Chapter Text
Polly would very much like to know what she’d done in a past life to deserve this.
All she’d wanted was a quick stroll around the castle and a trip to the kitchens for a cuppa before bed, and also possibly for an acceptable date to the Yule Ball to materialize and present himself, but no. Instead she was trapped in a room on the third floor with the Weasley twins.
Though, she supposed there were worse people to be locked in with.
Malfoy for instance.
Or Snape.
And the twins had dragged her into the room, which had originally looked like an old workroom, to keep her from being caught by Filch so close to curfew, it wasn’t like they’d meant any harm in it.
But the moment they’d carefully shut the door, the room had shifted and rippled and then all of a sudden the door was gone, the workroom was gone, and they were all crowded in a cozy sitting room in front of a fire with two squashy couches that wouldn’t have been out of place in the Gryffindor common room.
The twins had both been startled into profanity by the sudden rearrangement of the room under their feet, but more troubling was the fact that there were no doors or windows and the fire in the grate was magical and smokeless. The chimney entirely for show.
There was no way out.
On the low table between the couches there was a stack of seven books bound in colourful dyed leather and embossed with gold titles.
The first few were thin but the stack grew progressively thicker and they all bore ominous titles.
Polly Potter and the Alchemist’s Stone. Polly Potter and the Prisoner’s Revenge. Polly Potter and the Liar’s Game.
None of that sounded good.
And on the very top of the stack was a simple piece of card stock folded in half and printed with instructions so simple and direct that even the thickest of gits would understand.
Read Me.
The twins had been more focussed on trying to find out what the room had done to the door, than it’s new contents.
George had almost immediately done something complicated that had covered the walls in a hovering tracery of fiery golden runes, and Fred had started right in on casting counter spells and revealing spells and anti-jinxes at the spot where the door had been, but despite being brilliant and inventive they weren’t having any luck either returning the door or making a new one.
Finally, George sighed and flicked his wand and the light in the room dimmed as the golden runes faded away.
“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said.
“Worst first, Georgie,” Fred said. “You know the rules.”
“There’s no way we’re getting out of here until the room lets us out,” George admitted. “I’m not sure Dumbledore himself could crack this rune scheme. It’s worse than ancient. I’m pretty sure there’s hieratic and some form of high elvish in that mess.”
“What about a good old-fashioned blasting curse?” suggested Fred.
“Wouldn’t recommend it Freddie, not unless you’re ready to shuffle off this mortal coil. It’s castle magic whatever it is.”
“What’s the good news?” Polly asked.
“We won’t need to pee in the corner and we won’t starve to death in the meantime,” George said brightly, pointing out the discreet archway in the back corner of the room that Polly hadn’t noticed.
“And this room can conjure food?”
“‘Course not, but that sideboard is enchanted the same way the house tables are, so the elves will feed us same as the rest of the castle.”
“Great. So all we have to worry about is dying of boredom then,” said Fred, dropping heavily onto the couch opposite her.
“I don’t think we have to worry about that either,” Polly said, handing him the notecard.
George leaned over the back of the couch to get a look.
“Read me,” he said. “Doesn’t get much clearer than that.”
On the table the first and thinnest book, Polly Potter and the Alchemist’s Stone, thunked off the top of the stack and flipped itself open.
A few of the pages rustled and turned in an invisible breeze and the book lay, pointedly open.
“I stand corrected,” George said after a long moment.
“We won’t be done this lot anytime soon,” Fred predicted. “That one’s thicker than Granger’s study guides.”
He tapped mustard yellow cover of the book titled Polly Potter and the Seer’s Weapon frowning.
“Any idea why the castle would want to lock us in a room with a bunch of books about you, Pols?” he asked.
Polly could only shrug.
“Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it has something to do with how my name ended up in the Goblet of Fire?”
“You think the castle entered you into a deadly tournament?” George said.
Polly shrugged again.
“It’s that or Moody’s theory, that someone’s trying to kill me.”
“Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound quite as ridiculous,” Fred said.
“We haven’t been able to figure out who entered me, or why,” she said. “Maybe the answer is somewhere in these books.”
The twins shared a glance.
“Well, it’s not like the castle hasn’t made itself inescapably clear,” Fred said. “We’re not getting out until we’ve finished—”
“—so we’d better crack on,” George finished, rolling up his sleeves with some flair and making a complicated wand motion over the book.
The book shivered like a horse shaking off flies and began to hover a bit above the table.
“What did you do?” Polly asked, leaning over to peer at the book more closely.
On the page the title of the book was glowing faintly purple-blue.
“Read-Along Charm,” George said, tucking his wand away. “M’not as good at them as Bill, but I’m not awful. Now the book will read itself and even do the voices as best as it can.”
“I’ve never heard of that spell,” Polly said.
“It’s not very difficult,” George said. “You can even use it on your textbooks. I’ll teach you, once we make it out of here.”
“Please,” Polly said.
“Shhh!” hissed Fred dramatically like they were talking in the back of the cinema. He’d stretched himself out on the far couch with his feet propped up on the arm and George flicked his head as he passed to take a seat on the couch next to Polly.
They fell quiet and, in a pleasant male voice similar to George’s, the book began to read:
Polly Potter and the Alchemist’s Stone by the Room of Requirement…