"Be nice or I won't tell you what I found."

        "It better be good," said Ralph.

        "It's not," Zane sighed. "The girls' quarters have big wooden wardrobes alongside each bed. Only one of them was open, but I got a peek inside. Let's just say I'm not wondering where Tabitha keeps her broom anymore."

        They reached a larger door at the end of a flight of miniscule stairs. James pushed it open, thankful to be out of the heat and noise of the washrooms. "What do you mean?"

        "Well, they're magical wardrobes, of course, although they don't lead to any fairy wonderlands. The one I looked into looked like a combination vanity and walk-in closet. Seemed like a boutique had exploded in there, to tell you the truth. One of those really froofy ones, but with a gothic-vampire flair to it. There was a bottle of vanishing cream on the vanity, and from the looks of it, I don't think the vanishing part was a metaphor."

        "All the girls have a wardrobe like that?" Ralph asked.

        "Sure looked like it."

        James frowned. "Our chances of getting into the Slytherin girls' quarters again are pretty much zero. And even if we could, how would we even know which wardrobe was Corsica's, much less even get it open?"

        "I told you this was going to be right impossible," Ralph reminded James.

        "Smelled like my grandma's dresser in there, too," Zane said.

"Will you let off with the details?" James exclaimed. "This is serious. We still don't know where the Hall of Elder's Crossing is or when Jackson and Delacroix are planning to bring the elements together. For all we know, it could be tonight."

        "So?" Ralph said. "Like you said, they can't do anything without all the relics."

        Zane sighed, turning sober. "Yeah, but if they try it and nothing works, then they'll hide the rest of the relics and we'll never get to them."

        Ralph threw up his hands. "Well? There's got to be another way, then. I mean, she has to take the broom out of her wardrobe sometimes, right? We saw her with it today. What if we nick it somehow during a Quidditch match or something?"

Zane grinned. "I like that. Especially if we can do it when she's a hundred feet or so in the air."

        "Impossible again," James said in frustration. "Ever since my dad's day, there've been protective spells all around the pitch to keep people from interfering with matches. There were a few instances where dark wizards tried to use spells to hurt him or throw him off his broom. Once, a bunch of Dementors swarmed right onto the pitch. Ever since, there've been boundary areas set up by the officials. No spells can get in or out."

        "What's a Dementor?" Ralph asked, his eyes widening.

        "You don't want to know, Ralph. Trust me."

        "Well, then, looks like we're back to square one," Zane said dourly. "I'm all out of ideas."

        Ralph stopped suddenly in the middle of the corridor. Zane bumped into the larger boy, stumbling backwards, but Ralph didn't seem to notice. He was staring hard at one of the paintings lining the corridor. James noticed it was the one they had stopped at earlier to ask for directions to the laundry room. The very observant servant in the rear corner of the painting had caught James' attention on the way down, but only as someone they could get directions from. James had become almost inured to the random, watchful characters in the paintings all over Hogwarts. The servant stared sullenly out at Ralph as the knights in the painting hoisted their tankards and turkey drumsticks, slapping each other happily on their partially armored backs.

        "Oh, great," Zane said, rubbing his shoulder where he'd run into Ralph. "Look what you've done, James. Now Ralph's obsessed with every fifteenth painting. And not even the good ones, if you ask me. You two are the weirdest art lovers I've ever met."

        James took a step closer to the painting as well, studying the servant standing in the shadowy background with a large cloth over his shoulder. The figure took a half-step backward, and James felt sure that it was trying to blend further into the dim recesses of the painted hall. "What, Ralph?" he asked.

        "I've seen that before," Ralph answered in a distracted voice.

        "Well, we just stopped at this painting not ten minutes ago, didn't we?"

        "Yeah. It looked familiar then, too, but I couldn't place it. He's standing different now…"

        Ralph suddenly dropped to one knee, flinging his backpack onto the floor in front of him. He unzipped it quickly and dug inside, almost frantically, as if worried that whatever inspiration had struck him would flee before he could confirm it. He finally produced a book, gripped it triumphantly, and stood up again, riffling toward the back. Zane and James crowded behind him, trying to see over Ralph's broad shoulders. James recognized the book. It was the antique potions book his mum and dad had given Ralph for Christmas. As Ralph flipped through the pages, James could see the notes and formulae that crowded the margins, crammed alongside doodled drawings and diagrams. Suddenly, Ralph stopped flipping. He held the book open with both hands and slowly raised it so that it was level to the observant servant in the background of the painting. James gasped.

        "It's the same dude!" Zane said, pointing.

        Sure enough, there, in the right-hand margin of one of the last pages of the potions book, was an old pencil sketch of the observant servant. It was unmistakably the same figure, right down to the hook nose and the sullen, stooped pose. The painted version recoiled from the book slightly, and then crossed the hall as swiftly as it could without actually running. It stopped behind one of the pillars lining the opposite side of the painted hall. The knights at the table ignored it. James, watching intently, narrowed his eyes.

        "I knew it looked familiar," Ralph said triumphantly. "He was in a different position when we first came across him, so I didn't place it straight off. Just now, though, he was in exactly the same pose as the drawing in this book. Now, that is weird."

        "Can I see?" James asked. Ralph shrugged and handed the book to James. James bent over it, flipping back to the front of the book. The margins in the first hundred pages were filled mostly with notes and spells, many with sections scribbled out and rewritten in a different color, as if the writer of the notes was refining his work. By the middle of the book, though, drawings and doodles began to crowd in with the notes. They were sketchy, but quite good. James recognized many of them. Here was a rough sketch of the woman in the background of the painting of the king's court. A few pages later he found two quite detailed drawings of the fat wizard with the bald head from the painting of the poisoning of Peracles. Again and again, he recognized the sketches as the characters in the paintings all over Hogwarts, the secondary figures who'd been watching James and his friends with avid, unconcealed interest.