Brian Hendrickson Normal Brian Hendrickson 31 1598 2002-05-03T22:04:00Z 2002-11-17T09:20:00Z 11 3575 20379 169 40 25026 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 Three)
"All Is Not Gold That Glitters"
"Let me get this straight, Ron Weasley has fallen in love with a painting?" Hermione shook her head in disbelief.
"'E's an even bigger prat than I thought!" Crabbe snickered. "'Oo ever 'eard of anyone fallin' for a paintin'?"
"You've obviously never seen the movie Laura[1]," Hermione said dryly.
"That's enough you two!" With everything else going on in his life, Harry had never given much thought to the animate portraits which hung on the walls throughout Hogwarts castle. Now he had begun to wonder just how alive they really were.
It took a little while to coax the whole story out of Moaning Myrtle. Inevitably, something would remind her of Olive Hornby, the girl who had tormented her when she was still among the living, and Myrtle would be off on yet another of her crying jags. Hermione suspected that she was simply dragging things out so she could be "comforted" by Harry. With patience and careful cajoling, Harry managed to piece together what Myrtle had seen during her search for Ron Weasley.
Myrtle had chosen to search the southeast tower of Hogwarts castle for sentimental reasons. Evidently, it was the location of her one and only encounter with the opposite sex during her brief lifetime.[2] It was in this self-same abandoned classroom where Myrtle had known her first and only taste of the fruits of love that she came upon the missing Mr. Weasley and his new "girlfriend". From Myrtle's description, the painting sounded like many others at Hogwarts: a full-figure representation of a pretty teenaged girl in an elegant white dress, "with lots of lace and frilly stuff". Her honey-blonde hair was done up in large sausage curls "like Shirley Temple used to wear", capped by an old fashioned baby-blue bonnet. To hear Myrtle tell it, the girl came across like the heroine of a Jane Austin romance: The virtuous-and virginal-young girl facing the cold, cruel world alone, constantly fending off the advances of those who would dare to corrupt that precious innocence.
"There was something else," Myrtle remembered, "Something about her eyes. Her smile was radiant but somehow her eyes suggested sorrow. There was a deep sadness that seemed to exude through them from the depths of her soul. Harry wondered just how big a grain of salt to take with Myrtle's melodramatics, but said nothing. "And when she sang to him…sigh…She had the voice of an angel!" Unfortunately for Harry and the others, Myrtle did not.
She's only a bird
In a gilded cage,
A beautiful sight to see...
"Thank you, Myrtle. I think we get the idea." He turned to Hermione. "Sound familiar?"
"It would explain how Ron, Malfoy and Professor Snape could fall for the same girl." She was struck by a thought. "Myrtle? Did you happen to catch her name?"
"Gwendolyn Marie Catherine Dubois, Aged 16, by André Delacorta, 1895," Myrtle replied smugly, "I turned invisible and sneaked a look at the name plate on the frame."
"Now just a minute!" Goyle's brain was struggling to comprehend all that was being said around him. Clearly this was a concept that was totally alien to him. "Snape likes girls?"
"You could've knocked me over with a feather," Harry said.
"Never mind that." Hermione was losing patience. "What about Ron?"
"I'm pretty sure he likes girls too, but…" Harry shut up when Hermione threatened him with her Transfigurations textbook.
"He was sitting on the floor at her feet reading from a book of love poems," Myrtle sighed.
"Love poems?" laughed Harry. "Ron, 'I Can Belch Every Verse Of 'God Save The Queen' Weasley? The most poetic thing I ever heard out of his mouth was There Once Was A Man From Nantucket!"
"I think they revoked his poetic license after that," Hermione added.
Myrtle sniffed, "Shows how much you know, Granger! There's obviously more to Ron Weasley than meets the eye," She floated over to Harry. "You know, if he wasn't already spoken for, I think I could fancy him. He has a soul," she sighed.
"I'm surprised at you Myrtle," Harry harrumphed, folding his arms across his chest, "And after all we've meant to each other!"
"Women can be so fickle!" Hermione agreed.
"And what would you know about romance, Harry Potter?" Myrtle demanded, sticking out her tongue at him. Hermione gave Harry a knowing smile and took his hand.
"Oy!" Crabbe's abrasive voice suddenly shattered their romantic reverie. "Aren't we forgettin' somethin'? What about Draco?"
"What about him?" Myrtle asked.
"You didn't see Draco Malfoy up there?" Harry asked.
"Was I supposed to?"
They had been presented with yet another mystery. Crabbe, Goyle, and even Hermione were all for charging up to the southeast tower to confront Ron, but Harry's instincts were against it.
"I want to try and talk to Snape. He seems to know a lot more about this business than he's telling."
The argument was settled when Sir Nicholas and the other ghosts returned, reporting that old man Filch, the caretaker, had gotten wind of their recent nocturnal activities. No doubt he and his feline cohort, Mrs. Norris, would be lying in wait for them. Even though Professor Dumbledore had turned a blind eye toward their activities thus far, they had been flouting curfew pretty egregiously the last few days. It was only a matter of time before they were caught and Dumbledore would have to punish them, if only to avoid the appearance of preferential treatment. Since the next day was Saturday and none of them had any classes scheduled, it was agreed that they would all meet and organize a proper expedition to the southeast tower in the morning.
In the darkened Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey sat at Professor Snape's bedside with a worried look on her face. On a tray table in front of her was a whole assortment of potions, ointments and charms, apparently none of them sufficient to revive the unconscious Potions Master. Harry was astonished. In all the time he'd been at Hogwarts, he had never known the school nurse to fail-even when Professor Lockhart had accidentally removed all the bones from his arm.
"I'm stumped, Harry," she confessed, "I've tried everything I know and I still can't bring him out of it. Yet there's no sign of any serious brain damage…"
"Is it possible that someone doesn't want him to wake up?"
"An enchantment?" She slapped herself on the forehead. "Poppy, you silly old witch! You've been using a microscope to hunt for elephants!" She went back into the Dispensary and returned with a small fire-glazed clay figure of a pig. "The attack appeared to be so straightforward, it never even occurred to me to look for magic!" She took a pitcher from a nearby table and filled the figure with water. She then sprinkled a handful of seeds over the top and set the little figure on the end table next to Snape. Within moments tiny green plants by the dozens began to sprout.
"A Chia-Pet?" laughed Harry.
"You've only lived in the Wizarding World a relatively short time, Harry. Magic can build up in the oddest things! Every once in a while they turn out to be quite useful."
She held the figure up to Snape's head. A tiny spot of pink appeared among the plants and slowly spread outward. More colors appeared until they resembled a computerized thermal image of the Professor's face.
"There! You see that pinkish aura surrounding his brain? A standard sleep spell."
"That thing can detect when something is enchanted?"
"Have a look!" She held the figure up to her own face and a new pattern formed. "See any pink?"
Harry pointed to her face. "There's a little spot just on the bridge of your nose." Madam Pomfrey suddenly turned bright red. "It's been so long ago, I'd almost forgotten! I had a bit of a nose job when I was still young and vain."
"Your secret's safe with me."
"You are more like your father every day,." she sighed. "He and your mother were such dear friends. I miss them terribly." With another sigh, she went back to the Dispensary and brought out several jars of powder, which she proceeded to mix with water in a small bowl, stirring with her wand.
"Quid quid latine dictum sit, altum viditur!" The mixture began to emit a sweet-smelling vapor which she fanned toward Snape's nose. "That should bring him around in a minute or two." She gathered up her things and returned them to the Dispensary.
Stirring from his stupor, Snape reluctantly opened his eyes to find himself staring straight into Harry's glasses.
"Potter!" He slurred his words as if he'd just come off a three-day bender. "Can't a man even enjoy his own delirium without you turning up?"
"I need to know about Gwendolyn, Professor!"
"Taking Lily away from me isn't enough? Well, you won't get Gwen as well!" He rolled over, trying to pull the covers over his head. Abruptly he turned back to Harry. "Anyway, Mr. 'Smarty-Pants' Potter, you don't know how to release her from the painting!" The ever-dignified Potions Master stuck out his tongue.
"You've got the wrong idea, Professor! It's Ron Weasley-!"
"Weasley!" Snape's eyes opened wide. "That boring little red-headed nonentity!" He threw back the covers and swung his spindly legs out over the floor. "Arthur Weasley is not going to mix that ghastly red hair and those grotesque freckles into Gwendolyn's perfect bloodline. I will not allow it!"
Madam Pomfrey charged out of the Dispensary as if she'd been shot from a cannon.
"Severus! What on earth do you think you're doing? Get back into bed this instant!"
"I have to save Gwendolyn..." Snape moaned. As he tried to stand, his face contorted with pain. With a groan of resignation, he slumped back down onto the bed.
"Oh Severus, you've not started up with that nonsense again, have you? Hagrid and the other boys I could almost understand. You, of all people should have more sense than to get mixed up with a girl like that. Now lie back and rest before I put another enchantment on you myself!"
"Madam Pomfrey," Harry began. "Did you know-?"
"Now you stop pestering Professor Snape and run along, Harry. He needs to rest." She shooed him out of the room and into the corridor.
He was heading back to Gryffindor tower when Madam Lenore, Visiting Professor of Palmistry and Psychic Precognition, intercepted him.
"I understand from Professor McGonagall that another student is missing in this affair."
"Draco Malfoy"
"The spawn of Lucius Malfoy?"
"That's one way of putting it."
"Professor Dumbledore asked me to try and locate him, so I have been attempting to read young Malfoy's aura from some of his belongings. I'm afraid I learned more than I'd bargained for." Madame Lenore reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a hairbrush. The handle was solid ivory with gold inlays. The elaborately curly-cued initials "D.M." dominated the reptile themed motif. "He's a very dangerous young man, Harry Potter. Much more dangerous than you realize."
"People who think that power is the answer to everything usually are."
She seemed to hesitate, but apparently felt it important to tell Harry.
"He has fantasies about Miss Granger."
"I don't doubt it." Harry shrugged, trying to sound as if the subject weren't of any concern to him, but couldn't keep his fists and his jaw from clenching slightly. "Everyone's entitled to their daydreams."
She grabbed hold of Harry's arm.
"More than idle daydreams, Harry Potter. These are dark, violent fantasies. Fantasies of degradation, of torture-even of murder!"
"A day of reckoning is coming, mud-blood." Malfoy's words to Hermione in the Great Hall echoed through Harry's skull. "On that day I'm going to enjoy watching you pay for those insults." Harry closed his eyes and put up a hand to brace himself against the nearest wall as he fought back the nightmare images that suddenly assaulted his consciousness. "…And if I'm lucky, I might even be allowed to collect some of the payments myself." Mercifully, his mind was able to beat the visions back into his subconscious. Gone, but not forgotten, it was all Harry could do to keep from rushing to find Hermione just to be sure she was safe.
"Professor Dumbledore seems to think he can be saved." Even as he said it, Harry had a hard time making himself believe it.
"There may yet be some good in him," Madam Lenore said with even less conviction than Harry, "but his salvation will come at a price. Mark my words, Harry Potter, for I have foreseen this. In order for Draco Malfoy to be saved, someone close to you must be sacrificed."
Harry let what she had said sink in for a moment, then he took a deep breath.
"Well… if that's what it takes to save him-then he can roast in hell!"
Harry turned and stalked off down the corridor.
Madame Lenore smiled
"I knew you were going to say that, Harry Potter."
*****
"Don't mind me, dear!" the Fat Lady said as Hermione pushed open the Portrait Hole. The old woman in the painting was in the midst of a conversation with Harry. "I'm afraid that's all I can tell you, love."
"Thanks for your help."
"Any time, dearie!"
As soon as Hermione was within reach, Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, holding her as tightly as he could.
"Not that I'm complaining, mind you," she said once she got her breath back, "but what brought this on?"
"It's horrible," Harry said with a perfectly straight face, "If I go for too long without holding you in my arms, I start suffering from withdrawal pains."
"Poor baby!" said Hermione.
"You know what they say," the Fat Lady said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "Best thing to do for an addiction is to cut 'em off-cold turkey!"
"How would you like a coat of whitewash?" Harry and the Fat Lady showed each other their tongues.
"C'mon, Harry," Hermione coaxed as he led her down the corridor, "You've got that, 'Something's bothering me but I don't want to burden you with my problems' look. You might as well forget it, because you know I'm going to find out what it is sooner or later."
"Okay," Harry sighed, "It's Malfoy."
"What about him?"
"Madam Lenore was trying to get a fix on him by reading his 'aura' from some of his belongings. Apparently he's been having fantasies about you."
"That you're mentioning this at all tells me that we're not talking Harlequin Romance material here." Harry nodded grimly. She wrapped her arms around him. "At least I know what I'll be having nightmares about tonight."
"I know a great way to prevent nightmares," Harry told her softly.
"Enlighten me then, Professor Potter."
"Well it's a little tricky. First, you have to find someone who absolutely adores you-"
"That would definitely be tricky," Hermione interrupted, "Let's see… Stan Flebus from Herbology class lusts after my body, but I wouldn't really call that 'adoration', would you? Sherman Tannenbaum worships the ground I walk on-I beg your pardon. Stan Flebus lusts after your body, Harry. Now, David Barnswallow-"
Harry clamped a hand over her mouth.
"May I finish?" Hermione nodded and Harry released her. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, you find someone who absolutely, passionately adores you, then they make mad, passionate love to you all night long, until you fall asleep in their arms."
"I don't know… Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to, when you could just take a sleeping potion."
"You shouldn't get too dependent on sleeping potions." Harry pointed out. "They can become addictive, you know."
"So can what you're suggesting," Hermione replied with a sly grin.
"Four out of five doctors recommend it."
"Well," she shrugged, "If you can't trust the Royal College Of Physicians, who can you trust?"
"My thoughts exactly." They started down the corridor again.
"Where are we going?"
"I want to talk to Hagrid before curfew. I think he may know something about our mysterious Gwendolyn."
Hermione thought for a moment then asked, "Harry? You said four out of five doctors recommended it. What about the fifth doctor?"
"Peter Davidson?" Harry shrugged. "He was okay. Personally, I prefer Tom Baker…"
*****
"You found Gwendolyn!" Rubeus Hagrid's enormous eyes seemed to light up. Harry hadn't seen that look of rapture on his friend's face since the birth of Norbert, the dragon. His large hands were almost shaking as he set the biscuit tray down on the table.
"Ron did." Harry was uncertain as to how much he should tell his old friend.
"Is she all right?" Hagrid's sudden enthusiasm was a bit daunting.
"We haven't actually seen her," Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair, "but from what we heard, she's fine, Did you know her well?"
"Know 'er?" Hagrid asked incredulously. His chest swelled to the size of a refrigerator with pride. "I were President of 'er fan club!"
Hagrid began digging through a large trunk at the foot of his bed. Finally, he emerged triumphant, clutching a small square of paper tenderly to his chest. He proudly handed it to Harry. It reminded Harry of the pictures Aunt Petunia got from the grotty old Polaroid camera she'd bought back in the 70's. It was old and stained and full of creases, but to Hagrid it was clearly more precious than gold. The black and white image showed the portrait of Gwendolyn hanging in a place of honor in what appeared to be the Gryffindor common room. Gwendolyn was just as Moaning Myrtle had described her: A perfect nineteenth-century valentine. Standing just below and to one side of her was a gargantuan, beardless, spotty faced young man who could only be Hagrid. His hulking figure had been stuffed into an ill-fitting suit and tie. His hair was greased back and parted down the middle. Pinned to his lapel was a button which read, "I ¤ Gwen".
"It were young Sirius Black's idea to shave me beard off. I'll never do that again!"
"So, you were the President?" Hermione said. "Who else was in the club?"
"Oh, let's see now," said Hagrid, scratching his bushy black whiskers "I think yer dad were a member, Harry! 'Course that were before him and your mum started noticin' each other-if ya knows what I mean! Then there were Remus Lupin… Sirius Black… Frank Milquetoast… Most o' the Gryffindor boys were members, now I come to think of it. There were about five or six Hufflepuffs, a dozen or so Ravenclaws…Even a few Slytherins like that ol' bastard Lucius Malfoy-pardon my French, 'Ermione," he quickly apologized. "Him and Ron's dad 'ad both graduated by that time, o'course, but they was what you'd call 'alumnus-members'. They couldn't get 'er out o' their minds, either. …Mind you, none o' this sat too well with the ladies! In fact, the joke goin''round Hogwarts were that Gwendolyn had more boyfriends than most of the real girls." Hagrid chuckled to himself as he settled down in his big armchair by the fire.
"I remember she used to sing to us sometimes." He reminisced. "She 'ad a beautiful singin' voice-for a paintin'. I remember some nights after exams was over and I'd finished all my chores as groundskeeper, we'd all gather in the Gryffindor common room and she'd sing us these sad old songs from way-back-when." Hagrid leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and, softly, began to sing…
All is not gold that glitters,
All is not pure that shines,
Follow your mother's teachings,
And happiness will be thine.
He heaved a heavy sigh. "If only yer dad and the others could've helped 'er."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," said Hagrid leaning forward in his chair, "She told us that she weren't always a painting. She were trapped there, you see. Seems the wizard 'oo painted the picture were no good! He wanted Gwen to be more than just 'is model, if you knows what I mean. When Gwen spurned his advances, he put a spell on 'er and trapped 'er soul in the picture. So all me and all the boys makes a pact that we won't rest until we can set Gwen free." He leaned in. "After that, it'd be every man for 'imself, if ya know what I mean!" He said with a wink, " We even dragged ol' Snape into it."
"Really?" said Hermione, trying to sound surprised.
"He were gonna mix the potion for us," He leaned in to speak confidentially, "Just between you, me and the fireplace, ol' Snape really had it bad for 'er!" Hermione had a sudden mental image of Old Sourpuss Snape as a teenager; his hair slicked back like Hagrid's in the photo; A heart shaped box of chocolates in one hand and a hastily picked bouquet of pansies in the other. She banished the image from her mind as quickly as possible, fearing that if she dwelt on it too long her head would explode.
"I'll never forget the day Remus Lupin came runnin' into the common, all excited, sayin' 'e'd found a way to set 'er free. Seems he'd been doin' some research in the library on summat or other, when 'e ran across the spell by accident."
"So, what happened?"
"'Never got the chance. Next day she up and vanished!"
"Vanished?"
"Frame and all," Hagrid told them sadly. "We turned that castle upside down lookin' for 'er. Everyone know'd it were the Slytherins what took 'er, but since we couldn't find 'er, we never could prove it! Young Sirius and a couple of the lads even managed to get 'old of the Slytherins' password and searched their dormitory, but she weren't there, neither. You see she used to 'ang in a 'allway over near the entrance to Slytherin 'ouse before the Gryffindors "liberated" 'er and put 'er up in the common room. I remember after she disappeared, your dad and the others never wanted to talk about 'er no more. I guess the memories was just too painful." Harry could see the reflection of the fireplace in a tiny tear that formed in his friend's eye.
"That has to be what Ron's up to," Harry said as he and Hermione walked back to the castle. "He's trying to release Gwendolyn from the painting, the same way Snape was. Maybe that's why he attacked Snape! To keep him from getting to her first."
"Why should it matter who rescues her, so long as she's rescued?"
"It's a 'guy thing'." Harry took Hermione's hand. "Actually being the white knight who does the deed gives you a leg up."
" 'A leg up'? Wasn't that what four out of five Doctor Whos recommend?"
"Could be."
"I just can't shake the feeling that we're missing something, Harry. Those books-the ones that were stolen from the Restricted Section that got Snape so worked up? The book by Golmonger dealt with bringing life to inanimate objects! Remember your basic Transfigurations? You can change a living thing into an inanimate object, but not vice versa. All you can do is give an inanimate object the illusion of life. It's like pulling the strings of a marionette. Your will is what gives it movement. I could understand Ron getting it wrong, but Snape wouldn't make a first-year mistake like that. Something just doesn't add up. "
"The only way we'll find the answers is to get up to that tower," Harry sighed in frustration.
"Then let's leave that for tomorrow." Hermione brought Harry's hand up to her lips and kissed it. "We have the whole night ahead of us."
As the Gryffindors turned in for the night, no one noticed that two doppelgangers were standing in for Harry and Hermione in their dormitory beds. Another thing no one seemed to notice that there was one more door in the hallway just beyond the portrait hole.[3] No one who passed by could have had any idea that behind one of the doors was a cozy sitting room from the 1940's with a big warm fireplace and a big warm bed. Hermione and Harry spent the night testing Harry's theory about preventing nightmares.
As it turned out, he was correct.
(But then, "Four out of Five Dr.Whos" can't be wrong. Can they?)
To be continued…
END OF CHAPTER THREE
"Harry Potter and the Picture Of Innocence" is taped before a live studio audience.
APPLAUSE!
[1] "Laura" (1944) Staring Gene Tierney, Dana Andrews, Clifton Webb and Vincent Price. You go down to the video store right now and get a copy. I'll wait.
[2] Seymour Ashwype of Hufflepuff was the object of Myrtle's desires. A sturdy young lad of fifteen and three quarters, they had arranged an assignation following Transmogrifications class. Glasses, retainers, pocket protectors and inhalers were impetuously tossed aside in the burning heat of that passionate moment. The fire was quickly extinguished by the humiliating trip down to Madame Pomfrey when their braces accidentally locked together. Myrtle was all for picking up where they left off, but young Seymour thought it best to keep their friendship "platonic". Seymour eventually renounced magic, and women altogether-coincidence?
[3] Yet another shameless plug for my story "It Happened One Night"