Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 27:3

The headmaster could see a flicker of confusion on their faces.

"Yes, come out with it," he offered. "As I said, in lieu of a reward or house points, I am providing answers. If you have questions, ask them."

"So...er...Aruzula isn't one of those veela things or something?" Fred asked, verbalizing the thought on their minds. "She's really...just...paint?"

Dumbledore sipped a long breath before answering. "That is difficult to say. Quite difficult. As an enchanted portrait, Aruzula is the extracted essence of the young witch she had been painted to represent, as you were taught by Professor Quirrell. But in the time since leaving her portrait, she aged and has become unhindered in her abilities to perform very intricate magic. Indeed, this is a question which requires a profound level of contemplation. I will, as they say, mull it over. As for now, you can feel confident in the knowledge that time is running out for Aruzula Darc. She will return to a painted state after several years, even if she has somehow learned to extend beyond the allotted time through the use of Black Magic. Without a replacement into the painting, which we possess, I am confident that she will, one day, resurface out of desperation."

"If there are protections on this castle," George began, glancing out the window at the distant rooftops of Hogsmeade, "how was Aruzula able to come and go as she pleased without being detected? Is it because her painting was given access centuries ago?"

"That is correct."

"What was all that about Hagrid's expulsion, sir?" Fred asked, his forehead creased. "The Chamber of Secrets? Slytherin's monster? And Professor Mulligan was petrified! Did Aruzula have anything to do with it? Was that boy telling her the truth? Was Hagrid to blame?"

Dumbledore raised a serious hand to silence the onslaught of questions.

"All of these concerns I will now come to expect from minds such as yours...but I fear we must save that discussion for another time."

"At least tell us about that boy from Slug Club," George pressed. "Tom Riddle."

They watched in earnest as Dumbledore's expression changed dramatically. He was clearly troubled as he shifted in place, his head bobbing freely on his neck. It was as if he were, at that moment, back inside the Pensieve, viewing an entire life of difficult memories.

"Tom Riddle...a name I have not heard in some time," he began, his soft voice teeming with emotions. "That, dear boys, was Lord Voldemort."

Fred and George gasped, their mouths gaping in utter shock.

"Professor Dumbledore...you —"

"— you named him."

"Indeed, I did. You witnessed for yourself. He was once a pupil of mine, and someone I took pride in nurturing since before his arrival to Hogwarts," said Dumbledore regrettably. "I speak his self-serving title unafraid, for it is nothing but words. And while we understand that words hold great power, the power in fact to cast incantations and transfigure the very world in which we inhabit, some words are meant to invoke a power that does not exist. Fear, boys, is not an enchantment. It is a choice. One I have made, in this case, without difficulty. The name does not deserve the emotion it seeks to draw from me."

"Do you think he — You-Know-Who, I mean — had anything to do with this?" asked Fred apprehensively.

"For the first time, I am unaware of his involvement in these, or any related, matters." Dumbledore broke, glancing up at the twins. "As well as your own," he concluded with a smirk. "Suffice it to say...you, Fred and George Weasley, are now a part of something much greater than yourselves. How great, we have yet to see."