Brian Hendrickson Normal Brian Hendrickson 15 1650 2002-04-19T09:13:00Z 2003-09-05T06:14:00Z 14 5010 28562 238 57 35076 9.3821 Normal
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to Haggridd for his most excellent Beta skills and steadfast moral support.
"HARRY POTTER AND THE PICTURE OF INNOCENCE"
(Chapter Two)
"A Bird In A Gilded Cage"
"Ron, darling? Is that you?"
"It's all right, luv! I'm here!" Ron Weasley closed the door to the abandoned classroom. "I'm sorry I took so long. Harry and Hermione tried to follow me. I think I was able to discourage them."
"Oh, Ron! You're so clever!" the girl sighed.
"It was nothing!"
*****
"Harry…?" echoed a desperate voice from far, far away. "Can you hear me? You've got to wake up, Harry!" The voice seemed to grow nearer. Something warm and wet was dripping onto his face. Eventually things began to come into focus. Harry was lying with his head cradled in Hermione's lap, her tears falling on his cheeks.
"Hermione? My head hurts."
"Just be thankful it's still attached to your body, you great stupid twit!" Hermione sobbed as she pulled him close and hugged him as tightly as she could, careful not to touch any of the four or five "goose-eggs" she'd discovered on the back of his head. "What was the idea, taking all the blows yourself?"
"Protecting you seemed like a good idea at the time," he said with a weak smile.
"You and your over-developed sense of chivalry!"
"If you feel that strongly about it, by all means, next time you can take the lumps."
"You stubborn, thick headed…!" Not knowing what else to do, she hugged him once more and kissed him several times for good measure. After a few minutes, she had managed to stop crying. By then Harry could lift his head without feeling like he was going to throw up. With a little help from Hermione he managed to pull himself into a sitting position and took a look around. "I suppose we lost Ron?"
"I hope you didn't expect me leave you lying here and go chasing after him?"
"Believe me," Harry murmured as he kissed her cheek, "I wasn't complaining,"
The Invisibility Cloak lay cast aside on the floor next to them, covered by splashes of paint in a wide variety of fun and decorative colors. Harry fancied it looked like a tie-dyed t-shirt from the '60s. Dozens of empty paint cans had rolled around the corridor in every direction. Harry ran his finger along the floor, picking up some of the flour that Ron had spread in their path. Between their footprints and the trail the Invisibility Cloak had left as it dragged the floor, a blind man could've followed their movements. Once they were in the right spot, Ron had simply to pull a rope and drop the cans right their heads.
"A booby trap!" Harry said, disgusted with himself. "A simple Muggle trick! And I walked right into it!"
"He knew we'd both be on guard for a magical attack."
"But why attack us at all-Unless he really was the one who waylaid Professor Snape?"
"Ron's done some pretty bone-headed things in his day," Hermione said shaking her head, "But I still can't believe that he'd attack a teacher-even if he had a good reason-"
"That's what worries me. He may actually think he has a good reason. You heard what he said, 'The most important thing I've ever done in my life!' That's when people are the most dangerous, when they're convinced their cause is just and God is on their side! It becomes a whole lot easier for the ends to justify the means." Harry gently took Hermione's face in his hands. "I know how far I'd go to protect someone I cared about."
"Harry," Hermione said nervously, "You're frightening me."
"I meant to." Though Harry's voice was grim, his touch was gentle and he gave her a kiss for reassurance. As Hermione helped him to his feet, something caught Harry's eye just across the hallway. Evidently, Ron's little flour trick had backfired on him. His own tracks were also clearly visible. "Maybe we can still pick up his trail!"
"Oh no you don't Harry Potter!" Harry's knees began to wobble. Hermione quickly maneuvered herself under his arm where she could support his weight. "I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey. I can manage a few basic First Aid spells, but concussions and skull fractures are a little out of my league! We can pick up his trail in the morning." Harry's head hurt too much to argue.
As they headed back the way they came, Harry remembered something. "Hermione? Was I hallucinating or did I hear Draco Malfoy's voice just before I blacked out?"
"I wish you had been hallucinating," she said, fighting back a chill.
"Ron working together with Malfoy?" Harry shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Ron doesn't even like to breathe the same oxygen as Malfoy…" It was then that Draco's lackeys Crabbe and Goyle appeared from the shifting staircase gallery at the far end of the hallway.
"Speak of the devil-or at least his minions," Hermione muttered.
"Oy! Potter! Granger! Where's Draco?" Crabbe demanded. His pudgy features were squashed in an unaccustomed look of worry.
"Committing unnatural acts with flobberworms, for all I care," said Harry, rubbing his head. "What in Merlin's name makes you think he's with us?"
"We followed 'im up here," Goyle growled. "Now what've you done with 'im?"
Harry looked at Hermione."If we'd known they were coming we could have let them go first,"
"In World War One they used to drive sheep across mine fields," Hermione pointed out.
"'Struth!" Crabbe face looked as though he'd stepped in a pile of dragon poop. In fact, he was standing in a puddle of wet paint. It was only now that he and Goyle noticed the empty cans strewn all over the hallway. "What's all this, then?"
"Haven't you heard?" Hermione shook her head sadly. "We're redecorating! Hogwarts is going condo! Better get your bid in before they're all gone!" She started walking Harry towards the stairs muttering under her breath, "Stupid git…!"
"What's she on about?" Crabbe tilted his head like a dog befuddled by its reflection in a mirror. Their confusion turned to anger when they noticed that Harry and Hermione were leaving.
"'Ere! You two ain't goin' nowhere!" Goyle grabbed Hermione's arm. With a sigh of resignation, she drew her wand.
"Absconde obesito illegitimo!" Goyle felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach by a troll. Knocked off his feet, he sailed through the air and landed thirty feet down the hall. Crabbe fumbled through the pockets of his robes for his own wand. Once out of his pocket, it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. He dropped to his knees to retrieve it, only to look up and find himself staring at the "business end" of Hermione's wand.
"Go ahead, Crabbe," she said with a wicked smile, "Make my day." Crabbe put up his hands and backed against the wall. "I'm taking Harry to the Infirmary. Anyone who gets in my way spends the rest of his life as a garden gnome."
We have got to stop showing her American movies, Harry thought.
*****
"You're a very lucky young man, Master Potter," Madam Pomfrey noted as she examined Harry's aching noggin in the Hospital Wing, "There doesn't appear to be anything broken, and you don't appear to have suffered a concussion."
"It's just his head," Hermione shrugged, "It's not as if it was anything important." When the nurse wasn't looking, Harry stuck his tongue out at Hermione, who gleefully returned the gesture.
"Well, in future try to keep it away from collapsing bookshelves." As she got up to go to the Dispensary, Harry shot Hermione a "What is she talking about?" look. She raised a finger to her lips as Madam Pomfrey returned with a jar of a noxious looking greenish-purple substance, which she began to apply liberally to the lumps on his head and the bruises on his back. The smell was not altogether unpleasant, though it did remind him a little of the odor of stale Froot Loops. After a minute or two of stinging, the pain began to ease. Getting to his feet, Harry nodded to the adjacent bed. "How's Professor Snape?"
Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "No change, I'm afraid-and no one's been able to get into his ingredients stores to find out if anything's missing. He put an enchantment on his stores and his inventory list. Professor Dumbledore has called in the Potions Master from Beauxbatons for help."
Harry idly examined the items Madam Lenore had been checking earlier for psychic impressions. Her cryptic recitations all seemed to point the finger at Harry's best friend, Ron Weasley, but Harry seemed to be the only one who understood them.
Harry noticed a piece of parchment and picked it up. The handwriting looked very familiar:
Severus,
You know I wouldn't write to you unless it was of the utmost importance. My sources at Hogwarts tell me that you have managed to track down Gwendolyn after all these years. As much as we all cared for her, I thought we all agreed that there was nothing any of us could do. The price was simply too great. I should have known that you wouldn't give up so easily.
I know that we'll never be friends, Severus, but you must know that I ask this for your own good.
Abandon this folly before it's too late!
Padfoot
"They found that in his pocket," the nurse told him. "But nobody knows who this 'Padfoot' is or what the note means."
Padfoot! Sirius Black's nickname among the Marauders! Could Harry's Godfather be mixed up in this business? There was certainly no love lost between him and Professor Snape-but would Sirius actually try to harm him? Who was Gwendolyn? Could she be the gorgeous blonde with the beautiful singing voice that Snape mentioned? What was Snape up to? He was acting almost as suspicious as Ron these days. Could their strange behaviors somehow be connected? How in blazes was Malfoy involved? Harry's head hurt too much to ponder the questions any further.
.
"Say," Harry suddenly remembered as Hermione walked him back to Gryffindor tower, "What was all that about collapsing bookshelves?"
"I had to tell her something." Hermione blushed. "I said you were helping me rearrange my bookshelves when one collapsed on you."
"If one of your bookshelves had collapsed on me," Harry grinned, "they'd be serving me for breakfast with butter and syrup."
They could smell them even before they could see them. Hermione was just about to punch Harry in the arm when they became aware of the odor. Crabbe and Goyle were covered head to toe in muck and garbage as though they'd been wallowing in one of Hagrid's compost heaps. The cuts and bruises all over their hands and faces suggested they'd had a very interesting evening indeed.
"What happened to you two?" Hermione said when she was finally able to speak.
Goyle was still in shock. "It was Draco. We was followin' 'im!"
"-and 'e led us right into a trap door!" Crabbe continued.
"-out onto the rubbish dump!"
"'E's gone bonkers!"
"It's like 'e don't even know us no more!"
"Doesn't sound so crazy to me," Harry said breathing in shallow breaths so as not to smell the two any more than he had to, "We've been trying to pretend we don't know you for the last five years!"
"'Ere," growled Crabbe, "What're you tryin' to say, Potter?"
"Look," Hermione interrupted before any further insults could be traded, "We're all tired and sore and we've been up most of the night! I'm taking Harry to bed-" she pushed on before any naughty insinuations could be made-"He's been hurt and he needs to rest! Now, you two go get cleaned up and let Madam Pomfrey have a look at you. We'll all meet at lunch to plan our next move. "
"Our next move?" Harry, Crabbe and Goyle said in unison.
Hermione folded her arms impatiently. "You want to know why Draco's acting so strange. We want to find out what's going on with Ron Weasley. I'm betting that if we solve one mystery, we'll solve them both."
"You mean, join forces?" Crabbe eyed her suspiciously and then looked over at his partner who gave a helpless shrug.
"What choice have we got," Goyle asked.
Crabbe turned to back Hermione. "All right. We're in."
"Fine. Meet us in the Great Hall at lunchtime."
"Nice to be working with you," said Harry, with all the enthusiasm of his cousin Dudley contemplating a diet.
Hermione walked Harry back to the boys' dormitory and with the Weasley twins' help, snuck inside long enough to say a "proper Good Night." With a little bit of sweet-talk, she'd also managed to get Madam Pomfrey to excuse Harry and herself from their morning classes. She would have preferred to stay with Harry herself to make sure that he was okay. She would've preferred it even more if the Invisibility Cloak wasn't out of action and she could've had a nice "lie-in" with him. She had to content herself with asking Fred and George Weasley to check in on him between classes, and sleeping late in her own bed.
"'Morning, Sunshine!" said Fred Weasley a little too cheerfully for Harry's still-throbbing head. A glance at the big grandfather's clock told Harry it was eleven forty-five. A quick feel of the back of his head told him that his lumps were still there, but drastically reduced in size. Harry looked over at Ron's bed. It was exactly as Ron had left it the night before with the covers pulled back.
"He didn't come back this morning," Fred informed him, "Do you know what's gotten into him, Harry?"
"That's what Hermione and I were trying to find out last night. Whatever it is, Ron seems to think it's important enough to risk getting chucked out of Hogwarts." Fred sat down on the bed next to him.
"Normally, George and I wouldn't be bothered," Fred said with a wry smile, "It's no skin off our nose if he never comes back--more for us at the dinner table-but Mum and Dad seem to have grown attached to him for some reason."
"He kind of grows on you after a while," said Harry grinning.
"If you say so." Fred shrugged, half grinning himself. "Is it true what they're saying, Harry? Do they really think Ron attacked old Snape?"
"He's definitely a suspect."
"Never would've thought the little wanker had it in him."
Harry thought he detected a hint of newfound respect in Fred's voice.
"But then again, so is Malfoy," Harry pointed out.
"Malfoy?" Fred's eyes narrowed. "How is 'His Highness' mixed up in all this?"
"You tell me," sighed Harry, "and we'll both know." The feud between the Weasleys and the Malfoys had raged at Hogwarts for as long as anyone could remember. Over the years it had assumed legendary status rivaling the Hatfields and the McCoys. One version of the legend said the whole thing began when best friends Brutus Malfoy and Merriweather Weasley came to blows over a certain Miss Abigail Tish.[1] At that time it was the Weasleys who had the money and the position and the Malfoys who were poor as church mice. Brutus Malfoy is supposed to have sworn revenge for this and many other real or imagined slights, vowing to destroy the Weasleys once and for all, but after nearly three hundred years, the best they had been able to do was reduce their circumstances to a kind of comfortable poverty.
Fred looked around to make sure they were alone. "Have you got the…" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "… 'You Know What' handy?"
Harry nodded and got up. Rummaging around his trunk, he came across a folded piece of old parchment. Harry handed it to Fred, who took out his wand.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" Fred declared. The Marauder's Map, that marvelous aid to Hogwarts mischief-makers since the days of Harry's father, came to life. Tiny ink lines spread out over the parchment's surface to form a detailed map of Hogwarts Castle. For some reason, after the incident at the Shrieking Shack, Dumbledore had never bothered to confiscate either the map or his father's Invisibility Cloak. Somehow, they'd managed to find their way to Harry. There were days when Harry began to suspect that old Dumbledore was simply using him to do his dirty work.
"'Ere!" Fred suddenly clamped a hand over his own mouth.
"What is it?"
"NOTHING, HARRY," Fred said very loudly, then put a finger to his lips, "I JUST GOT A CRAMP IN MY LEG, THAT'S ALL! I KIND OF OVERDID IT AT QUIDDITCH PRACTICE THIS MORNING!" Fred pointed to the map, his finger indicating their present location at the Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory. Two dots labeled F. Weasley and H. Potter were sitting on the approximate site of Harry's bed. Just a few centimeters away in the area marked Boys' Showers was a third dot labeled R. Weasley.
Wands drawn, Harry and Fred stealthily made their way into the showers. They searched every inch of the place, even checking for loose tiles that might indicate a secret passage, but there was no sign of any passage-or Ron.
"Nothing!" said Fred in frustration. "Has he got your Invisibility Cloak, by any chance?"
Harry shook his head sadly, "It's covered in paint. Right now it looks like a Jackson Pollock painting."
"I should've known. If there were any secret passages behind the boys' showers, George and I would've found them by now-just in the hope that they might lead to the girls' showers!" Fred took another look at the map. "Hang on! Something's wrong here…" He showed it to Harry. "See? It's got old Professor Pepperwinkle in the staff lounge. He left for Ireland last week to study the mating rituals of the Mountain Leprechauns."
Fred aimed his wand at the map
"Accelerati, retractus!" The tiny dots on the map began moving at high speed. "You can make the map go backwards and review people's movements. It's handy in case you want to find out where someone's been or if you get lost and need to retrace your steps." Fred nodded, his hunch confirmed. "See…? All the dots keep moving in the same patterns, like a loop of recording tape that's being played over and over." It reminded Harry of an old Pac Man video game that Dudley used to have.
Harry followed him back out into the dormitory. Fred held the map up to the light from the window and examined it closely.
"I was afraid of that. The watermark is all wrong; the real Marauder's Map is on Reedum N. Weape® stationery from Hogsmeade. They went out of business about the time Dad graduated from Hogwarts. This is Handova-DeLute® parchment from Diagon Alley. They've only been around a few years."
"A fake…" Harry shook his head. "Ron's a better wizard than any of us thought, if he could conjure up a fake this good."
******
"How are you feeling?" Hermione inquired as Harry and Fred entered the Great Hall for lunch. Harry could see the considerable effort she was putting into not making a scene in front of the entire school.
"Much better." He reached out and took hold of her waist, signaling that it he wouldn't be too embarrassed if she gave him a hug. At least she was careful to avoid hitting any of his sore spots. He buried his face in her hair. "This is the medicine I really needed," he said softly into her ear.
Harry looked up. There were getting more than a few stares. His eyes raked the crowd as if to say, what are you lot gawking at? As if on a common swivel, every head turned back to its own conversation.
"Awwwwwww," Fred cooed, "Aren't the love birds cuuuuuuute!"
"Don't you have to go alphabetize your whoopee cushions or something, George?" Hermione hinted.
"I'm Fred," he said as he took a textbook from his backpack and sat down at the Gryffindor table, "And as a matter of fact, I have to study for my Divinations exam. Just pretend I'm not here."
"If only..." muttered Hermione. She led Harry to the other end of the table where they sat down to confer. Harry quickly filled her in on Ron's disappearance and the fake Map. "According to Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy didn't come back last night either."
"Where are the 'Bobsy Twins', by the way?"
"Over at the Slytherin table. They don't want to risk being seen with us. They said they'd meet us in the hallway after lunch."
Harry couldn't help but notice that Crabbe and Goyle were at the far end of the table, segregated from all the others. Maybe Slytherins have better taste that we gave them credit for, Harry thought.
"I'm not sure it means anything," he said, "But I finally remembered what I was trying to think of last night. Remember when Madam Lenore was trying to get psychic impressions from the weapon that was used to attack Snape?"
"All the stuff about the princes with the fiery crowns and the empty pockets?"
"She also mentioned something about a 'bird in a gilded cage". Now when Snape and I were keeping watch over his ingredients stores, he started talking about this girl he used to be sweet on way back when. That was her favorite song: She's Only A Bird In A Gilded Cage. Harry handed her the note from Sirius. "I also found this."
"You're not suggesting that Ron and Draco are sneaking off to meet Snape's old girlfriend, are you?" Hermione laughed. "She'd be old enough to be their mother by now! That's disgusting!"
Any more disgusting than a bunch of thirteen-year-old witches fawning over thirty-something Gilderoy Lockhart? Harry thought. But if Harry had learned anything about love, it was that sometimes it was simply a matter of knowing when to keep one's mouth shut.
"I'm not suggesting anything!" Harry said defensively, "But you have to admit it's a hell of a coincidence. I've already sent an owl to Sirius. Maybe he can clear the whole thing up." He leaned in close. "Where's the Invisibility Cloak?"
"I took it down to Dobby. He said the House Elves should be able to get it clean, but it might take a day or two." Her expression became troubled. "You should've seen the look on his face when I accidentally let slip why Ron borrowed the flour from the kitchens. I thought the poor thing was going to commit 'Harry Connick' right there on the spot!"
"He'll get over it," Harry told her.
Fred Weasley suddenly jumped out of his seat as a spectral form rose from the table and passed through his plate. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, a.k.a. "Nearly-Headless Nick", was Gryffindor House's ethereal mascot and one of the friendlier spirits that haunted Hogwarts castle. Unlike many of the other apparitions he genuinely seemed to enjoy the company of Hogwarts students and wasn't above helping them pull the odd practical joke now and then.[2]
"Gerrroff it!" Fred yelled as the spirit passed through him and headed for the far wall, followed by a small contingent of Hogwarts resident spirits.
"Sorry, George! Can't stop!" The nearly severed head of Sir Nicholas wobbled as he turned around to yell over his shoulder. "Word is that someone's planted the mother of all dung bombs in the Slytherin's Dungeon! Can't miss that!"
"A dung bomb!" Fred yelped. He grabbed a couple of sausages from his plate, took a swig of pumpkin juice, snatched up his backpack and dashed after them.
Across the room, a few of the Slytherins exchanged concerned looks and got up from their table to join the party. Only Crabbe and Goyle remained behind. With the other Slytherins gone, they got up and moved to the Gryffindor table. The wrinkled noses they encountered as they passed by the other tables demonstrated that some small reminder of last night's adventures still remained in spite of their efforts at cleaning up.
"I think old Nick got it wrong," whispered Hermione, "The dung bombs are right here."
"Maybe we should talk outside-preferably upwind." Harry suggested.
From somewhere beneath their feet came the muffled sound of an explosion and the screams of terrified students.
Sir Nicholas suddenly reappeared through the floor, laughing so hard that it threatened to finally detach his partially severed noggin from his body.
"Okay, Nick," Harry said, trying not to grin in front of Crabbe and Goyle. "Spill it!"
"It was brilliant!" The ghost cackled. His head wobbled back and forth so hard that he finally had to catch it in his hands. "The Prefects evacuated everyone from the dormitories to search for the dung bomb!" He was laughing so hard he could barely speak, "But it wasn't in the dormitories! It was out in the corridor where they'd evacuated everyone! You should have seen their faces!"
"You think that's funny, do ya?" Without thinking, Crabb swung a meaty fist at the spirit. To no one's surprise but his own, it passed right through the ghost's body. With nothing to absorb it, the momentum threatened to fling him straight over the Gryffindor table. He was saved only when Harry and Goyle grabbed hold of his shirttails. Sir Nicholas thumbed his nose and blew a raspberry, then disappeared back through the floor.
"Were you actually planning on starting a fist fight with a ghost?" Hermione inquired.
"Aw cram it up your-!" Harry's wand pointed at his nose effectively ended the discussion.
"If you'll recall, gentlemen," Harry said calmly, "we have business to discuss."
He pointed them in the direction of the door and they started to leave. Hermione lagged behind. Her gaze was still
fixed on the spot where Sir Nicholas disappeared. A broad grin spread across her face. Harry could almost hear the
gears turning in her head. Clearly she had a plan.
"No," she said, "Everyone meet me in Moaning Myrtle's restroom after your last classes this afternoon. I'll explain everything then." She took Harry's face in her hands and planted one right on his lips. She then gathered up her things and headed out the door. Judging by the idiotic grin on Harry's face, Crabbe and Goyle decided that there was no point in trying to get any further information out of him. Shrugging, they headed back to the Slytherin table.
"Oy, Crabbe," Goyle said softly, "Did you ever have a dream where Draco kisses you like that?" Before Crabbe could knock his partner silly, they heard Potter's voice from the Gryffindor table:
"Harry Connick?"
Harry got stuck helping Professor Sprout clean up after a particularly nasty bubotuber pus spill so he was the last one to arrive at Moaning Myrtle's restroom. As he walked in, he got the strangest feeling that he should turn right around and walk back out. Hermione, Crabbe and Goyle were looking at him with silly grins on their faces that could only mean trouble. Behind them were about a half dozen of Hogwarts' resident ghosts including Nearly Headless Nick, the Grey Lady from Ravenclaw and the Fat Friar from Hufflepuff House. (Somehow Hermione had managed to round them up without tipping off either Peeves the Poltergeist or Slytherin's Bloody Baron.) Worst of all, Moaning Myrtle herself, the perpetually unhappy pimple-faced teen spirit that haunted this particular bathroom was floating toward him with the coy look of a girl who fully expected to be handed a diamond ring and a marriage proposal.
"Hello, Harry," said Myrtle sweetly, batting her watery eyes at him.
"Hello, Myrtle…" Harry tugged at his collar and forcing himself to smile. The others were clearly enjoying watching him squirm.
"I understand you need a favor." Myrtle floated over and hovered in front of him.
"I do?" Harry's gaze fixed on Hermione with a "What have you gotten me into?" look.
"Miss Granger was just explaining," Sir Nicholas piped up, "How you needed our help in locating your friend Ron. Miss Myrtle apparently has an idea, in return for which you could do her a small favor."
"Such as?"
"A date." she declared.
"Date…?" Harry repeated, praying that he'd heard wrong.
"Nothing fancy, just the two of us," Myrtle heaved a dreamy sigh, "An intimate little rendezvous. Wine, soft music, candlelight ..."
"A candlelight dinner!" Sir Nicholas looked around, imagining the possibilities. "Here, in the restroom, I suppose? We could do wonders with this place! You put the table right over there…And of course, we'd need a tablecloth…"
By this time, Harry had maneuvered himself around past Myrtle and over to Hermione.
"Now this is the point," Harry whispered out of the side his mouth, "where you get all jealous and say 'Absolutely not! Over my dead body!'… Isn't it?" Harry looked at her hopefully. Her expression was unreadable. "Isn't it?"
"We both know the awful truth Harry." Hermione began to sniffle. "As much as you say you care about me, your heart really belongs… to Myrtle." She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with your body," she whispered into his ear right before she licked it.
"I'll get you for this!" Harry whispered through clenched teeth.
"You do what you have to do, Harry," Hermione said aloud, then spun around to confront her rival. "Just remember the deal, Myrtle. You only get the goods if you come through for us. You have to be the one who actually finds Ron." Harry wasn't sure he liked being referred to as "the goods", but said nothing.
"You just watch my dust, Granger!" said Myrtle impudently. She zoomed up over their heads then swooped down into the nearest toilet with a loud splash. All at once, the sinks and the other toilets suddenly erupted into fountains of water. Myrtle's laughter echoed through the plumbing for several moments as the water slowly subsided.
"Well," said Sir Nicholas, clapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly, "I suppose we'd better be off as well! I, for one, am not going to let that spotty girl little take advantage of you like that, Harry!"
"Thank you, Sir Nicholas!"
"I'm going to win that dinner with you for myself!" he said in an effeminate voice, blowing Harry a kiss. "Au Revoir, mon petite!" With howls of unearthly laughter, Sir Nicholas and the other ghosts scattered in every direction, disappearing through the walls. Harry looked ready to jump into the nearest toilet and flush himself down.
There was little Harry, Hermione, Crabbe and Goyle could do now except wait. Hermione had brought some of her homework to finish. Crabbe and Goyle had a deck of cards and appeared to be competing to see who could cheat the most at Exploding Snap. Harry sat on the edge of one of the sinks and sulked. Finally Hermione went over and sat next to him.
"I'm sorry I embarrassed you, Harry," she put her arms around him, "but there wasn't any other way to get Myrtle to cooperate."
"It's not this life I'm worried about, you understand. Those ghosts are going to be bugging me about this for the rest of eternity after I'm dead!"
"So, just don't die. That'd show 'em!" She kissed him on the nose. "Then you'll have plenty of time to plot your revenge against me."
"I already know what I'm going to do with you, my pretty!" he cackled like Margaret Hamilton, the legendary Dark Witch whose castle was rumored to be somewhere in the West of Oz. "Once we're married--"
"Married?" she asked innocently.
"The first part of my fiendish plan. Once you're in my clutches you're going to start having babies--hundreds of them! We're going to make the Weasleys look like an advert for Planned Parenthood! You are going to be changing diapers for the rest of your life!"
"You sadistic fiend! And in order to make all those babies, I suppose you'll be making love to me constantly?"
"Day and night"
"Is there no end to your depravity?"
"No. Not really."
"Oy! Get a room, you two!" Crabbe pretended to stick a finger down his throat.
"I've got the Emergency Shelter in my pocket," Harry whispered.[3]
"I thought you were just glad to see me."
Suddenly a low rumbling filled the room as if every toilet in the school had been flushed at the same time. It sounded as if every plumbing fixture in Hogwarts was about to burst. With a gigantic splash, Moaning Myrtle erupted from one of the toilets and began ricocheting around the room.
"Ron's got a girlfriend!" She was singing as loudly and as off key as she could manage. "Ron's got a girlfriend! Ron's got a girlfriend!"
"Okay! Okay, Myrtle," yelled Harry, "We get the point! Now who is she?"
"She's picture perfect!" Myrtle giggled as she bounced past Harry, grabbing his eyeglasses. Harry hands flailed in the air as he struggled to see where she went.
"Give 'em back!" Hermione picked up an old janitor's broom and began to swat at the infuriating specter.
"She's the picture of health!" Myrtle cackled as she continued to gleefully bounce off the restroom walls. "Ron must have been drawn to her, but now he's got the picture!"
Harry fumbled his way to Hermione and whispered something in her ear, then turned to yell at Myrtle. "Alright, Myrtle! That's it! Stop this nonsense right now or the date's off!"
Myrtle came to a stop and hovered just above the paper towel dispenser. She thrust out her lower lip and hid her hands behind her back.
"You don't have to be so snotty about it, Harry." She levitated down and carefully placed Harry's glasses back on his nose, then leaned in and kissed the tip of it. With the kiss came the scent of mildew mixed with toilet bowl cleaner.
"Thank you. Now can you please tell us about Ron?"
"Well," Myrtle settled down onto one of the sinks. "He's in an old classroom in the southeast tower. The tower that's supposed to be renovated next year."
"Can you show us where it is?" asked Hermione.
"Why don't you ask me about his girlfriend?" Myrtle giggled, ignoring Hermione. She was clearly impatient to tell them what she'd learned.
"Alright," Harry sighed, "What about her?"
Myrtle began giggling uncontrollably, rocking back and forth as she rose into the air.
"If a picture paints a thousand words," she sang tunelessly through her glee, "then why can't I paint yooooooou!"[4] Harry and Hermione could only shake their heads in bewilderment. Myrtle finally stopped laughing and settled back down onto the sink. "Don't you get it? Don't you see?"
"See what, Myrtle?" Harry was rapidly loosing his patience.
"She's a painting," Myrtle announced as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "She's one of the portraits hanging on the wall!"
TO BE CONTINUED:
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EXECUTIVE PRODUCER
STEPHEN BOCHCO
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Stay tuned for scenes from the next, "Harry Potter and The Picture Of Innocence"…
[1] It should be noted for the record that another version of the story lays the blame on an unpaid gambling debt. Yet a third somehow involves a pair of size 42-Long riding breeches, a bowl of porridge, and a Dachshund named "Colin".
[2] Rumors persist that Sir Nicholas was a key player in the planning and execution of what is now celebrated by Hogwarts mischief makers in story and song as "The Great Hufflepuff Panty Raid of 1961". When contacted for a response, Sir Nicholas refused to either confirm or deny the rumors, but referred all questions on the matter to the Ministry Of Silly Walks.
[3] Yet another shameless plug for my first story, "It Happened One Night" By Quickdraw
[4] With all due apologies to David Gates and Bread.