaze fell on Charlotte and his grin turned positively wicked. "Miss Whitewood! How would you like to pay a visit to an old friend of your dear brother Jacob?"
Charlotte frowned. "What do you mean?"
"There's a ghost lurking in the Prefect's Bathroom on the fifth floor," Peeves explained. "Duncan Ashe, his name is. Terribly grumpy fellow, always moping about his unfinished business. He and Jacob used to be such good friends!"
Harry could see Charlotte's confusion. She'd never mentioned anyone named Duncan before, and from her expression, she had no idea who Peeves was talking about.
"Duncan absolutely despises your brother now," Peeves continued cheerfully. "Blames poor Jacob for all sorts of terrible things! It's made Duncan frightfully depressed, you see. Always floating around muttering about betrayal and explosions and whatnot."
"Explosions?" Charlotte asked sharply.
"Oh yes, there was quite the incident!" Peeves giggled, doing a loop around the chandelier again. "But that's neither here nor there! The point is, Duncan needs cheering up, and Peevesy has just the thing!"
The poltergeist reached into thin air and somehow produced a piece of parchment and a quill. "You, my dear Miss Whitewood, are going to write a lovely letter from your brother Jacob. A proper apology letter! Full of remorse and regret and promises to make amends for all the trouble he caused!"
Harry raised an eyebrow. That actually sounded... surprisingly thoughtful for Peeves.
Was the poltergeist actually trying to help his ghost friend feel better?
"But Jacob didn't do anything wrong," Charlotte protested. "He was trying to protect the school from the Cursed Vaults!"
"Ah, but Duncan doesn't see it that way!" Peeves said, waving the quill dramatically. "From Duncan's perspective, Jacob got him killed and then ran off to become some sort of feared dark wizard in Knockturn Alley!"
"Jacob's not a dark wizard!" Charlotte snapped.
"Maybe not," Peeves shrugged. "But Duncan is convinced he is! Poor ghost has been stewing in his own misery for years, convinced that Jacob betrayed him!"
Harry was starting to understand. Duncan had died because of something connected to the Cursed Vaults, and he blamed Jacob for it. But instead of Jacob being around to explain his side of the story, Duncan had been left with incomplete information and his own bitter assumptions.
A fake apology letter might actually help the ghost find some peace, even if it wasn't really from Jacob.
And this all assumed that Jacob really didn't end up becoming a dark wizard.
"So you want me to pretend to be Jacob and write an apology?" Charlotte asked slowly.
"Exactly!" Peeves clapped his hands together. "Tell him Jacob's sorry for everything, that he's turned over a new leaf, that he wants to make amends! Really lay it on thick! Duncan loves dramatic gestures!"
Chiara spoke up quietly from beside Harry. "It doesn't sound too harmful. And if it helps this Duncan ghost feel better..."
"We need to see that portrait," Penny added urgently. "For Beatrice."
Charlotte looked uncertain, but she took the parchment and quill from Peeves. "What exactly should I say? I don't even know what Jacob supposedly did to Duncan."
"Oh, just the usual!" Peeves waved dismissively. "Apologies for the betrayal, regret about the explosion, promises to stay away from dark magic and those terrible R people. Duncan will know what you're talking about!"
Everyone froze.
"Wait," Harry said sharply. "Did you just say R people?"
Charlotte's face paled as she dropped the quill. "Jacob was involved with R?"
Peeves blinked, suddenly looking confused as he hung upside down from thin air. "Was he? I don't know! Duncan's always muttering about this and that. Very hard to follow, that ghost. Always going on about explosions and betrayals and R this and R that!"
The poltergeist did a sideways flip and shrugged. "Peevesy doesn't pay much attention to Duncan's rambling, to be perfectly honest. Ghost talk is frightfully boring, too much doom and gloom!"
Tonks stepped forward urgently. "Peeves, this is important. What exactly did Duncan say about R?"
"Oh, I haven't the foggiest!" Peeves flailed his arms wildly. "Something about Jacob joining up with some nasty people? Or maybe it was Jacob fighting against some nasty people? Duncan mumbles so much, and Peevesy was usually busy with more important things!"
He produced a rubber chicken from nowhere and began juggling it with what appeared to be a collection of stolen inkwells.
"More important things like stealing inkwells?" Harry asked dryly.
"Exactly!" Peeves beamed, catching the rubber chicken and making it squeak loudly. "Much more entertaining than listening to a depressed ghost complain about his former friend!"
Harry facepalmed. They were so close to getting answers, but Peeves was being typically unhelpful about the details that actually mattered.
This was exactly why dealing with the poltergeist was always such a headache. Peeves had access to lots of information, but he never paid attention to the important parts. He was too busy causing chaos to actually listen to what people were saying around him.
And now they had this bombshell that Jacob might have been connected to R somehow, but Peeves couldn't tell them whether Jacob had been working with R or against them.
That was a pretty significant difference.
If Jacob had been working with R, then Charlotte's entire understanding of her brother would be shattered. She'd spent years believing he was trying to protect Hogwarts from the Cursed Vaults, but what if he'd actually been working with the people who opened those vaults in the first place?
On the other hand, if Jacob had been fighting against R, then maybe Duncan's anger was misdirected. Maybe Jacob had gotten involved in something dangerous while trying to stop R, and Duncan had gotten caught in the crossfire.
Either way, this Duncan ghost clearly had information they needed. Not just about the portrait curse, but about Jacob's true activities and his connection to R.
"We need to talk to Duncan," Charlotte said quietly. "If he knows something about Jacob and R..."
"Oh, you'll get your chance!" Peeves cackled, doing a barrel roll while still juggling. "But first, the letter! Duncan needs his apology before he'll be in any mood to chat about old times!"
Charlotte picked up the quill again, but her hand was trembling. "I don't know what to write. What if Jacob really was involved with R? What if everything I believed about him was wrong?"
Harry could see the fear in Charlotte's eyes.
She'd built her entire identity around being Jacob's sister, the one who would follow in his footsteps and solve the mystery of the Cursed Vaults.
If Jacob turned out to be one of the bad guys...
"Hey," Harry said gently, placing a hand on Charlotte's shoulder. "We don't know anything for certain yet. Peeves admitted he wasn't really listening to Duncan's complaints. Maybe Duncan is wrong about Jacob. Maybe Jacob was trying to infiltrate R to stop them."
Penny nodded eagerly. "Harry's right. We can't jump to conclusions based on the confused ramblings of a depressed ghost."
"Just write the letter," Chiara said softly. "We need to see that portrait to help Beatrice. Whatever the truth is about Jacob, we'll figure it out when we talk to Duncan properly."
Charlotte took a deep breath and started writing.
Dear Duncan,
I know this letter is long overdue, and I know words can't undo what happened. I'm sorry for everything that went wrong with the vaults. I'm sorry about the explosion, and I'm sorry you got hurt because of choices I made.
She paused, looking up at Peeves. "Is this the sort of thing you had in mind?"
"More groveling!" Peeves demanded, doing a somersault. "Duncan loves a good grovel! Really make Jacob sound pathetic and remorseful!"
Charlotte sighed and continued writing.
I know you probably think I've become some kind of dark wizard, but I haven't. I've been trying to stay away from all of that. No more R, no more dangerous magic, no more putting other people at risk.
I can't bring you back to life, and I can't undo the choices that led to your death. But I want you to know that I regret what happened every single day. You deserved better from me as a friend.
I hope someday you can find peace.
Jacob
"Perfect!" Peeves clapped his hands together, snatching the letter from Charlotte before the ink had even dried. "Duncan will absolutely love this! So dramatic, so full of guilt and regret!"
The poltergeist tucked the letter into his translucent shirt. "Now, off to the Prefect's Bathroom on the fifth floor! Peevesy will meet you there with Duncan in tow!"
"Wait," Tonks called out. "What are the other two pranks?"
"Oh, we'll figure those out later!" Peeves waved dismissively as he began floating toward the ceiling. "One thing at a time! Can't overwhelm poor Peevesy's tiny attention span!"
And with that, he phased through the stone ceiling and disappeared, leaving them standing in the Great Hall surrounded by scattered inkwells and one very confused rubber chicken.
"Well," Harry said after a moment. "That went about as well as I expected."