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Funny that it should be on Baker Street, she thought, the place where all good mysteries started.
Wizards had invented their own entrances into many Muggle buildings. There was the famous one onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters, there was the old telephone booth that still served as an elevator into the ministry of magic, and there were numerous others that were recorded in all the good guide books. For some it seemed to be a kind of game to find a clever way to disguise the true purpose of a place and keep it perfectly normal for those who didn't need to enter. Knock three times on a wall, tap your wand on the lid of a dustbin, or in the case of the museum of wax statues, stop in front of the figure of the current monarch and mention King James the First. What fun had that been years ago, when she stood there with Minerva one summer and only whispered "I wonder if King James was the only king who went to Hogwarts." And then poof, a vague shadow appeared on the wall in the distance and they walked right through it.
Now though, now there was a new passage. And she hoped that it wasn't a trick from the famous Weasley twins. Where else but in the Chamber of Horror could one safely place a trap or play a magical joke on the audience when half of them wouldn't notice? It was a dark room full of sounds and sinister music. There were many screaming ghosts and scary-looking criminals. After a display about Jack the Ripper and half a dozen pale wax hands and other limbs popping in and out of view there was the somewhat tacky installation about Jeanne d'Arc. There was mostly the sound of burning flames and a priest or monk muttering something in Latin. Once that was well under way, she accidentally found the two tiles she was supposed to step on.
Apparently, this was where it would happen. After years of experience with vanishing doors and walls, with voices out of nowhere and all kinds of passwords, this was a bit of a let-down. The noise fell away and the hall seemed suddenly empty. All she could hear was the dripping of water from a corner in the ceiling and the soft meow of a cat. What in the world would be the reason for someone to hide the wax statues of wizards in a place that felt as damp and empty as an unused dungeon at Hogwarts? And besides, where were all those statues? All she could see was a mirror reflecting her own image and a tabby cat sitting on a sculpted pillar. Once it jumped down she looked at it, expecting the familiar popping sound.
"Where could we have found the time to pose for someone to make statues of us to put in here for all the world to see?" She wondered out loud.
"I think that's beside the point," said Minerva's voice opposite her, "we'll first have to ask ourselves what we've done to possibly deserve to stand here."
Now that they had started talking, several figures had come into view. As with the chocolate frog cards, she started looking for familiar faces.
"Well, we don't need to have died first," she said finally. "See, there's Hagrid for one, and Victor Krumm in that corner, and, oh, good heavens!"
The sensation must have been rather odd. To be living and breathing and walking inside this hall and find a still body sitting on a chair with almost the same complexion and haircut. A silver plaque read "Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration and Headmistress of Hogwarts."
"That was all I needed to do," Minerva said wryly.
"Does the audience need to remember that you commanded half the castle itself to fight off those Death Eaters?" asked Hooch. "And even so, it's a lot more than merely teaching people how to fly."
"Which got Potter into our Quidditch team and in and out of more than half of his adventures," said Minerva.
"I was that good," Hooch laughed. "I won't forget what you said back then, "if you can teach Longbottom how to fly you'll have a place in the trophy room."
"That," Minerva sighed," 'was a fine example of my bad judgment." She walked past her own statue. "There's a line from you I will never forget: you have too much impatience with people who don't understand things as quickly as you did when you were still in school."
"How well do we actually know each other?" asked Minerva.
"Well enough to come here together and help me," said a voice behind them. Madam Hooch turned around and looked at the wall where she found a small portrait of a smiling woman.
"Aha," she whispered, "Madame Tussaud, the woman who founded this museum." The woman in the portrait nodded.
Minerva looked amazed. "How can that be? A magical portrait, and she's a Muggle!"
"One of only a few," said the portrait, "and I do need your help or I wouldn't have started talking at all." The two witches cleared their throats.
"You admire these statues?" asked the portrait. Minerva and Hooch both nodded. "All of them," said Hooch, "Also the regular ones."
"Well," said the portrait, "there is room for more here."
"Of course," said Minerva. If there was one thing wizards could do it was reshaping a building to house anything they wanted.
"There have been people in this last war of yours," said the woman, "heroes, if you want to call them that. Perhaps you can tell me about a few of them?"
Minerva was still astonished. It started to feel like they were given a lesson.
"Well, there's Harry of course," Hooch started hesitantly, but the portrait sniffed. "And Hermione and Ron."
"Well, let's mention the entire Weasley family for that matter," Minerva added.
"How about the Order," said Hooch, "Sirius, Remus, or Tonks,"
"And what of young Malfoy?" said the portrait at once? "Or Severus Snape?"
"What?" asked Minerva.
"Or Regulus Black? Or Tom Riddle?"
"No, not him," Minerva cried.
"Why not?" asked the portrait. "What was wrong with him when he was sixteen? He was a brilliant student before things went downhill."
Minerva bowed her head. "It's all we need to remember. It's why I started making my statues in the first place, to have a memory of what once was." And she pointed at the farthest corner, which held a small fountain not unlike the one in the Ministry of Magic. This one however, was surrounded by four people wearing formal robes.
"Yes, we do honour the founders," said Hooch, "all four of them." The portrait nodded.
"And we will do more so by giving the world an impression of those who somehow shaped it, be it Mr. Potter or his enemy."
Again the two witches cleared their throats and looked away. "Well, we have a plan," said Madam Hooch at once. "Not an easy task but something we'll find enough time for."
"Agreed," said Minerva, and they shook hands.
The portrait now positively beamed. The woman slid towards the frame and waved at them. "Good luck!" she said before she disappeared.