The Lost Chamber

The corridor took them around several sharp corners, and even down a cramped spiral staircase, but finally they came to another stone door. This one melted into the ground before them, revealing a curious octagonal room.

The room’s size and shape, plus two small windows, seemed to indicate they were in one of the towers – though that was spatially impossible, from Harry’s knowledge of the school. The walls were lined with bookcases filled with dusty tomes, glass cabinets filled with all manner of ingredients, and cupboards presumably containing equipment. Most curious of all, however, was the king-sized four-poster bed in the middle, which appeared to have been freshly made.

“Ooh, new visitors!”

Harry looked up, surprised, to see a painting peering at them from the opposite side of the room. The first thing he noticed was that she was stark naked and fully exposed, and he quickly averted his eyes.

“Honestly,” huffed Hermione. “Could you put some clothes on?”

“Afraid not,” came the cheerful reply. “I wasn’t painted with any. And please, it’s considered polite to look at someone when you’re talking with them.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, who shrugged helplessly. Taking a breath, he looked up at the painting.

She was a stunning woman, in her early twenties at a guess. Maybe part veela. Locks of gorgeous gold hair framed a flawless, symmetric face, and startling blue eyes. Whenever she moved, it seemed to be merely a transition between one erotic pose and the next, showing off her incandescent form. Beneath large, perky breasts, her abdomen curved down to a trim, muscular stomach, before flaring out to shapely hips, and a round, soft butt. Her pink pussy was bare and dripping.

“There, that’s better.” The woman gave them a dazzling smile, displaying perfect, pearly white teeth. “Welcome to my home! This has been a very exciting decade for me. First two girls, Lavender Brown and Daphne Greengrass, and now you two lovers! And you are?”

“We’re not lovers,” said Harry quickly.

“Oh,” grinned the painting airily. “I suppose the guarding enchantments must have worn off.” She gave them a sly, knowing wink.

“Who are you?” questioned Hermione. “What do you know about this place?”

“Oh, me?” The blonde tossed back her hair, thrusting forwards her bared chest and smiling confidently at them. “I’m Heather Ophelia Goodheart – or a memory of her. The HOG in Hogwarts.”

“The founders named the school after your… warts?” puzzled Harry.

“Goodness, no,” laughed Heather. Her voice was more beautiful, more musical, than even the mermaids’ underwater. “This institution is the Wizarding Appreciation and Re-education Trust School dedicated to me! Thus, the acronym HOGWARTS. Or at least, that’s how it started.”

Hermione was shaking her head, chortling with amusement. “No, that’s totally wrong. Hogwarts: A History clearly states the school was named after –”

“My dear, one of us was there, and one of us was not.”

“Oh?” Hermione put a hand on her hip. “Why would the founders dedicate the school to you?”

“Because I fucked every one of them,” smirked Heather. Hermione opened her mouth, and closed it again. “You two are Gryffindors, if I am correct? Excellent. I did always like Godric – such fire, such passion!”

“All of them?” repeated Hermione, whilst Harry tried to imagine completely reinventing his understanding of the most respected wizarding school in the world.

“Helga always tried the hardest,” recounted the painted woman, “which more than made up for her other… shortcomings. Rowena was feisty, and very, very good at whatever she wanted to do. And Salazar… though somewhat intent on his own satisfaction, he was rather well-endowed. But enough about me – who are you?”

Harry couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from Heather’s body. “I’m Harry, and this is Hermione.”

“Oh marvellous – three H’s!”

“Snap out of it, Harry!” chided his friend. “Do you feel how heavy the air is? There’s magic in this place. Strong, ancient magic. We need to be focused and efficient – this place is dangerous. Let’s start with the bed.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” murmured Harry, stepping forwards and drawing his wand. “Bombarda!”

The bedframe shattered into a thousand pieces, one somehow flying back at them. Hermione’s quick protection spell deflected it to disintegrate against the wall.

Heather sighed. “Now why would you have to do that? The bed never did anything to you!”

She seemed curiously unconcerned by the destruction littering the room, and they soon found out why. Even before the many fragments had settled, they began to rise through the air, and piece themselves back together.

“Finite incantatum!” tried Hermione, to no effect. “Incendio!” The mattress caught fire as it was re-stuffing itself, but the flames diminished to nothing within seconds, the remaining black scorch mark shrinking and vanishing after them.

“There must be protective enchantments over this entire room,” realised Hermione. “Look.” Walking to a bookshelf, she tugged at one of the spines. It refused to budge an inch. Harry tried one of the glass cabinets, to the same effect. He drew out his wand, preparing a spell.

“Harry, wait –”

“Finestra!”

His spell ricocheted off the glass, and proceeded to wildly bounce around the room. Harry barely had time to register what had happened, when the bolt connected with his glasses, turning one of its lenses to dust.

“Oculus Reparo,” sighed Hermione, with a slight smile. The silicon dust re-formed itself into glass, and inserted itself back into its frame. “I was trying to say, the whole room is protected by magic – old magic, far too strong for us to break.”

“Got it,” sighed the wizard. “Come on, Mione, surely you’ve got an idea.”

The young brunette gave a frustrated groan. “I don’t know! I don’t want to try any stronger spells, in case they backfire!”