Harry Potter and the Picture Of Innocence

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 One)

“My Buddy”

Nights alone since you went away,

I think about you all through the day

my buddy...[1]

“Wake up!” Hermione hissed into Ron Weasley’s ear as she jabbed her elbow into his ribs. With a Herculean effort, Ron managed to prise his drooping eyelids apart and look blearily into her disapproving stare. On his other side, Harry Potter, his best friend, quietly chimed in too.

“If Snape ever caught you nodding off in his class…” Harry warned.

All three of them jumped as a loud BANG exploded across the classroom. From the cauldron at the front of the room rose a cloud of thick violet smoke, slowly forming itself into various shapes: spheres, cubes, cones, pyramids and dodecahedrons, which floated lazily around the dungeon where Snape taught Potions like soap bubbles on a calm day. Out of curiosity, Jane Winterbolt reached up to touch a sphere as it drifted above her head. When her finger broke the surface tension, the smoke lost its cohesion and dissipated into nothingness. The entire class let out an appreciative “Ahhhh”!

Far from being annoyed, the Potions Master was in what, for him, was the equivalent of a good mood. He had only snarled at Harry a couple of times during class and had taken almost no interest whatever in browbeating Neville Longbottom—even when Neville had spilled nearly the entire contents of his cauldron down the front of Deirdre Chapman’s robes. (Luckily Hermione had managed to stop Deirdre’s dress from becoming totally invisible long enough for her to borrow another witch’s robes and excuse herself to the ladies’ lavatory.) If they hadn’t known better, the odd smile on Snape’s usually dour face could easily have been mistaken for happiness. For some reason, the idea of Snape being happy seemed more disturbing than him being unhappy.

But that’s as may be… For the moment at least, they could talk.

“What’s the matter with you, Ron?” Harry whispered. “You’ve been sleepwalking like this for almost a week now!” Ron’s flaming red hair was even more disheveled than Harry’s normally was. His clothes were rumpled as though he’d slept in them, and the crimson peach fuzz that he had taken such pride in shaving from his upper lip only a few weeks before had returned with a vengeance.

“I’ve been studying, Okay?” Ron snapped at him.

“Alice tried to believe six impossible things before breakfast” Hermione replied, “but I don’t think even she would buy that story!”

“Just mind your own business!” Ron hissed through gritted teeth. Neither Harry nor Hermione could ever remember a time when their friend had spoken to them with quite so much venom. For the moment at least, the subject was dropped.

Ron was halfway out the door before Snape could even finish saying, “Class dismissed”. Worried as they were, Harry and Hermione decided not to chase after him. Best to let him cool down a little, first.

“Neville said he heard Ron sneaking into the dorm at four o’clock this morning.” Harry told her as they headed towards Professor Flitwick’s classroom. “Merlin only knows where he’d been all night—and Neville is sure it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. I convinced him to keep his mouth shut, but I have a feeling that’s just the tip of the iceberg. McGonagall cornered me the other day and asked if Ron was having any personal problems. I got the distinct impression that his grades are slipping.”

“This is weird,” Hermione shook her head. “Do you suppose it has anything to do with Greta Van Deussen?” Ron and the comely transfer student from Sweden had become something of an item in the past few weeks, but then the romance seemed to cool as quickly as it had begun. “From what I hear they had an awful row in the Three Broomsticks. The strange thing is, the next day Ron was walking around cheerful as you please. It was as if the whole thing had never happened.”

“That is unusual for Ron,” Harry concurred. “Usually he’s in a funk for at least a week before he goes after another girl.”

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Hermione took hold of Harry’s hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. This simple act had become so natural that usually neither one of them gave it a second thought—but this time Harry couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. In the wake of last year’s Yule Ball, the entire school had buzzed about Ron and his possible feelings for Hermione—particularly in view of his heated reaction to her attending the ball with Bulgarian Quidditch whiz Viktor Krum—but Ron always dismissed the idea as loudly and as vulgarly as possible. Perhaps out of respect for the trio’s friendship, if he had any romantic feelings, he kept them to himself.

As for Harry—it wasn’t as though he had particularly set out to win Hermione’s heart or vice versa, and it certainly didn’t happen overnight. It just seemed that gradually, the two of them found themselves spending more and more time together. In spending time together, they found that they wanted to spend more time together—without Ron. Before either of them was aware of it, their close friendship had evolved into something neither of them had expected.

Hermione tried to apply her logical, analytical mind to the situation. Perhaps it was because she and Harry had known so much loneliness in their lives. Even as a young boy, before he had discovered the isolation that comes with being a reluctant celebrity, the Dursleys had done everything they could to cut Harry off from the outside world—literally locking him away in a cupboard. As for Hermione, even though she had come from a loving family, it didn’t change the fact that she was still the smart kid whom all the other children resented and envied at the same time. Perhaps she and Harry had been drawn together out of mutual need as much as mutual passion.

Then again, maybe it was just the way that Harry made her feel all warm and squishy inside.

Once again, Ron pretended to have no feelings in the matter and proceeded to dive headlong into a series of heated, if generally short-lived romances with Hogwarts’ most eligible witches—but then came what he privately regarded as “the last straw”.

“Longbottom’s Ice Age”, as the student body would later christen it, was a disastrous attempt at an extra-credit assignment for Snape’s Potions class. What was supposed to have been a simple snowfall confined to the Quidditch pitch, had mutated into an arctic blizzard that had threatened to turn the entire school into a glacier. Foreseeing trouble, Professor Snape had issued magical emergency shelters to his classes, just in case. Fortunately, when the storm actually hit there had been enough students outside who had both shelters and the presence of mind to use them so no lives were lost. Although most shelters had ended up holding an average of four to ten persons, (and one had nearly forty students crammed into it), by an amazing stroke of luck, Harry and Hermione had managed to get a shelter all to themselves.[2]

Unlike the dreadful days of Rita Skeeter’s muckraking, nothing whatever had been spoken aloud. There had been no great wave of gossip and whispered speculation—just a tacit consensus among the student body that Harry and Hermione had not spent their time alone together playing competition Scrabble^®.[3] (Much to the disappointment of a small cadre of gay students who were firmly convinced that Harry was a “friend of Dorothy”.) For her part, Hermione had found herself once again the object of a mixture of resentment and grudging respect from the other girls who wondered just how she’d managed to snag “The Boy Who Lived.”

Officially, of course, any sort of “funny business” between Hogwarts students was strictly frowned upon, but given the unusually heavy burden that Harry Potter was being asked to bear for the entire Magical World, it was generally agreed that he and Miss Granger were something of a special case. They would not be punished for the “incident”, but any further such activities were vigorously discouraged—particularly on school grounds.

In the aftermath of the “incident”, Ron seemed to grow even more distant. Hermione did her best to reassure Harry that Ron was still their friend, but in truth, they both feared for the future of the trio.

Relationships aside, except for a few isolated incidents (Neville’s blizzard, the incubus in the girls’ showers, the outbreak of man-eating head lice among the first-years), their fifth year at Hogwarts had been relatively quiet.

Too quiet, Harry thought to himself.

Given his previous experiences, he couldn’t help feeling that they were long overdue for disaster.

*****

Ron looked around to be sure he was alone in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. Pulling Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map from his book bag, he quickly placed them in his friend’s trunk and waved his wand at the lock.

“Sit vis vobiscum”

Hearing his older brothers approach, he ducked into the bathroom. Ron hid in one of the stalls for what seemed like an eternity. Fred and George had come up with some new practical joke, but they were so busy laughing at their own cleverness that Ron never could catch exactly what it was. Just about the time Ron thought his bum was going to go to sleep from sitting on the toilet, he finally heard them leave.

Back in the dormitory, Ron felt under his bed for the things he’d stashed there earlier: a bottle of dandelion wine, two glasses, a bag containing an assortment of Honeyduke’s best chocolates and a book of gushy love poetry he’d borrowed from Sam Kettletrout from Incantations class. He then gathered up the ancient volumes of magical lore he had secretly “borrowed” from the restricted section of the library and stuffed them into his bag. Now he was ready.

“Watch the pigment!” the Fat Lady harrumphed as she watched the Weasley boy disappear into the shadows. He’d nearly frightened her out of an entire layer of Cadmium Yellow paint when he’d burst through the portrait hole. “Kids today!”

*****

“Ron?” the girl’s voice called out hopefully. “Is that you, my darling?”

“Sorry I’m late!” Ron was nearly out of breath from running. “Old Snape does go on about his potions!” Closing the dilapidated classroom door behind him, he made a final check of the hallway. He’d taken a few extra turns and gone a little out of his way just to make sure he hadn’t been followed. The rotting curtains were in a pile right where he’d left them the previous evening. He quickly stuffed them into the crack under the door. Satisfied that no light would leak out into the corridor, he waved his wand and the cobweb-covered candelabras around the room blazed to life. “That’s better.”

“It’s so lonely when you aren’t here, my darling.”

“I missed you too.” Ron set out the dandelion wine and the Honeydukes chocolates on a dusty study table, then picked up the book of poetry. “I brought something for you!”

“Did you find the spell?” the girl asked eagerly, ignoring Ron’s presents.

“Not yet. But I think I’m on the right track.” Swallowing his disappointment, Ron tossed the poetry book back onto the table then set the wine and the chocolates aside. “I really wish I had Hermione to help me.” He emptied out the remaining contents of his book bag and began rummaging through the antique manuscripts, doing his best not to damage the delicate medieval parchment scrolls. “She’s a wiz at finding stuff like this.”

“Absolutely not! ” the girl scolded him. “We can’t get your friends involved in any of this. It would be far too dangerous.” Her eyes were beginning to tear up. “It’s bad enough that I involved you. Oh, Ron! If anything were to happen to you because of me—”

“Now don’t you worry your pretty little head about me!” Ron grinned. “I can take care of myself!”

“Oh Ron! You’re sooooo brave!”

Ron hoped he wasn’t blushing.

******

As has been previously mentioned, the past week or so had seen a marked change in Professor Snape’s attitude. While far from dancing through the corridors singing, Oh, What A Beautiful Morning, Snape did seem to be in a much more agreeable humor than usual—at least until the thefts began.

Ron, Harry and Hermione were studying in the library when they heard raised voices coming from the Librarian’s office. (Actually, Harry and Hermione had heard them; Ron, as had been his habit of late, had fallen asleep camouflaged behind Hermione’s volume of Hogwarts: A History.) It was the first time anyone could remember hearing voices raised in the library. Though they couldn’t make out all of what was being said, Professor Snape was evidently reading the Wizarding World equivalent of the Riot Act to Madam Pince, the Librarian. They were able to discern, “I have never seen such incompetence!” then something that sounded like, “In the wrong hands those spells could be lethal!” By the time Snape had stalked out of her office, Madam Pince was nearly in tears.

Harry and Hermione did their best to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible, but to no avail. Snape marched right up to the table where they were sitting and pointed a bony finger directly at Harry’s nose.

“Potter! Come with me!”

*****

“I swear to you, I didn’t take those books!” Clearly there was no reasoning with Snape, so Harry was making his case directly to Professor Dumbledore. “I don’t know anything about them!”

The old wizard scratched his long white whiskers and turned to Snape.

“Do you have any proof that young Potter is responsible for these thefts?”

“Who else could it be? Who else could go sneaking around the castle in the middle of the night, unseen, but the heir to James Potter’s famous Invisibility Cloak? The cloak, I might add, which you—”

“But you have no direct evidence that Harry is responsible?”

“No, Headmaster,” came Snape’s answer through clenched teeth.

Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief. While he certainly had nothing to do with the thefts, proving it might be a bit of a problem. Harry had managed to keep hold of the Emergency Shelter he’d been given and a couple of times that week, he and Hermione had used it to engage in some “extracurricular activities” that he didn’t particularly wish to discuss in front of his teachers. Snape was wound up enough about the “incident” and all the teasing it had earned him, as it was. He certainly didn’t want to drag Hermione in as an alibi witness unless there was no other choice.

“May I ask,” said Harry, elbowing his way into the conversation, “exactly what was taken?”

“Why is that any concern of yours—?“

Dumbledore cut him of with a raised hand. “Go ahead, Harry.”

“I was just thinking, Sir—Sirs—If we could figure out what the thief wanted the books for, it might give us a clue to his identity.” Harry could have sworn he saw a twinge of guilt pass over the Potions Master’s face. He clearly wanted the books back, but it was as if he didn’t wish anyone to know what he needed them for.

“Two books by Golmonger,” Snape seemed to be choosing his words with great care, “one by Pyewakit and one by Smith. Golmonger’s work is concerned primarily with animating inanimate objects. Piewakit and Smith write chiefly about the transference of energy—particularly life energy.”

“And how would one use this particular knowledge?” Harry suspected that the old Headmaster already knew the answer, but didn’t mind making Snape jump through a few hoops. Now the Potions Master really looked guilty. Though he knew it was wrong, Harry couldn’t help enjoying Snape’s discomfort just a little.

“Obviously,” he stammered, running his fingers through his greasy hair, “the thief wants to bring an inanimate object to life. I suspect the energy transference books are about making the spell permanent. Most such spells last only a few days. The object invariably reverts to its inanimate state.”

“What would someone need to perform the spells?” Harry asked.

“It’s a fairly long list,” Snape stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Any student could lay his hands on most of it fairly easily. However, there are a few things here that would be almost impossible to obtain legally—and incredibly expensive even if one could.”

“What about your stores, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

“I have everything I need to complete—” Snape began without thinking. He cleared his throat, pretending to check over the list again, “That is to say, as soon as I discovered the books were missing, I did a complete inventory and everything is accounted for.”

“It might be a good idea for someone to keep a watch on your office, Professor,” Harry stole a glance at Professor Dumbledore. The old wizard’s expression was unreadable.

“What an excellent idea, Mr. Potter!” There was something about the beaming smile that suddenly appeared on Dumbledore’s ancient face that made both Harry and Snape nervous.

*****

“You’re going to what?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Not so loud!” Harry shushed. “I’m going help Snape stand guard over his ingredients stores.” He dropped onto a bench in the Great Hall next to Hermione and started helping himself to lunch, lowering his voice even further. “We’ll hide under the Invisibility Cloak and wait for the thief to show himself.”

“Ooooh! A ‘stakeout’ with Professor Snape!” she giggled. “There’s my idea of a fun evening!” Harry was clearly not amused until she took his face in her hands and gently kissed him. “Just think happy thoughts about all the ways you and I can celebrate once you’ve brought the true criminal to justice!”

“That’s just it,” Harry sighed. “I’m not sure I want him to be caught.”

“You can’t really think that Ron’s got anything to do with this?”

“Sneaking out of the dorm until all hours! He won’t even tell his best friends what he’s up to! What am I supposed to think?”

“For all we know,” Hermione said calmly, “He’s just going up to the Astronomy Tower for a little late-night snogging! You know Ron!”

“Yes, I do know Ron. If it were a girl, do you really think he’d be able keep it to himself for this long? We’d have heard all the gory details by now!”

“Maybe she’s a Slytherin and they’re ashamed to be seen together?” Hermione said with a naughty grin. “Then again, maybe it’s not a girl. I’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes…” The glare she got back told Hermione that Harry was not amused. Something caught her eye from over his shoulder. “Speaking of raving ‘Nancy-boys’…”

“Well if it isn’t the Three Mouseketeers, minus one!” The voice always made Harry’s hair stand on end like fingernails across a chalkboard. “So where’s your friend the weasel, Potter?” said Draco Malfoy with his usual sneer. His toadies Crabbe & Goyle maintained a respectful distance.

“I’m not his keeper, Malfoy,” Harry replied calmly as he turned around, “but I’m sure wherever he is, he’s grateful for the fact that he doesn’t have to waste his time talking to you.”

Draco ran his fingers through the “flip” in his hair, looking around to make sure he was the center of attention. Much to his disappointment, the two or three girls that had been hanging around the Gryffindor table earlier were gone. Hermione fought to suppress a giggle.

“I heard from a reliable source, that poor ‘Ronnikins’ might not be long for Hogwarts.”

“The voices in your head getting louder then, Malfoy?” Hermione said with a smile.

“Maybe your friend Weasley should start pretending to hear voices if he doesn’t want to go to jail!” Malfoy’s self-satisfied smirk sorely tempted Harry to punch his lights out.

“What are you babbling about?”

“Some very valuable spell books were stolen from the restricted section of the library. And I hear ‘widdle Ronnikins’ has taken to wandering the halls at night. Walking in his sleep, I suppose?”

A knot formed in the pit of Harry’s stomach. If Malfoy had gotten wind of Ron’s little excursions, Snape had to know by now.

“Even at Hogwarts they can still add two plus too and get four.”

“And you did that without a calculator.” Hermione applauded. “Your parents must be so proud!”

“A day of reckoning is coming, Mudblood.” Malfoy’s voice dropped menacingly. “On that day I’m going to enjoy watching you pay for those insults. And if I’m lucky, I might even be allowed to collect some of the payments myself.” He reached out to touch her cheek. With a look of utter disgust, Hermione slapped his hand away. Malfoy drew his arm back to belt her across the mouth.

With a fast-draw that would have made Wyatt Earp proud, Draco was suddenly staring into the “business end” of Harry’s wand.

“Oh, there’ll be a reckoning all right, Malfoy.” The tip moved to Malfoy’s forehead, tracing a lightening bolt pattern on the spot where Harry’s scar was located. “Maybe we’ll find out if your mother loves you as much as my mother loved me.” Draco’s raised arm slowly lowered to his side. For the first time since they’d met, Harry fancied that he’d actually seen fear in Draco Malfoy’s eyes. It had been Lily Potter’s total, unconditional love for her son that had saved Harry’s life when Lord Voldemort had tried to murder him as a baby. If her love had been a shield of iron, Harry reckoned that all the love and affection Draco Malfoy had received from his family in his entire lifetime wouldn’t add up to a single sheet of tissue paper. Malfoy, reckoning that discretion is the better part of cowardice, withdrew.

“Someday, Potter…” Malfoy hissed through gritted teeth. “Someday.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Draco turned on his heel and left with a dramatic swish of his robes. A dirty look from Hermione banished Crabbe & Goyle.

“Have a nice day, boys!” she called after them. Harry’s hand was trembling as Hermione brought it up to her lips and gently kissed it. “You missed your calling, Potter. You should’ve been a poker player.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Harry pulled her close, “You’ve heard the old saying, ‘Unlucky at cards, lucky in love.’” He drew her into a kiss. “Would you like to use the Emergency Shelter again tonight?” he whispered.

“I’d love to, but you already have a date tonight,” she reminded him, “with Professor Snape.”

*****

For the third time in a row, Harry and Professor Snape met in the Potions classroom just before sunset and made preparations for their nightly vigil. They had constructed a sort of “duck blind” by draping Harry’s Invisibility Cloak over a couple of chairs, creating a tent-like affair at the back of the room, then settled in to wait for the thief to strike. Harry had brought a pillow from his bed, a small supply of snacks and Quidditch Through The Ages, which he read by the light of his wand. Snape sat, cross-legged, arms folded, spine rigid, looking like a cross between an Eastern holy man and a cigar-store Indian. Most of the time he kept his eyes closed and his mouth shut, only opening it to grunt a refusal to Harry’s occasional offers of food.

It was a little after eleven when Harry finally finished his book. His neck and his legs were starting to cramp.

“It’s been three days, Professor. I’m beginning to think he’s not coming. Maybe he decided to try and get what he needs in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley.

“Hogsmeade, perhaps,” Snape said without opening his eyes. “But I’m betting that our thief is a student and wouldn’t be able to leave Hogwarts without arousing suspicion”

“What makes you so sure it’s a student?”

“Use your head for something other than a resting place for your school hat, Potter! A member of the faculty could have simply checked the books out of the library, no questions asked! I doubt if it was the House-Elves. They wouldn’t know how to make use of the spells even if they could get hold of them. Ergo, it was a student.”

“So, what do you suppose our thief wants to bring to life?”

“Perhaps he’s a sculptor like Pygmalion and wishes to have a long-term relationship with one of his statues!” the professor snorted, “Though, given the current crop of would-be Michelangelos in Mr. Kite’s Sculpture class, I doubt it. Hard to imagine anyone falling in love with that Post-Modern rubbish he favors.”

“Hard to imagine anyone falling in love with a piece of marble.” Harry said.

“No more difficult to imagine than falling for some giggling, preening, boy-crazed little adolescent witch,” Snape said cattily, “How is Miss Granger, by the way?”

Probably sorry she’s not here to answer that for herself, thought Harry.

“She’s fine,” he said with a forced smile.

“You two seem to have become quite… close”, he remarked with a hint of distaste.

“We’ve been through a lot together.” Harry wasn’t quite sure why he said it, but the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Have you never been in love, Professor?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Potter,” he sniffed haughtily, “but I’ve had the odd romantic dalliance in my day.”

“Odd” being the operative word, you great poof, Harry couldn’t help thinking. He mentally slapped himself on the wrist. Bad Harry! Be nice!

“Like your father before you, Harry, you have a certain ‘simplicity of personality’ to which the opposite sex seems to respond. To put it succinctly, you are ‘likeable’. I, on the other hand, am a very complex and multifaceted individual and it sometimes takes much longer to become fully acquainted with the subtleties and nuances of my persona.”

“You’re not likable.” Harry translated.

“I’m a complete and total bastard. The sooner people realize it, the better we’ll all get along.”

“So, does that mean you really do hate me?”

“Of course.” Snape said matter-of-factly. “But you mustn’t take it personally. I hate everyone. It’s a natural consequence of always being the smartest person in the room. To answer your question, there were two young ladies who actually stand out in my mind. One was a Gryffindor and the other…wasn’t. One a fiery redhead and the other had hair of spun gold. They couldn’t have been more different in looks, personality and temperament, but I… cared… for both of them.”

This was certainly a week for revelations! (The fact that Snape had any interest at all in females rated a headline in The Daily Prophet, for a start!) Harry had never seen this side of Snape before. Although still guarded, he did seem to be letting a little bit of humanity peek through the cracks of his harsh façade. He was telling a story about how he’d tried to ask the redhead out on a date when some boorish dolt from the Quidditch team caught her attention. The more he described the beautiful redhead and the boorish Quidditch player the more they sounded familiar. In fact, they sounded an awful lot like the stories he’d heard about his parents, Lily and James Potter. Could it be, Harry wondered. Could creepy old Professor Snape have actually had a crush on his mother? Harry’s skin crawled at the mere thought—and yet, how different might Snape have turned out if he’d known the love of someone like her?

Harry’s brain was beginning to hurt.

At the first opportunity he quickly changed the subject and got Snape talking about the gorgeous blonde. The Potions Master didn’t have as much to say about her, except that she was beautiful, she was blonde, and apparently she had a lovely singing voice. Before he realized it, Snape was singing softly to himself. He was no Englebert Humperdink, mind you, but he wasn’t half bad.

She’s only a bird

In a gilded cage,

A beautiful sight to see,

You may think she’s happy

And free from care,

She’s not

Tho’ she seems to be,

’Tis sad when you think

Of her wasted life,

For youth cannot mate with age,

And her beauty was sold

For an old man’s gold,

She’s a bird in a gilded cage.[4]

.

Rather old fashioned tastes for a girl from the Disco era, Harry thought to himself. Still, Hogwarts wasn’t exactly known as “trendy” to begin with. When Harry asked Snape why he never got anywhere with the blonde, he muttered something about her being rather “two-dimensional”. Snape’s evasiveness told him that he shouldn’t press the matter.

Around one in the morning, Harry and Snape had both grown weary of their little adventure.

“You go on to bed, Potter” Snape sighed. “I’ll finish the watch tonight. Perhaps we can come up with a better plan in the morning.” Harry wasn’t about to argue. He gathered his things and headed for Gryffindor tower.

Relieved of his obligations to Snape, now Harry could concentrate his energies on solving the mystery of Ron Weasley.

*****

Sorry about this, Harry. Ron thought. He reached into the pocket of his pajamas and produced a small amount of silver SleepSand®, which he blew into the air. The dust spread out in a glittering cloud, settling over every bed in the room and gently covering each boy’s face. Those who were still awake in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory drifted off to sleep. Those who were already slumbering would sleep even more soundly. Only the simple repellant charm found on the label kept the dust from affecting the person who unleashed it. Ron threw off the covers and shed his pajamas. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans underneath. Putting on his sneakers, he gathered up his book bag and headed out the portrait hole.

Ron had just sprinted past Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory, when two figures stepped out of the shadows.

“We have to talk, Ron.” Harry and Hermione stood side-by-side, ready to physically obstruct his way if need be.

“I could’ve sworn I saw you get into bed and go to sleep, Harry.” Ron seemed genuinely impressed with his friends’ ingenuity. “I spent good money on that SleepSand®, too!” He took the bag out of his pocket and dropped it into a wastebasket sitting on the floor. “How did you manage it?”

“Doppelganger,” Hermione replied with a hint of smugness. “If you’d been paying attention at all in ‘Camouflage and Illusions’ class, you could’ve made one yourself and nobody would ever have known you were sneaking out at night.”

“True. But I’ve never been the scholar that you are, Hermione. I just have to muddle along as best I can.”

Harry stepped forward. “What’s going on, Ron?”

“I can’t tell you that, Harry.”

“We only want to help--”

“Nobody asked you to interfere!”

“Interfere?” Harry repeated, incredulously. Hermione wondered if Ron could see how genuinely hurt Harry was by his friend’s harsh words. “I thought we were friends.”

“If you were truly my friend, Harry, you’d leave me alone and let me deal with this myself.”

“You stupid, thick-headed git!” Hermione exploded, “Don’t you get it? You’re a pixie’s whisker away from being expelled from Hogwarts and you’re mad at us for wanting to help you! If Harry hadn’t been covering for you all this time, you’d be on the train back to Ottery St. Catchpole right now!”

Ron looked as if he was going to say something vicious and hateful, but then he seemed to catch himself. He took a deep breath. The anger and sarcasm began to drain away.

"I know you both mean well, but I’ll be okay, I promise!” He was looking his friend straight in the eye. “I can’t explain, Harry, Hermione. I’m just going to have to ask you both to trust me. If you truly are my friends, you’ll let me handle this my way.” This was a Ron Weasley his friends had never seen before

“It must be something pretty important.” Harry said.

“It could be the most important thing I’ve ever done in my life and it’s something I have to do alone. Before it’s always been ‘The Harry Potter Show’. Harry Potter defeats You Know Who, Harry Potter discovers the Chamber Of Secrets, Harry Potter wins the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Harry Potter Saves The Whole Bloody World! Well, this is my chance to play the hero for a change.”

“You always trusted me when I broke the rules.” Harry sighed “I guess I owe you that much.” Harry extended his hand. The handshake turned into an embrace. “Just do me a favor and steer clear of Snape’s ingredients stores for a few days.”

Ron shrugged as if he had no idea what Harry was talking about.

“If you say so.”

“Just remember,” Hermione chimed, “if you ever do need us, we’ll always be there for you. Don’t get yourself killed just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help.” She pulled him close for a hug.

“I won’t,” he told her. “I promise.” He started off down the corridor.

“Good luck.” Harry called after him.

“Thanks.” Ron Weasley disappeared into the shadows.

“You’re more worried about him now than you were before,” Hermione said when he was finally out of sight.

“When I was doing all those things he talked about, at least I was smart enough to know when I was in over my head. I know Ron’s ego. I’m not sure he could ever bring himself to admit that he’d bitten off more than he could chew.” Harry felt Hermione’s arm wrap around his waist, her body pressing close to his. “But it’s like he said. We’re just going to have to trust him…” All the same, Harry decided to keep the Marauder’s Map handy--just in case.

*****

“Harry!” Hermione screeched at the top of her lungs as she burst into the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory.

“Hey! No girls allowed!” came a voice from the back of the room.

“Granger?” Fred Weasley moaned as other boys joined in the chorus. “It’s five o’clock in the bloody morning!”

Dodging a volley of pillows and slippers, Hermione zigzagged her way to Harry’s bed and plopped down next to him. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him as hard as she could.

“Harry! You’ve got to wake up!”

“Hermione?” He yawned. “I swear you’re insatiable! Let me sleep a little longer and get my strength back. We’ve got the whole afternoon you know!” He kissed her hand, drawing it to his chest, then settled back onto his pillow. Hermione was ready to die from embarrassment—at least somebody was going to die from it! Resisting the urge to strangle Harry with her bare hands, Hermione ignored the snickers of the other boys and tried again.

“HARRY! PROFESSOR SNAPE’S BEEN ATTACKED!”

That got his attention.

****

Madam Pomfrey adjusted the bandage wrapped around Snape’s head.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Apparently someone thought the Professor’s head was a Bludger.”

“Will he be all right?” asked Hermione.

“There doesn’t appear to be any permanent injury, but he’s had a nasty concussion. I’ll be able to tell more when he regains consciousness.”

Professor Dumbledore pulled Harry and Hermione aside. In the far corner of the infirmary, a woman sat at Madam Pomfrey’s desk examining several objects from Snape’s office. Her robes were a deep burgundy color and she wore a hood that covered most of her face, leaving only a small portion of her chin visible. From what little he could see, Harry guessed she was in her fifties or sixties.

“This is Madam Lenore,” Dumbledore told them, “Visiting Professor of Palmistry and Psychic Precognition. She is assisting with the investigation. Her specialty is picking up psychic vibrations from inanimate objects.” She put down the mortar and pestle she was examining and offered her hand to Harry. As he reached out to shake, she grabbed his hand and yanked it toward her, turning it palm up and running her finger along his “lifeline”.

"You are the famous Harry Potter!" she carefully examined his palm. "It is a great honor to finally meet you. I’ve been hoping for a chance to experience your aura.”

“That may be the only part of you I haven’t experienced.” Hermione whispered into Harry’s ear. He glared at her with a “Not in front of the teachers!” expression. She smiled sweetly.

“You have a very strong aura, Mr. Potter” Madam Lenore continued, “I sense much courage and resourcefulness. You are not one to sit on the sidelines when others are in danger.”

Brilliant deduction, Sherlock! Thought Hermione, unimpressed. Next you’ll be telling us that his life will be filled with adventures!

“Your life will be filled with adventures.”

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“You will know great sadness,” she told him, “But you will also know great joy.” She dropped Harry’s hand and grabbed Hermione’s. She let go with one hand, which went immediately to Hermione’s abdomen. “Your children will be powerful wizards.”

Our children? Hermione’s mind was racing, Are we destined to be together? She looked directly into Madam Lenore’s eyes. Is Harry Potter my soul mate?

“There are such things, my dear,” she whispered to Hermione. “But you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Have you anything to tell us about Professor Snape’s attacker?” Dumbledore said with a hint of impatience.

“Indeed I have, Professor.” She picked up a large brass candlestick. “I believe this was the weapon.”

“Can you tell us anything about the person who used it?” Harry asked.

Her eyes closed and she clutched the candlestick tightly. She seemed to be going into a trance. “I see a tree with many branches. A table set with many places. Around the table I see many princes, their heads topped by crowns of flame, but their pockets empty. I see a sapling desperate to escape the shadow of the forest. I see a bird in a gilded cage.” She opened her eyes. “Was that of any help?”

“Not really,” said Hermione.

“Never mind, love,” the old woman shrugged. “Fetch us a cup of tea and I’ll have another go.”

Dumbledore sighed. This was getting them nowhere. He sent Madam Pomfrey for a pot of tea and took Harry and Hermione aside. “I take it you have a suspect in this matter?”

“We do,” Harry nodded, “but our evidence is pretty circumstantial. I’d hate to accuse someone prematurely.”

“I appreciate your dilemma,” Dumbledore said, “but your time is running out. This affair has become quite serious. It’s no longer merely a matter of violating curfew. Valuable property has been stolen and a teacher has been brutally assaulted. That is a matter for the authorities. If Professor Snape is able to identify his attacker once he regains consciousness, I will have no choice but to act upon his evidence. You have that long to prove your friend’s innocence.”

“We understand, Professor.”

*****

“You didn’t really buy all that stuff about the trees and the tables and the crowns of fire--?” Hermione asked as she and Harry headed back to Gryffindor tower.

“A tree with many branches, a table with many places—a large family.” Harry interpreted.

“And the many princes with the crowns of fire and the empty pockets?” Hermione sighed, “A poor family with a whole flock of red-headed boys; The Weasleys.” This was getting a little unnerving. “And the sapling trying to escape the shadow of the forest? A boy living in the shadow of his older brothers—Ron.” A chill went down Hermione’s back. “What about the ‘bird in the gilded cage’?”

“Still working on that one,” Harry sighed with frustration. Hermione could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “It was something Snape said to me… I wish I could remember. Maybe I'm just tired.” He slammed his hand into his thigh “Dumbledore knew it was Ron all along!”

“Of course he did. That’s why he’s Headmaster. But I still can’t believe that Ron Weasley would ever attack a teacher, not even Snape.” Hermione snuggled against Harry’s arm. “So, what do we do now, Holmes?”

“‘Elementary, my dear Watson’,” Harry answered. “Much as it pains me to break my word to Ron, we have to find out what he’s up to. For all our sakes, let’s pray that he really is just sneaking off to meet a girl.”

******

Harry sat on his bed, reading. Most of the other boys were in the showers, getting ready for bed, so the room was virtually empty. He had slipped Hermione the Invisibility Cloak just before they went to bed and she had used it to enter the boys’ dormitory. At the appointed time, Harry looked around to make sure no one was watching, drew the curtains and then began feeling around to make sure she had made it safely. For many weeks to come, he would swear he wasn’t deliberately aiming for her breast…

“You’ll pay for that, Potter!” a disembodied voice whispered into his ear as a derrière-shaped dent formed in the blankets beside him.

“Whatever the price,” he whispered back, “It was worth it!” Hermione’s invisible elbow jabbed him in the ribs.

“What was that Potter?” came Neville Longbottom’s voice from outside.

“Nothing.” Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant as he stuck his head out of the curtains. “Just talking to myself.”

“That’s a sign of mental collapse, you know!” Neville kicked off his slippers as he crawled under the covers. “’Night, Harry!”

Harry went through his usual bedtime rituals in the bathroom, all the while doing his best not to grin like an idiot because he had managed to sneak an invisible girlfriend into the dormitory. He had assumed that Hermione was still waiting beside his bed; until he saw Fred and George Weasley’s toothbrushes suddenly switch places. As he carefully felt his way over to the sink, an unseen hand pinched his bum.

“Will you behave!” he hissed through gritted teeth. Fred Weasley gave him a funny look as he walked by.

“Talking to yourself again, Potter?” Hermione giggled softly in his ear. Harry was spared the effort of coming up with a witty retort when Ron emerged from the showers. Much to their joint relief, he was wrapped in a towel.

“Good night, Ron!” Harry called after him. A noncommittal grunt was all he got for his effort. Hermione could see the hurt on Harry’s face at his best friend’s rebuff.

“You don’t suppose”, she whispered suggestively, “that we have time for a quick shower before bedtime?” Naughty thoughts that had hitherto been firmly under control now danced like erotic sugarplums in poor Harry’s fevered brain.

“Only if it’s a cold one…” he sighed.

Harry pulled down the covers and climbed into bed. A moment later he felt a warm sensation as Hermione crawled under the blankets with him, snuggled against his back and kissed his ear. Harry bit his lip, as Ron’s bed was much too close to scold her aloud. Fortunately, the curtains were closed. Harry turned over, pulling the covers over his head. Hermione had pulled the Invisibility Cloak away from her head so that her face was now visible. Even though his entire body ached to forget about everything else and make love to her right there and then, Harry did his best to conjure up his most stern fatherly look.

“Do you have any idea how crazy you’re making me?”

“Believe me,” she sighed, laying her head on his shoulder and snuggling against his chest, “the feeling is mutual.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Harry sighed. Hermione leaned close and whispered something in his ear. (Which I leave to the reader’s imagination; and you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking things like that, by the way!) It was a strange life being a junior wizard. There were days when Harry would’ve given anything to be someone other than “The Boy Who Lived”. Then there were moments like this: perhaps it was just the sheer absurd naughtiness of the whole thing! Snogging with his invisible girlfriend right under the noses of the prefects and all the other Gryffindor boys. Even if Dumbledore personally were to boot him out of Hogwarts tomorrow, at that moment Harry Potter wouldn’t have traded places with anyone in the entire world.

*****

“Harry!” Hermione whispered urgently. “Harry! Wake up!” After a full day of classes, wrapped up snug in his nice warm blankets and Hermione’s tender embrace, it had been a struggle for Harry to remain awake. Hermione clamped an invisible hand over Harry’s mouth before he could groan in protest. “Ron’s leaving!” she told him.

Harry peered through a tiny opening in the curtains. Without his glasses, Harry could make out only a redheaded blur climbing out of the next bed and looking around to make sure no one was watching. It looked as if he were pulling off his pajamas. Apparently he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans underneath. Grabbing his shoes and his book bag, he started for the door. As usual, Neville Longbottom was snoring like a chainsaw, so for Ron the creaking floorboards were just a matter of proper timing.

Once Ron was out of sight, Harry grabbed his glasses from the end table, then pulled the covers over his head and wriggled underneath the Invisibility Cloak with Hermione.

“Welcome aboard, Captain!” she whispered cheerfully.

“Ron and I have been a bad influence on you, haven’t we?”

“Absolutely.” She giggled as she kissed him on the nose.

Harry quickly arranged his pillows underneath the blankets to make it appear that he was still in bed.

“Good luck, Harry!” Neville whispered as they passed by, then resumed his pretend snoring. Harry could only shake his head in bewilderment. Hermione could barely keep from laughing out loud.

Harry and Hermione were a couple of minutes behind Ron and they were afraid they’d lost him already. Fortunately, the time he’d taken to stop and switch from his slippers to his regular shoes allowed them to catch up. Harry couldn’t help but be concerned. Ron knew all about the Invisibility Cloak and surely he’d be watching for them. Still, Ron apparently looked right through them as he checked to make sure no one was around. Harry and Hermione hardly dared to breathe until Ron got up and started down the corridor. What neither of them noticed was the thin layer of white powder sprinkled on the stone floor which had made their footprints perfectly visible…

Ron was leading them up through the shifting staircase gallery toward the abandoned third floor. It was here that the three of them had first encountered the gigantic three-headed hellhound misnamed “Fluffy”. Luckily for them, Fluffy was now long gone, sent to live with a friend of Hagrid’s in Greece. A few doors down, Harry had first discovered the Mirror of Erised, in which he had first seen the faces of his parents. What could Ron possibly want up here in this damp, deserted area of the castle?

As they reached the third floor, Ron had managed to get far enough ahead that he was now out of sight. Harry prayed that they hadn’t lost him.

“I don’t see him Harry,” Hermione whispered. “What do we do?”

“Let’s just keep moving and hope we can pick up his trail,” he replied, trying to sound decisive. They carefully made their way down the damp cobweb-covered stone corridor.

“Maybe we can find his footprints in the dust.” Harry hoped that it wouldn’t make them start sneezing and give their location away…

Dust?

Harry looked down at the floor.

“Hermione!” he said, unable to keep his voice down any longer, “That’s not dust! It’s flour!” Even though they couldn’t see it, they could hear it: metal clanking against metal, coming from directly above their heads. Almost as a reflex action, Harry wrapped himself around Hermione, attempting to shield her with his body. He felt a sharp, stinging pain as the first impact struck him squarely on his head, followed by another on his back, then his neck, then his ear. Blow after blow came the rain of metal. The world started to lose focus even before Harry’s glasses fell off and clattered to the floor. Just before he slipped into total darkness, he could’ve sworn he heard a voice echoing inside his head.

“Nice try, Potter! Better luck next time!”

But the voice wasn’t Ron’s… It was Draco Malfoy’s!

Will our heroes survive this terrible trap?

Can they discover Ron’s secret before it’s too late?

What does the title of the story have to do with any of this?

Tune in tomorrow! Same Bat-Time! Same Bat-Channel!

---

[1] “My Buddy” Words and music by Walter Donaldson & Gus Kahn

[2] For (almost) all the juicy details, read my story “It Happened One Night”

[3] If you’re reading this, “Hi Anise!”

[4] “She's Only A Bird In A Guilded Cage” (Glad Rags to Riches 1932) Lyrics and Music by A.J.Lamb & H.Von Tilzer (1900)

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:

*******

EXECUTIVE PRODUCER

STEPHEN BOCHCO

*******

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.

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”

Brian Hendrickson Normal Brian Hendrickson 35 1902 2002-06-01T05:38:00Z 2002-12-02T17:56:00Z 17 5612 31993 266 63 39289 9.3821 Normal 1

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 Four)

“Beautiful Dreamer”

“Flashlights?”

“Check.”

“First-Aid kit?”

“Check.”

“Climbing Rope?”

“Check”

“Plastic vomit?”

“Check.”

“Rubber Chicken?”

“Check.”

“Chattering teeth?”

“Check.”

The Great Hall at Hogwarts was usually filled with activity, but never with quite so much purposeful energy as today. At the Gryffindor table, the Weasley twins, Fred and George, inventoried the supplies for their expedition to rescue their brother Ron, while their kid sister Ginny rushed to finish her homework as the House-Elves cleaned up after breakfast. At the Slytherin table loitered Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, Draco Malfoy's henchmen, playing Exploding Snap and shooing away any elves who tried to kibbitz. High above them all, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, a.k.a. "Nearly Headless Nick", brought the other ghosts up to date on the latest adventures of the missing Ron Weasley.

“A painting!” cackled the ghost of old Mordecai Malfoy, one of the Hogwarts Governors. "The Weasleys have always been a bit thick, but can you imagine falling in love with a painting?” Fred and George were too preoccupied to pay attention, but little Ginny looked ready to crawl into the nearest mouse hole.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” said the portrait of former Charms Professor Madam Wilhelmina Gumbridge, from just over Ginny’s shoulder.

“You wouldn’t, you great stupid cow!” Mordecai shot back.

Sir Nicholas had levitated down to Ginny. “Never mind that old windbag! I’ve known the Weasleys for generations,” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “and I’d rather have one Weasley on my side than a whole platoon of Malfoys.”

“I heard that,” old Mordecai bellowed, “This from a man who couldn’t even manage to get his head chopped off properly!” Sir Nicholas responded with a two-finger salute.

“Thanks Nick,” Ginny managed a half-smile. “It’s not that. I’m just worried about Ron.”

“Keep your chin up, luv’! He’s got to be all right, you know. If anyone at Hogwarts had ‘crossed-over’, we’d be the first to know about it.”

Cutting through the relative quiet, Goyle’s voice was like a foghorn.

“’Bout time too, Potter!”

If Harry and Hermione seemed to be in a world of their own, they were. After spending the night in Harry’s emergency shelter[1] he and Hermione had been caught up in a shared romantic daydream that they were newlyweds enjoying their first breakfast together in their new flat—particularly when Hermione managed to get the radio to play something besides 1940’s Big Band music and The Beach Boys’ Wouldn’t It Be Nice? came on. It was difficult to tear themselves away from their fantasy, and some of the giddy afterglow still clung to them as they walked in, arms around each other’s waists.

“Now there’s something you don’t see everyday, Fred.”

“What’s that, George?”

“One silly grin spread over two different faces.”

“Better than seeing the same ugly mug in stereo!” Hermione shot back. Fred and George both pretended that they’d been shot in the chest and fell to the floor in the most melodramatic fashion possible.

Stepping over Fred and kicking George in the side, Ginny handed Harry a note.

“Mum sent this for you, Harry.”

“Thanks, Ginny.” The sight of Ginny, shifting uncomfortably and trying to avoid his gaze, broke Harry’s reverie. It was obvious that she still had a terrible crush on him. The worst thing was that Harry genuinely liked her and hated seeing her so unhappy. Like the rest of the Weasley clan, Ginny had been nothing but kind and supportive of him ever since they’d met at King’s Cross Station all those years ago. He really wished he could fix her up with someone nice.

Harry unfolded the note.

Dearest Harry,

Fred, George and Ginny have been keeping me informed about the situation at Hogwarts. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, and I know if anyone can bring our Ron home to us, it’s you. Stay close to Fred and George. I’ve threatened them with their lives should they let anything happen to you. By the same token I expect the three of you to look after our Ginny. I know I must sound like a sentimental old cow, but we Weasleys have come to think of you as one of our own.

Please be careful.

Love,

Molly

Harry quickly rubbed away the tear that was forming in his eye. It was hard not to get emotional. In truth, the Weasley clan had been more of a family to Harry than his aunt or uncle ever had. Harry took a deep breath and composed himself.

A little after nine o’clock, the Grey Lady confirmed the locations of Filch and Mrs. Norris. Fred and George had done some strategic sabotage in Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory, which she dutifully reported to the Hogwarts caretaker. With any luck, the job would keep him busy until late afternoon.

“I guess we’d better get going.” Hermione picked up the small satchel she’d collected from her room, the Weasleys slipped on their backpacks and they were off.

“Mind if I join you?” Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts stood blocking the entrance to the Great Hall. Ducking to avoid hitting his great hairy head, he stepped inside. “I’d really like to come along, if that’s alright, Harry.”

Harry grinned up at his friend. “Welcome to the expedition, Hagrid.” He motioned for the others to follow. “Let’s get moving.”

The Southeast Tower, sometimes known as “Merlin’s Tower”, was believed to be the oldest part of Hogwarts castle, built sometime around 900 A.D. There was no direct historical evidence to prove that this was indeed the residence of King Arthur’s favorite wizard, but the legend had grown around it nonetheless.

“This ain’t where we followed ’em before,” growled Crabbe as the little expedition headed up to the next landing.

“I think Ron and Draco were deliberately trying to lead us on a wild goose chase the first time. Anyway, this is where Myrtle says she saw Ron.”

As they approached the next turn in the corridor, Harry held up his hand, bringing the group to a halt. He eased around the corner, dropped into a crouch, pointed his wand forward, and swept it from side to side in front of him. Satisfied that no one was waiting to ambush them, he called over his shoulder to the others, "Clear!" Crabbe leap-frogged into the "point" position and checked the next corner while Harry covered him. At each corner, Goyle, George, and Fred leap-frogged in turn to become "point" and make sure it was safe. It was slow going. By half-past ten they had only made it to the fifth floor. After what had happened the last time they tried to follow Ron, Harry was taking no chances. Remembering the injuries they’d suffered, Crabbe and Goyle weren’t about to argue.

The first three floors had presented no problems other than a general fear that the place was unsafe and that the entire tower could collapse on them at any moment.

Nearly Headless Nick poked his head through the wall. "We may have a problem." The ancient stone staircase that lay ahead of them looked none too safe. "I don't think that lot could even support me!"

Harry ventured a tentative toe onto the lowest stone. There was a terrible grinding noise and a cloud of dust as the stair started to give. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him to safety. She then took out her wand and chanted, "Vescere bracis meis!" The vibrating stone suddenly froze in place. "Everybody move along! I don't know how long I can hold it!" The others quickly scurried up the stairs.

Hagrid hesitated. “You sure it can ’andle me, ’Ermione? Maybe I should stay behind.”

“Just go, Hagrid!”

The half-giant moved as quickly as his great bulk would allow. Hermione was on the brink of exhaustion. When he had finally cleared the danger area, Hermione relaxed and a large chunk of the stairway collapsed into rubble and disappeared into the shadows below. At the next landing Harry and the others stood stock-still, hardly daring to move for fear of dislodging more stones.

“Okay, ’Ermione! Your turn!”

Hermione looked down at the ten-foot chasm that now separated them. The remaining stones looked none too steady.

“Come on, lass! I’ll catch ye!”

Hermione backed up a few steps, closed her eyes and launched herself into the air. The next thing she knew, she was cradled safely in Hagrid’s giant arms.

“That weren’t so bad now, was it?” For a moment, the two just sat there laughing, then Hagrid carried Hermione to the top of the stairs and set her down next to a very relieved Harry. Ignoring the taunts of the others, Harry stole a quick hug and a kiss.

Somewhere around the seventh floor they could hear a woman’s voice singing in the distance. They knew that they were nearing their goal.

Beautiful dreamer,

Wake unto me,

Starlight and dew drops

Are waiting for thee,

Sounds of the rude world

Heard in the day,

Dulled by the moonlight

Have all passed away.

Moaning Myrtle wasn’t exaggerating, Harry thought. She truly has the voice of an angel.

As they reached the door, Hermione unzipped her satchel and pulled out a small phial.

“Before we go in, all the men take a swig of this potion.”

“What is it?” Crabbe eyed the lavender colored liquid warily.

“Insurance,” she replied.

After all the men-folk had taken a drink, Harry pushed open the door and led the others inside.

Queen of my song,

List while I woo thee

With soft melody,

Gone are the cares

Of life's busy throng,

Beautiful dreamer,

Awake unto me,

Beautiful dreamer,

Awake unto me.[2]

The place was a mess. Apart from the cold, the damp, the cobwebs and the general decay, there were empty candy wrappers and fast food containers everywhere. In one corner of the room a cauldron simmered over a small fire. Empty bottles for powders and potions were scattered around it.

On the far wall hung the portrait of Gwendolyn.

It occurred to Harry that neither Myrtle’s descriptions nor Hagrid’s little photo did her justice. She was exquisitely beautiful. Her skin, her hair, her lips were almost too perfect to be real. The artist who painted her must have poured his soul into every brush stroke.

At her feet lay the object of their search: Ron Weasley, fast asleep, his wizard’s robes rolled into a ball as a makeshift pillow.

“Shhhh,” Gwendolyn said softly, raising a finger to her perfect lips. “Don’t wake him. I finally managed to convince him to get some sleep. He’s been working so hard these past few days.”

Hagrid shyly stepped forward.

“’lo, Gwen.” He could barely meet her gaze. He ground the toe of his huge boot into the stone floor and twiddled his thumbs behind his back.

“Can it really be?” She tilted her head, uncertain of her memory, “Rubeus Hagrid? Is that really you?”

“Yep.” He looked like a schoolboy trying to give a valentine to his teacher, “’S me alright!”

“You know. I think you do look better with the beard.”

Ginny impatiently pushed her way past the others, knelt down and placed her hand on her brother’s forehead.

“He has a fever!”

It was all Harry could do to take his eyes from Gwendolyn and see his friend’s condition for himself. Ron’s face was pale. His brow was beaded with perspiration.

“Oh my!” Gwendolyn’s hand went to her mouth. She seemed genuinely concerned. “I knew he was exhausted, but do you think he’s really ill? Do you suppose someone should take him down to Madam Yi?”

“Madam Who?” Hermione asked.

“How silly of me.” Gwendolyn shook her head. “It’s been so long. I don’t suppose she’s school nurse anymore.”

“Fred! George!” Ginny pulled out her wand.

“Beautiful,” the twins sighed in unison. It took several attempts for Ginny to wrench their attention away from Gwendolyn. Together the siblings levitated their prostrate brother into the air.

Ginny pulled Hermione aside. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” She nodded apprehensively at Harry, who, like Hagrid, and the others stared transfixed at the painting.

“We’ll be okay.” Hermione reassured her.

With a final look of concern, Ginny led her brothers out the classroom door and back the way they had come. Hermione walked over and took hold of Harry’s hand. Distracted, Harry turned to find her giving him a look of mock disapproval. He gave her a grateful smile.

“We never gave up lookin’ for you, Gwen…” Hagrid said almost apologetically.

“You mustn’t blame yourself for what happened,” she said gently.

“May I ask, just what did happen?” Harry interrupted.

Gwen picked up her skirts and made an elegant curtsey. “You must be the famous Harry Potter. Your reputation precedes you, sir.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about you as well, Miss Dubois,” Harry bowed stiffly in return, “Particularly about how you disappeared all those years ago. I was wondering who stole you.” Gwen couldn’t help but notice that Harry wasn’t fawning over her as intently as the others. Instead, he was holding tightly to Hermione’s hand. Hermione got the distinct impression that this was an unwelcome deviation from the girl’s agenda. Gwen looked decidedly uncomfortable for a second, but quickly recovered her composure.

“Truth be told, Mr. Potter, I really don’t know. I never saw their faces.”

“There were more than one? Were they wearing masks?”

“Could we talk about this another time, Mr. Potter?” she pleaded, “I’m very worried about Ron—Mr. Weasley—and I was wondering if someone could carry me down to the Hospital Wing so I could be there for him when he recovers?”

“I’ll do it!” Hagrid waved his hand in the air. He shot a plaintive look at Harry as if asking for permission. Hermione pulled Harry aside to confer.

“I don’t trust her, Harry,” she whispered. “She hasn’t given you a straight answer to a question yet.”

“I tend to agree with you,” Harry said softly, “but so far we don’t have the slightest bit of proof that she’s done anything wrong—and in the state he’s in we can’t be sure how Hagrid might react if we really go after her.” With a sigh of resignation, Harry nodded to his friend. “Go ahead, Hagrid.”

The giant practically skipped over to the wall.

“I’ll try to be gentle now, Gwen, but you’d best hang on tight to summat.” Gwen braced herself against a large Romanesque column in the background of her painting. Hagrid took hold of the frame and tenderly lifted the picture until the wire in the back was clear of the nail in the wall.

“’Ere! Just a minute!” came Crabbe’s voice. He shook his head as if trying to fight off a headache. “We’re forgettin’ somethin’… I was gonna ask about—”

“Draco Malfoy,” Hermione reminded him.

“Draco…? Oh yeah… Draco.”

“Oooooooh!” Gwendolyn cried as Hagrid’s massive hands struggled to keep her upright. “Draco? He said he was—Oops! —going into Hogsmeade for supplies. That was two days ago and Ron and I haven’t seen him since. Oh! Do be careful, Rubeus!”

Once Hagrid had maneuvered the painting out the door, Harry’s head began to clear a little. Sir Nicholas and the others were following Gwendolyn out the door.

“That’s one powerful love charm!” Hermione sat down on one of the tables. “I’m not even a boy and I could feel it!”

“I’m sorry,” said Sir Nicholas, shaking his head, “Did you say something, Hermione?”

“It wasn’t important, Nick.” Harry barely suppressed a laugh watching the specter peering out the door after Gwendolyn. “I don’t think we’ll need you anymore.”

“Right…” And with that, Sir Nicholas drifted off down the corridor.

“It must be powerful if it affects you even after you’re dead. ” Sitting next to her, Harry took Hermione’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Even with that counter-charm potion you gave us, it was hard to think straight. Thank goodness you were here to focus on or I would never have been able to concentrate.” Harry stole another quick kiss.

“You’re welcome.” Hermione and Hermione stepped out into the corridor as the strange procession disappeared down the stairs. “You think she was telling the truth about Malfoy?”

“Right now I don’t know if she’s telling the truth about anything.” Reentering the classroom, Harry picked up the book of poetry that Ron had been reading to Gwen. It open at one particular poem:

“If in the morning when you wake,

If the sun does not appear,

I will be here.

If in the dark we lose sight of love,

Hold my hand and have no fear,

I will be here.

I will be here,

When you feel like being quiet,

When you need to speak your mind I will listen.

Through the winning, losing, and trying we'll be

together,

And I will be here.

If in the morning when you wake,

If the future is unclear,

I will be here.

As sure as seasons were made for change,

Our lifetimes were made for years,

I will be here.[3]”

It was still hard to imagine Ron Weasley reading poetry to anyone but the Chudley Cannons, but Harry and Hermione couldn’t help but be touched by the sentiment of this particular poem. Harry felt Hermione’s hand tighten around his. Hermione knew that Harry Potter could write the book on loneliness. She covered his hand with hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Harry would never be lonely again if she had any say in the matter. It was a conversation totally without words, but it’s meaning was clearly understood by both parties, nonetheless.

The stolen library books were piled on one of the nearby tables. Harry picked them up and handed them to Hermione. “Before we hand these in, I want you to go through them.”

“What am I looking for?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Fine,” Hermione shrugged, “So, how will I know when I’ve found it?”

Harry paced anxiously back and forth.

“Why was Gwendolyn so evasive when I asked who moved her all those years ago? You’d think she’d be anxious to expose the thieves!”

“Hagrid was convinced that the Slytherins did it,” Hermione reminded him. “Now that I think about it, why bother stealing her? As Hagrid said, once she was a real live girl again, it would be ‘every man for himself’.”

“You suppose the girls did it?”

“No.” Hermione gave him an evil smile. “We witches have other ways of dealing with romantic rivals.” She considered for a moment. “Maybe the Slytherins wanted the honor of releasing her themselves?”

“If that’s the case, why didn’t they just do it? Why is she still a painting?”

“There’s a very simple answer for that, Harry,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. “The Slytherins didn’t take the painting and neither did the girls.” Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, strode into the room. Though he would never again be the man he was before he was thrown into Azkaban Prison, he looked healthier and more fit than the last time Harry had seen him. His face had begun to fill out and the dark circles under his eyes had started to fade.

“Sirius!” Harry threw his arms around his dear friend. “How did you get into Hogwarts without anyone noticing?”

“People noticed, Harry. Fortunately, the ones who did were nice enough to pretend that they didn’t.” He turned his attention to Hermione. “Well! Can this really be the frizzy-haired little witch I met in the Shrieking Shack so long ago?” She gave him a hug. “Now what are all these stories I’m hearing about you two getting caught in a blizzard—?”

Harry quickly changed the subject. “So, the Marauders stole Gwendolyn, did they?”

“We all adored her—but we realized that the price for releasing her was more than any of us were willing to pay.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

Sirius picked up one of the stolen books and began flipping through it. “We tried the spells for releasing someone who had been changed into an inanimate object. They didn’t work. We tried every variation we could think of—until we finally realized that Gwendolyn was never a real girl to begin with.”

“Never a real girl?” Harry shook his head.

“She was a painting” Sirius explained patiently. “She always has been, and always would be a painting.”

"She was lying, then,” Harry was getting angry. "To you and my dad, to Hagrid, and now to Ron!"

Sirius set the book down. “To tell you the truth, Harry, I think she’s been giving people that story about the lustful wizard for so long that she may have started to believe it herself. We can only imagine what it must have been like to hang there on the wall day after day, watching the rest of the world go by. Somehow, the artist who painted her was able to imbue his work with an intelligence and self-awareness that very few other paintings have.”

Hermione picked up one of the forbidden books. “You said ‘the price was too high’ to release her…?”

“Since she was never truly alive to begin with, we would’ve had to infuse her with a massive amount of life energy to stabilize her human form. Otherwise she would’ve reverted back to being a painting within a few days.”

Suddenly all the pieces fell into place. “How much energy would you need to drain off?”

“All of it.” Sirius Black was not one to mince words.

“Wait a minute.” Harry’s head was spinning. “Let me be clear about this—”

“In order to release Gwendolyn and make her a real girl, we would’ve had to sacrifice the life of another human being.”

******

“Is it absolutely necessary to have this—person—staring down at me while I’m trying to work?” There was something about the way Madam Pomfrey and Gwendolyn regarded each other as Hagrid positioned Gwen’s canvas on the wall of the Hospital Wing. Ginny likened it to a pair of lionesses stalking the same gazelle, each sizing up the other, deciding whether the meal would be worth the battle. Madam Pomfrey’s professional instincts quickly took over as Fred and George Weasley levitated their ailing brother into the bed opposite Gwen’s painting.

“You found him!”

“He’s running a fever, and—” Ginny began.

"Hush, luv'." Madam Pomfrey was already conducting a full examination of her patient. “Poor pet. You’ve almost worn yourself to a frazzle.” Her assistants herded Fred, George and Hagrid out into the corridor. Little Ginny had managed to blend into the background enough to escape their notice.

From the other end of the wing Ginny could hear Professor Snape shouting, "I am fine, I tell you! When can I get out of this sterile, white-linened prison?"

“You will be released as soon as Madam Pomfrey certifies that you are fit to return to your duties,” Dumbledore’s voice countered, “Not before.”

“It’s obvious even to the most obtuse mind that the Weasley brat is responsible for all this,” came a third voice, this one cold and pitiless. “Have the boy arrested and be done with it! Then you can concentrate on the business of finding my son!”

Ginny tiptoed over to the screened-off area from where the voices originated and peeked through a gap between the screens. She immediately recognized the third man as Lucius Malfoy, Draco’s father. Dressed to the nines as always, he wore a long flowing cape over immaculately tailored silk robes. He was slapping a pair of black dragon’s hide gloves into the palm of his left hand.

“Did you get a look at your attacker, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

The Potions Master shifted uncomfortably. “I was hit from behind. I never saw his face.” Clearly, that was not what the elder Malfoy wanted to hear.

“You see, Lucius? I’m afraid the evidence is simply too circumstantial to call in the authorities at this time.” Dumbledore seemed almost relieved. “We will, of course, continue to investigate the matter.”

“Just see that you do.” Malfoy growled, “And see that you find my son! My patience is not infinite, Albus.” Ginny ducked down under a nearby bed as Lucius Malfoy stalked past her towards the exit.

Once Lucius was out of earshot, Dumbledore resumed speaking, but in a conspiratorial whisper. "It wasn't the Weasley boy who attacked you, was it, Severus?"

“I told you, I never saw his—”

“It was young Malfoy, wasn’t it?”

“After I was hit, and just before I lost consciousness, I could’ve sworn I heard Draco’s voice laughing at me, but I could have been hallucinating.”

“Interesting,” Dumbledore stroked his ancient whiskers, “Since Madam Lenore’s psychic impressions all seemed to point to Ronald Weasley.”

“Quite frankly, I wouldn’t believe Madam Lenore if she told me the sun were going to rise tomor—”

Ginny’s elbow bumped against a bedpan. She quickly ducked under the bed again.

“Did you hear something?” Dumbledore peered out from behind the screen.

Lucius Malfoy had stopped at the foot of Ron Weasley’s bed and was staring up at Gwendolyn, who was softly singing:

In my sweet little Alice blue gown,

When I first wander’d down into town

I was both proud and shy,

As I felt ev’ry eye,

But in ev’ry shop window

I'd primp, passing by

Then in a manner of fashion I’d frown

And the world seemed to smile all around,

Till it wilted I wore it,

I’ll always adore it,

My sweet little Alice blue gown.[4]

“Oh, do give it a rest!” Madam Pomfrey called over her shoulder. “I’m trying to work here!”

““I was only trying to help him feel better.” Gwen did her best not to sound hurt. “Ron always said that my singing relaxed him. Will the real doctor be here soon?”

“Real doctor?” Madam Pomfrey sputtered. She was just about to give Gwendolyn a complete recitation of her résumé and very specific suggestions as to exactly what Gwen could do with it if she didn’t pipe down.

“Forgive me, that was uncalled for.” Gwen was all sweetness and light, but she seemed to enjoy getting the nurse’s goat. “What exactly is Ron’s condition?”

In spite of her anger, Madam Pomfrey’s professionalism quickly took over again. “He’s suffering from exhaustion. There are also signs of dehydration, exposure and malnutrition.”

“It was terribly cold up in that tower,” Gwen said apologetically, “and I’m afraid Ron and Draco have been living on nothing but junk food and caffeine for nearly a week. I tried to convince them to eat properly and rest, but they simply wouldn’t listen.”

“Gwendolyn…” Lucius Malfoy whispered.

“Lucius?” her voice was as sweet as honey, “It’s been a long time.”

“Now, don’t you start mooning over her as well!” Madam Pomfrey said in exasperation. “Believe it or not, some of us have work to do!” She grabbed Lucius Malfoy by the collar of his very expensive silk cape and practically gave him the “bum’s rush” out the door. “You can come back during normal visiting hours!”

Ginny tried to take advantage of the row to slip away unnoticed but as she tried to leave, a gloved hand caught her by the shoulder. The hand spun her around to face its owner, Lucius Malfoy.

“The littlest Weasley, I presume?”

“Ginny,” she said, trying to make it sound proud and defiant—but barely managing a passable Minnie Mouse impression.

“I assume you’re going to make a full report to everyone’s hero, Harry Potter?” Lucius knelt down, bringing them face-to-face. “Tell Mr. Potter that I shall be waiting outside the entrance to Slytherin house in one hour. I wish to speak to him.”

*****

“Since your father, Remus and I were in charge of the search party looking for Gwen,” Sirius told Harry and Hermione, “it wasn’t difficult to keep her hidden from the others. We hated to have to deceive everyone like that, but we couldn’t take the risk that some poor lovesick fool would fall under her spell and end up killing someone in order to bring her to life. You saw what a powerful effect she has on people. If anything, I think it’s grown stronger over the years.”

“Snape said he’d figured out how to release her.”

Sirius shook his head and sighed.

“Severus had some half-baked theory about having everyone ‘donate’ a small amount of life energy, but his figures just never added up. He’d never admit it, but I think his brain was just as addled as everyone else’s.”

“I wonder…” Harry said. He opened Hermione’s satchel and took out the small Chia-Pet figure of a pig he had borrowed. He held it over the stolen library books. The image formed by the multi-colored plants was awash in pinks, purples, and golds.

“An enchantment detector?” Hermione laughed. “Where did you get that?”

“Madam Pomfrey loaned it to me.” They carefully studied the image.

“You’d expect a book from the Hogwarts library to have at least a couple of enchantments on them,” Hermione pointed out. “Spells to return them to their proper places when they’re put on the wrong shelves, spells to let the librarians know when they’re overdue; that sort of thing.” She indicated the purple areas. “These spells, however, are a horse of an entirely different color. These indicate some very complicated, very powerful magic.”

“That could be how Gwen ensnares them,” Harry mused. “They fall in love with her, look for the spell to release her, then the spells on the books take over their minds.”

“Wait a minute,” Sirius said. “We all fell in love with Gwen, but we were still thinking clearly. That’s why we hid her.”

“This spell must be relatively new…” Harry speculated.

“A painting couldn’t cast that kind of enchantment.” Hermione pointed out. “Even if she could, how would she have gotten to the library to do it?”

“You think she might have had an accomplice?” Harry shrugged.

“Show the books to Professor Flitwick.” Sirius suggested. “He’ll be able to give you a better idea of exactly what the charms are and how to defeat them. I don’t know how much luck you’ll have, but it might be a good idea to keep your friend Ron away from Gwen if at all possible.”

“We’ll do our best, but to tell you the truth, I’m more worried about Draco Malfoy. I’d feel a lot better if I knew where he was and what he was up to.”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Sirius grinned. “Smart boy. Just thank your lucky stars you’re dealing with Draco and not his father! Believe me, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He took hold of Harry’s and Hermione’s hands and pressed them together between his own. “I’m so glad you two found each other.” Now they were both blushing. “I’m headed into Hogsmeade. Maybe I can ferret out where young Malfoy is hiding. I’ll be in touch.”

With that, Sirius melted into the shadows and disappeared.

“I wish he’d teach me how to do that,” Harry sighed.

*****

As they walked back toward Gryffindor Tower, Harry was suddenly struck by a thought.

“What is it?”

“There’s something I’d like to ask Madam Pomfrey—” He caught himself, squeezing her hand tightly. “—but it can wait.”

“I think I can make it to Professor Flitwick’s office by myself, Harry!”

“As long as Malfoy is missing—”

Cho Chang appeared around a corner with an armload of books. Harry hadn’t really spoken to Cho since the death of Cedric Diggory. Since then, they’d said “hi” to each other in the hallways, but that was about it. She was just as attractive as ever. If pressed, Harry would have had to admit that she was prettier than Hermione—and yet without the emotional connection he and Hermione shared, her beauty didn’t seem to affect him in quite the same way as before.

“Cho!” Harry called out. “Here! Let me give you a hand with those!” Before she could say anything, Harry had relieved her of about half her load, which he immediately unloaded onto Hermione. “You know, it occurs to me that you two never had a chance to really get to know each other—!”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Harry,” Hermione hissed through gritted teeth.

Harry didn’t miss a beat. “—And that is a shame, because you have so much in common!”

“For instance?” Cho eyed the two Gryffindors with suspicion. She had the feeling she was being set up for some kind of inter-house prank.

"Yes... Well, er, I have to go take care of something. You two run along and have fun now." Harry took off at a dead run toward the Hospital Wing.

The awkward silence seemed to go on forever.

“So,” Hermione said, “Can I carry your books back to the dorm for you?”

“Why not?” Their laughter broke the ice. They started toward the dorms.

“Madam Lenore!”

The visiting Professor of Palmistry and Psychic Precognition grabbed Harry’s arm as he headed toward the Hospital Wing. Her grip was feeble. She was short of breath and she seemed to be having trouble standing. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve had another vision, Harry Potter!” Her voice was low and raspy. “Am I to understand that Draco Malfoy has still not been found?”

“Not yet. He’s supposed to be in Hosgmeade. A friend of mine is checking on it.”

“Remember my prophecy, Harry Potter! As long as he is at large, Miss Granger is in great peril.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to make sure that somebody is with her at all times until he’s found.”

“It may already be too late, Harry Potter.” Her voice was grim. “I have also prophesied his redemption—but only at the cost of someone dear to you.”

“Meaning no offense, Madam Lenore, but that prophecy is going to come true over my dead body.” Harry dashed off down the corridor.

“So be it, Harry Potter.”

“I never got a chance to thank you for talking the Grey Lady into helping us,” Hermione said as she and Cho neared Gryffindor Tower.

“No problem,” Cho shrugged, “It was kind of nice to get her out of the Ravenclaw common room for a while. She can be a bit of a nuisance around exam time when everyone’s studying and she gets bored.” Finally, Cho’s curiosity got the better of her. “So what was that all about back there?”

“It’s a long story. Harry can be a bit of a worrier sometimes.”

“I’d think it’d be nice to have someone who worries about you.”

“It is, but he can overdo it sometimes.”

“I understand that you and Harry have gotten very… ‘close’ recently.”

Hermione’s ears pricked up. Perhaps it was just her natural contrariness—perhaps she really did see Cho as potential rival—but for some reason, Hermione was sorely tempted to blurt out something exceedingly crude about how she and Harry had been sleeping together for ages now. It took all the self-control she could muster to say, “Yes. I suppose we have.”

“That’s nice.” The awkward silence set in again.

“So?” Hermione said, not really knowing what she would follow it with. “How have you been doing?”

“Okay, I guess.” After another long silence, she finally blurted out, “It’s okay to talk about him. I don’t burst into tears at the mention of Cedric’s name anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Cho. I can only imagine what that’s like.”

“Everybody wants to be nice, but nobody knows what to say.” Then, it was as if all the emotions she’d kept bottled up inside suddenly burst out. “Cedric’s friends—even his family—treat me like I’m his widow. He was a nice boy! We went to the Yule Ball together! We had a few laughs! Of course he didn’t deserve to die like that, but how long am I supposed to mourn for him? If I so much as talk to a boy, everyone looks at me like I’m betraying his memory!”

“Believe me,” Hermione assured her, “I understand.”

“You and Harry may be the only people in the world who do understand.” She sighed. “I guess we’re both part of The Legend Of Harry Potter now. Tell me. Do you ever get used to it? The staring? The whispering behind your back when they think you can’t hear them? Everyone always carefully watching what they say in front of you?”

“Not really. It helps if you have friends—someone you can talk to.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I have any real friends...” Cho said wistfully.

“I think you do.” They started to leave. Hermione wasn’t sure what made her stop, but she did. “If you ever just want to talk… about Quidditch or… whatever…”

“Thanks Hermione.”

They heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Ginny Weasley was running toward them at top speed. She stopped right in front of them, bent over and grabbed her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

“Harry!” she said between gasps, “Where’s Harry?”

“He was headed for the Hospital Wing,” Hermione told her.

“Figures.” Ginny huffed. She doubled over again, trying to stabilize her breathing. When she stood up once more, she noticed something moving in the shadows behind Hermione.

Cho screamed.

Harry finished his business with Madam Pomfrey and was on his way out when two disheveled figures burst through the door. Ginny and Cho looked as though they’d fought their way out of a prison riot. Their faces, arms and legs were bruised. Blood ran from Ginny’s nose. Each was doing her best to keep the other on her feet.

“Oh my poor dears!” gasped Madam Pomfrey.

“Harry!” Ginny sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” Harry tenderly took the little girl into his arms and helped her into the nearest empty bed.

“What happened?

“We tried to help her. We both tried to hex him but he was just too strong…”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s Hermione,” Cho said as she dropped down onto a nearby chair. “She’s been kidnapped.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. His fists clenched and his cheeks flushed red with rage.

“MALFOY!”

to be continued…

END OF CHAPTER FOUR

---

[1] If you haven’t read my story “It Happened One Night” by now then just forget about it!

[2] Stephen Foster

[3] Steven Curtis Chapman

[4] Harry Tierney (music) - Joseph McCarthy (lyrics)

Brian Hendrickson Normal Brian Hendrickson 49 517 2002-06-16T08:19:00Z 2003-09-07T18:49:00Z 9 5958 33961 283 67 41706 9.3821 1

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 FIVE:

“I Wonder Who’s Kissing Her Now?”

Sirius Black dropped another golden Galleon into the old woman’s hand.

“Thank ’ee, sir!” She reached into the pocket of her apron and produced a set of keys. “I think what you’re lookin’ for is right in ’ere, sir.”

Cobwebs hung heavy from the rafters of the old attic. The clutter from over a century of previous occupants was stuffed into every conceivable nook and cranny. The crone pulled an old sheet from a pile of bric-a-brac, raising a cloud of dust that made Sirius nearly choke.

“I think this is what you’re wantin’, sir!” Beneath the sheet were a rusted coffee can filled with old paintbrushes, a few half-used sketchpads and a couple of blank canvases, yellowed with age. “Nobody ever come to claim ’is things when ’e—Well, you know, Sir.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cobblepot.” Sirius picked up one of the blank canvases. Underneath was a half-completed watercolor sketch of a kitten. The kitten looked up and mewed at him.

“’E ’ad talent, that one. No doubt of it.”

“Do you remember what happened to him, Mrs. Cobblepot?”

“They say it were poison, but if you asks me, it were a broken ’eart what really done ’im in, poor pet.”

Sirius was flipping through the sketchbook past bucolic landscapes and fruited still-lifes when he came upon a simple but elegant charcoal sketch of a woman’s face.

“That’s ’er! She were the one! You don’t ever forgets a face like that, sir—nor ’er name, for I heard him moanin’ it in ’is sleep often enough… ‘Gwendolyn’.”

*****

“Would you like me to sing for you, Harry?” Gwendolyn asked, breaking his train of thought. “It seems to be the about only helpful thing I can do right now.”

“Alright, Gwen, Go ahead,” Harry sighed, if only to keep his imagination from running wild and conjuring up more and more horrible potential fates for his missing Hermione. Harry paused at the entrance to Hogwart’s Southeast Tower and took a deep breath, leaning the portrait of Gwendolyn Catherine Marie Dubois leaned against the doorjamb.

This would be the longest walk of his life.

Knowing he’d never be able to lug the nearly six-foot tall canvas and its heavy frame all the way up to the seventh floor, he aimed his wand and levitated it into the air. The girl in the picture looked down at him with what appeared to be sincere concern. As much as Harry held her responsible for all that had happened over the past few days, he realized that she had absolutely no control over what was about to take place. Softly, she began to sing. Whatever else you could say about Gwendolyn, she did have a beautiful singing voice.

“I wonder who’s kissing her now,

Wonder who’s—”

“Not that one, Gwen,” Harry interrupted, “not right now.”

“Of course. Sorry about that Harry.” Gwendolyn dabbed her painted silk handkerchief at the tears forming in her painted eyes. “I swear, I never meant for any of this to happen. All I ever wanted was what any girl wants. I wanted to go to wonderful parties. I wanted dashing young men like you to ask me to dance.” Perhaps Gwen was simply flirtatious by nature, but it seemed as though she had been dropping hints in his direction ever since they’d met—but with Hermione missing and possibly in mortal danger, Harry wasn’t the least bit interested. “I wanted to know what it was to fall in love… Is that really so terrible?” Put like that it didn’t sound all that unreasonable—but Harry knew the ugly truth. Gwendolyn’s dream could only come true at the cost of another human life—Hermione’s.

“You lied, Gwen. You lied to my father, you lied to me, and you lied to Ron.” He glanced down at the scrap of parchment clutched in his hand. One of the school owls had delivered it to Harry shortly after Hermione was reported missing. It read simply:

“Bring Gwendolyn and the books back to the tower.

Come alone OR ELSE!”

Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand. His thoughts raced back to that final confrontation in the Hospital Wing with the outraged Potions Master...

“Out of the question, Potter!” Professor Snape declared.

“I’m afraid I am forced to agree, Harry,” Dumbledore added. “You are in no shape to--!”

“He’s got Hermione!” Harry growled through clenched teeth. He could barely see through the tears in his eyes. Inside his head it was as though he were someone else watching himself in disbelief as he snarled at his friend and mentor Professor Dumbledore.

“At your age,” Snape said with a sardonic smile, “ it’s not terribly smart to be putting all your romantic eggs, shall we say, in one basket—but that is a discussion for another day.”

Harry’s wand was pointed right between Snape’s eyes. Clearly the boy was in no mood for levity. In his present state, Snape knew he was capable of almost anything. “Get out of my way, Professor!”

“If it’s the last thing I do on this Earth, Potter, I’m going to prove once and for all that there’s something at least resembling a brain inside that that thick skull of yours! Anger is a weapon only to one’s opponent. If you go charging up there in this condition, you’ll be cut to pieces.”

“Since when do you care what happens to me?”

“I don’t—except insofar as it reflects on my own reputation as a teacher. If you get yourself killed, people would assume that somehow it was my fault because I had not adequately prepared you. Can you imagine? A brilliant career destroyed by one student’s rash stupidity! That is completely unacceptable, Mr. Potter. I simply will not allow it!”

“Please, Harry!” Ginny Weasley beseeched him. Harry’s expression softened for just a second at young Ginny’s pleas. Then in a lightning-fast motion he grabbed a bottle of elixir from a nearby table and smashed it onto the floor. A plume of bright purple smoke filled the room.

“Hodie adsit, cras absit!” Harry cried out. There was a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder. When the smoke had cleared, Harry, the forbidden library books and the painting of Gwendolyn were all gone.

The reappeared near the door to Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory.

“How did you do that, Harry?” Gwendolyn asked. “I thought it was impossible to Apparate at Hogwarts.”

“So did I.” Harry grinned, quite pleased with himself.

Gwendolyn’s voice echoed eerily through the stone corridors, reflecting back as almost ghostly wails.

“After the ball is over,

Just at the break of dawn,

After the dance is ended,

And all the stars are gone…”

As he climbed the stairs to the southeast tower, the pieces of this weird jigsaw puzzle floated around inside Harry’s head, but no matter how he arranged them, they just didn’t seem to fit together.

“Many the heart that’s aching,

If you could read them all.

Many the fond hope that’s vanished,

After the ball.”[1]

As they reached the collapsed staircase, Harry thought he heard a noise. He set down Gwendolyn’s portrait and carefully moved to investigate.

“Lumos!”

As he reached the edge of the precipice he saw what appeared to be a pair of very finely crafted dragonshide gloves—with their owner still inside them.

“Potter?” came a familiar voice. Lucius Malfoy was dangling over the abyss, barely hanging on by his perfectly manicured fingernails. “Don’t just stand there gaping you idiot! Help me up!” Harry cast a quick levitation spell on Malfoy pere and set him down gently on the landing. He was holding his arm and wincing in pain. His face was scratched and bleeding and his right ankle was turned slightly in an unnatural position, preventing him from standing.

“What happened?”

“Someone shoved me over the edge when I wasn’t looking, of course!” he growled. “Or did you think I was doing my daily arm-stretching exercises?” He carefully sat himself down on the stone floor, doing his best to avoid putting any weight on his twisted ankle. “I know what you’re thinking, Potter,” he finally said. “I may not be the greatest father in the world, but I know my son would never attack me—any more than he would attack Professor Snape—or your friend, Miss Granger. When he first mentioned this new girl he was seeing I thought was a wonderful idea. Quite honestly I thought he was developing a rather unhealthy fixation on that mudbl—” If Harry had been from Krypton, the glare he was giving Lucius at that moment would have burned a hole clean through him. “I had no idea it was Gwendolyn.” He winced in pain as Harry tried to examine his arm. “Be careful, you clumsy fool!”

“I don’t think anything’s broken, but I have a feeling you’ve dislocated your elbow. Your ankle looks none too good as well.” Harry took out his wand and cast a quick charm. “This should dull the pain a little until Madam Pomfrey can have a look at you.” He got up and dusted of his pants. “I have to go. If you can’t make it down by yourself, I’ll give you a hand on my way back, assuming…”

The senior Malfoy could see that Harry’s anger at Draco and his fears for Hermione were talking far louder than logic at this moment, but he felt he had to try once more. “Ask yourself one thing, Potter; why abduct Miss Granger in full view of Miss Chang and Miss Weasley—not only incriminating himself in front of witnesses, but forcing him to fight off the two of them as well as struggle with her? Why not wait until she was alone?”

“Maybe he’s just gone mad.”

Lucius nodded. “Granted, it’s not entirely without precedent in our family… But even if he had taken complete leave of his senses, do you suppose even the Malfoy money could protect him once he had practically announced to the world that he was a kidnapper—possibly a rapist—even a murderer?”

“But Madam Lenore—”

“She’s winding you up, Potter. I don’t know exactly how, but I’ll wager you she’s mixed up in all this.”

Harry’s brain was overloading. “I have to go.” He aimed his wand at himself and levitated past the gap in the stairs. He then levitated Gwendolyn’s portrait.

“Potter?” There was something about the tone of Lucius’ voice that made Harry stop. “If I’m wrong… If it turns out that my son really has… I can’t imagine that he would want to spend the rest of his life at St. Mungo’s… I know you and Draco have never been friends, but—”

“What exactly are you asking, Mr. Malfoy?”

“I’m simply pointing out that mercy can take many forms, Mr. Potter.”

*****

As Harry and Gwendolyn reached the seventh floor and approached the abandoned classroom, they heard what sounded like an explosion followed by the sounds of glass crashing and a shower of crystal fragments. In his mind, Harry pictured Malfoy fil making a mistake with the potion to make Gwendolyn human and blowing himself and Hermione to Kingdom Come. Harry gently levitated Gwendolyn to the floor and leaned her against the wall. The door wouldn’t budge so he aimed his wand at the lock.

“Alohamora!”

Harry kicked in the door and dropped into a crouch, wand extended.

“It’s okay, Harry,” called a familiar voice, “I got ’im.”

“Ron?”

One of the great lead-glass windows had shattered, a few shards of glass were scattered around the room, but most of it seemed to have fallen outside. The youngest Weasley brother stood with an enormous grin on his freckled face. In his hand was his broom and at his feet lay the prostrate body of Draco Malfoy. Behind them, an unconscious Hermione was tied to one of the tables like the heroine of an old silent movie, ready to be sawn in half. A large cauldron brewed on a small fire in one corner of the room.

Harry threw his arms around his old friend, and then tousled his flaming red hair. He had never been so happy to anyone in his entire life.

“But you were still unconscious!”

“I woke up right after you left. Fred and George filled me in, and here I am. I wasn’t going to let that little creep get away with hurting my two best friends—besides, why should you two have all the fun?””

“But how’d you get up here so fast?”

“Broomstick of course! I just yelled ‘Accio Broomstick!’ You know, it had never worked for me before! I knew Malfoy would be too busy looking for you to watch the windows.” They embraced again

“You took a big chance, Ron.”

“I kinda felt I owed it to you after all the trouble I’d caused.” He gave Harry an embarrassed smile. “I’ve been a world-class prat. Can you forgive me, Harry?”

“Ron Weasley, right now I could forgive you for almost anything!”

Harry moved to Hermione’s side and began untying her bonds.

“Let’s hope you mean that,” Ron muttered under his breath.

“I knew you’d come for me.” Still groggy from the sleep spell, Hermione slid her arms around Harry’s neck and snuggled against his chest as if she’d simply fallen asleep in his arms after making love. “I knew my white knight would rescue me.”

“White knight?” Ron looked a little offended. “Well I like that! So what am I then, Sir Harry? Ye olde chopped liver?”

“You, Squire Ron, are the best friend a white knight could ever have.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Love me again, Harry,” Hermione sighed.

Ron couldn’t resist a smirk. “Is she always this randy? Hope you’re taking your vitamins, son.”

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice was full of trepidation. “Did Malfoy—Did he hurt you?”

“She’s fine, Harry!” Ron gently reassured him. “If Malfoy had done anything like that to her, she wouldn’t be having such sweet dreams.” Ron gathered up the stolen books and stacked them on the table. “Go on! Get her downstairs! Madam Pomfrey will snap her out of it, then you two can get back to snogging as usual.”

Harry hesitated.

“Go on! I’ll bring Gwen down when I finish up here!”

“Thanks, Ron!” Harry cast a small levitation spell on Hermione so he wouldn’t have to lug her full weight down seven flights of stairs. He took her in his arms and held her close for a moment, then started back the way they’d come. They were half way down the first flight of stairs when Harry heard Gwendolyn’s voice.

“Ron? Ron? What are you doing?” From her tone, obviously something was wrong.

“Shhhhh!”

“Harry!” she yelled. “Harry! Come back!”

When Harry returned the classroom, Gwendolyn’s portrait had been re-hung on the far wall. Ron had slung the unconscious Draco over his shoulder and had unceremoniously dumped him on the table where Hermione had been bound. He was gathering up the ropes that bound her and had begun tying down Malfoy’s wrists.

“Ron? What are you doing?”

“Just go, Harry.” Ron ordered. “Just take Hermione and go.”

“What are you going to do?” Harry gently set Hermione down by the door. Her eyes had opened and she was starting to return to reality.

“You don’t need to know, Harry. Just pick up Hermione and leave now!”

Behind Ron’s back, Gwendolyn was gesturing toward the still simmering cauldron. Suddenly it all became clear. “You’re going to use Malfoy instead of Hermione to free her from the painting!”

“It’s perfect, Harry!” With a flick of Ron’s wand, the fire under the cauldron to flared to life. He opened the book to the proper page and began lighting the candles. “We kill two birds with one stone! I can release Gwendolyn and get rid of a major pain in the arse at the same time! I’ll just say that he tried to finish the spell and it backfired on him!”

“What about his father? You think Lucius Malfoy will buy that?”

“You think I give a basilisk’s elbow what Lucius Malfoy believes?”

“Ron, the Malfoys have just enough money and power to be really dangerous—plus they already have it in for the Weasleys!”

“I’m willing to take that risk, Harry! You don’t have to be involved in any way. In fact, the less you know the better off you are. Just take Hermione and go!” He began chanting in Latin. “Parce cucumeris frustis, parce lactucae! Mandata pecularia nobis non sunt oneri...”

“Ron, I can’t let you do this.”

“Harry, we’re talking about Draco Malfoy! Remember? The snotty nosed little rich kid who’s dedicated his life to making everyone else’s miserable? I’ll bet you a gross of chocolate frogs his dad can’t stand the little bastard any more than we can!” He continued to chant. “Parce cucumeris frustis, parce lactucae! Mandata pecularia nobis non sunt oneri...”

“It’s still murder, Ron,” came Hermione’s groggy voice from the doorway.

“You think so?” Ron was growing more and more agitated. “Well, I call it preventive medicine! There’ll be one less Death Eater to deal with when You-Know-Who finally makes his move!” He was almost pleading. “You know I’m right, Harry! No matter what old Dumbledore thinks, he’s going to turn on us the first chance he gets!” He chanted more intently. “Parce cucumeris frustis, parce lactucae! Mandata pecularia nobis non sunt oneri...”

“Please Ron,” Gwendolyn implored. “It’s not worth it. If being released means sacrificing another person’s life, I’d rather stay as I am!”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Gwen! You don’t know this character is like! I do! Believe me, we’ll be doing the world a favor!”

“It’s not your call to make, Ron.” Harry’s wand pointed directly at his best friend’s heart.

“Harry…!” Ron stammered. “C’mon, Harry! You wouldn’t…?”

“You’re my best friend in the entire world, Ron,” Harry said, but his words held no warmth. The voice that spoke them was cold and severe. “But I can’t just stand by and let you murder another human being—not even Draco Malfoy.”

Has it come to this? Harry thought. Must I now kill my best friend to save the life of my second-worst enemy? Was that what Madam Lenore meant about someone close to me being sacrificed? No! There has to be another way!

Ron suddenly pointed his wand above Harry’s head. The big iron chandelier came crashing down in a cascade of green sparks. Harry just managed to leap out of the way. Ron took the opportunity to roll behind the rotting teacher’s desk. Another blast sent Harry diving for cover behind an overturned table. Hermione scrambled out into the corridor and drew her own wand to give Harry covering fire.

“Boys!” called Gwendolyn over the din of battle, “Please! You must stop this!”

“Be reasonable, Harry!” Ron yelled, “Remember what Madam Lenore told you about Draco’s little fantasies? If I hadn’t conked him when I did, Merllin only knows what he would’ve done to Hermione before he killed her!”

Madam Lenore? Harry suddenly had a thought. In one corner of the room stood a large wooden cupboard. I wonder… Harry leveled a blast at the cupboard, knocking it over onto the cauldron. The contents of the cauldron spread out across the floor and the cupboard itself touched the flames and ignited. From inside the cupboard came a woman’s scream. Startled, Ron screamed in perfect unison with her, then quickly regained his composure and fired at Harry, knocking him off his feet.

“Harry!” Hermione gasped. Fueled by her own growing rage, Hermione’s blast splintered the teacher’s desk, caught Ron squarely in the chest and flung him into the blackboard. The slate shattered like blackened chunks of peanut brittle as Ron’s limp body crumpled to the floor. Hermione quickly rushed to Harry’s side and cradled him in her arms. She was actually relieved to hear him groaning in pain. At least he was alive. In between her own sobs, Hermione could hear Gwendolyn calling out.

“Ron? Harry? Can you hear me?” They were both out of her line of sight, so she moved as far as she could toward the edge of her frame. “Hermione? Are they all right? Please don’t let them both be dead because of me…!”

“Harry’s alive,” Hermione sobbed, “But I think I’ve killed Ron!”

“Your friend will not die,” came a booming voice from the doorway. With a very theatrical gesture, Professor Snape cast aside Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. “Because I will not allow—LET GO OF MY LEG, YOU REVOLTING LITTLE CREATURE!”

Dobby, the house elf was holding on to Snape’s trouser leg for dear life. Once the Invisibility Cloak was cast aside, Dobby rubbed his eyes and looked around.

“Mister Harry Potter, Sir!” The little elf ran up to Harry and began jumping for joy. "Dobby is now knowing that Professor Snake is not lying! Professor Snake really is bringing Invisibility Cloak to Harry Potter! Dobby is sorry he is not believing Professor Snake!"

Ignoring Dobby’s tirade, Snape reached into his robes and withdrew two small glass vials, one containing a pink liquid, the other green. Popping the stoppers out with his thumbs, he poured the contents of one into the other. As he strode across the room, the mixture turned a bright turquoise. He grabbed Ron by the chin and poured the liquid down his throat.

Harry and Hermione managed to help each other to stand. It was then that Snape noticed the overturned cauldron and the spilled potion. He tossed another vial of white powder into the fire, instantly extinguishing it. A woman in a burgundy robe lay unconscious in the remains of the cupboard, moaning in chorus with Ron.

"Madam Lenore?” gasped Dobby. “Madam is not looking so good.” The little elf knelt over her unconscious form. “Madam's robes is not looking so good. Madam, please be giving them to Dobby and Dobby is giving them a good washing." He looked around the room. " This place is being a mess! Dobby is getting a mop, now." As they watched, the liquid on the floor touched Madam Lenore’s hand and her body began to glow from within.

“Quickly boy!” Snape demanded, “Did they recite the incantation?”

“Ron got something out,” Harry told him. “I didn’t catch all of it.”

Hermione struggled to remember. “I think it was, “Parce cucumeris… frustis, parce… lactucae…. Mandata… pecularia nobis… non sunt oneri...”

“Then it’s too late.” There was a strange air of satisfaction in Snape’s voice. Hermione could’ve sworn his lips curled into an infinitesimal smile for just an instant. “All I can do is complete the process.” The glow condensed into a pulsating ball of energy, which emerged from Madam Lenore’s torso and levitated in the air. Snape took out his wand and pointed it toward the energy ball. “Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari.”

He guided the energy ball up into the air and toward the painting of Gwendolyn. The ball touched the surface of the painting and spread itself out across the canvas. The energy coalesced around her. Slowly, the image was lifted off the painting and deposited on the floor of the classroom. Within moments, a two-dimensional representation of a girl painted in oils was transformed into a three-dimensional human being lying in a heap in the floor. Gwendolyn Catherine Marie Dubois sat up and looked around. For a long time, the girl could only stare in awe at her now flesh-and-blood body, touching herself over and over to make sure that it was truly real.

“Pretty lady…” Dobby said, transfixed.

“I’m free.” Even as she said it, she couldn’t quite believe it.

Snape stepped forward, offering his hand to help her up. Once she got to her feet, she immediately threw her arms around Harry’s neck, hitting nearly every sore spot on his body.

“Oh, Harry! I’m free! I’m free!”

“That’s great.” Harry said as he winced in pain. Hermione grabbed Harry by the arm and all but yanked him away.

“What is it about these Potters…? Snape muttered to himself.

“I doubt if you’d understand, Professor,” Hermione said, wrapping her arms around Harry.

“How’s Ron?” the bewildered Harry asked.

“He’ll be fine, Potter,” Snape said softly. “I told you, I have my reputation to consider.”

Dobby was examining Ron's clothing and shaking his head sadly. "Dobby is not knowing about Ron Wheezy's shirt, though."

*****

Late that night, Harry, Hermione, Professor Dumbledore and Sirius Black met secretly in the Hospital Wing, where Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy and his father, Lucius, lay slumbering under a recuperation spell. Madam Poppy Pomfrey was examining the lifeless remains of Madam Lenore.

“Allow me to introduce you to the real Gwendolyn Dubois,” Sirius announced as he pulled back her hood.

“The real Gwendolyn?” Hermione asked.

“The woman who actually posed for the portrait all those years ago.”

It was true. In spite of the ravages of time, there was still some vestige of beautiful face that had infatuated so many.

“So, neither Ron nor Malfoy were behind the attacks or the thefts?” Hermione put her arm around Harry’s waist. “She was controlling their minds all along?”

“What tipped you off, Harry?” Sirius asked, “However did you figure out it wasn’t really Ron in control?”

“I was already suspicious when I noticed the window in the tower had been blown outward. If he had really crashed through it on his broom there should have been glass everywhere. Instead, most of it was outside. But I was certain when he mentioned what Madam Lenore had said about Malfoy’s perverted fantasies. He was still missing when I had that conversation. Hermione and Professor Snape were the only ones I told about it. There was no way Ron could’ve known—That, plus his casual attitude about killing Malfoy. That just wasn’t Ron Weasley.”

“It must’ve taken an incredible amount of effort to control both Ron and Draco,” Sirius said as Madam Pomfrey pulled the sheet over the poor old woman’s head. “Not to mention the spells she put on the library books.”

“She was half-dead the last time I spoke to her,” Harry said. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe I ever saw them together at the same time while they were under her control.”

“But how in the world did she get them involved in the first place?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

Harry looked a little embarrassed. “I think it was because of Hermione and me. The day after Nevile Longbottom’s little snowstorm, Ron went missing for several hours. I have a feeling he went up to the Southeast Tower to sulk and stumbled on Gwen.”

“When he stole the books from the library,” Hermione said, “that activated Madam Lenore’s mind control spells. It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t have a spell on them that would signal her when somebody had taken the bait.”

Harry nodded. “I’m guessing that Draco started following Ron, hoping to get the goods on him and get him expelled from Hogwarts. Instead, he ended up falling for the painting himself.”

“ I checked Gwendolyn’s school records from when she was a student here.” Hermione told them. “Even then she seemed to have had a real knack for mind manipulation spells. The ministry even sent someone out to make sure she wasn’t using her talents on the teachers to influence her grades.”

“But, what was she up to?” Madam Pomfrey asked. “All this plotting and scheming? What was it for?”

“It’s just an educated guess.” Hermione said, “But I think she ultimately wanted to possess the younger Gwen’s body in some crazy attempt to achieve eternal youth and beauty.”

“Do you suppose she got wind of the Marauders’ attempts to release her younger self from the painting?” Harry speculated. “Could that have given her the idea in the first place?” A thought struck him. “Or was it the other way ‘round? Did she give them the idea?” He shook his head. “All this trouble over a old woman’s vanity?” he sighed.

Sirius pulled a leather bound diary out of his pocket.

“Actually, there was more to it than simple vanity, Harry. I did some research myself on the wizard who painted the portrait. It turns out that André Delacorta is the pseudonym for a certain Andreus Malfoy— a great-great-uncle to Lucius as I understand. Apparently Andreus was a big disappointment to the family. He was far more interested in his art than in acquiring wealth or taking over the world. Gwendolyn was his favorite model, and they had a passionate affair—until she discovered that he was a Malfoy and that she had a much better chance of achieving financial security with Andreus’ brother, Nicolae. Not surprisingly Andreus was extremely unhappy about the situation and just before he committed suicide, he placed a curse on the portrait.”

“A curse?” Hermione was floored. “It wasn’t a love charm?”

“No, but the effect was much the same. Evidently, it worked like The Picture Of Dorian Grey, only in reverse. As the real Gwen got older, the girl in the painting became more and more beautiful. Not surprisingly, when the real Gwen started losing her looks, brother Nicholae dropped her like a bad habit. She had no idea that Andreus had donated her portrait to Hogwarts and had spent years searching for it.”

“She probably had only a few years left before the curse drained her life away completely,” speculated Madam Pomfrey.

“It must have taken decades for her to construct the ‘Madam Lenore’ identity to a point where it would stand up to our scrutiny.” Professor Dumbledore sounded a little defensive. After all, he’d been fooled along with everyone else.

“I suppose killing Draco was an added bonus,” Hermione observed, “A little belated revenge against the Malfoy family.”

As the meeting broke up, Professor Dumbledore thanked Sirius for his efforts and assured him that some day they would find a way to prove his innocence. As he started to leave, Sirius noticed Harry standing over Draco’s bedside.

“You don’t seem very happy, Harry. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were…disappointed?”

“Maybe I am. I think I wanted Malfoy to be all the terrible things ‘Madam Lenore’ said he was—then I’d have an excuse to settle with him once and for all.”

“We’re always ready to believe the worst about our enemies, Harry. But with a few exceptions, they are rarely as evil as we’d like them to be.”

“She was counting on it—on my hating Draco Malfoy so much that I would happily look the other way while he was killed. What scares me is how close she came to getting her wish.” There was a tear in Harry’s eye.

“But she didn’t, Harry. She underestimated you right from the start.”

They fell silent for a moment. Harry stood staring at the sleeping Draco.

“Dumbledore keeps insisting that he can change.”

“He could be a tremendous help in our fight against the Dark Lord—” Sirius’ face spread into a wide grin. “—But even if he does come over to our side, there’s no law that says you actually have to like the little creep.”

*****

“’Ere! Potter!” Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle seemed unusually deferential when they met Harry and Hermione in the corridor near the Great Hall. “We just wanted to say…” Crabbe struggled for the proper words. “They’re sayin’ Draco don’t remember nothin’ that ’appened to ’im—but me and Goyle… We… Well… You know… We just wanted to say… You know…”

“Leave us.” Lucius Malfoy was standing in the doorway. His arm was in a sling and he leaned heavily on his cane as he limped toward them.

“See ya round, then.” The two Slytherins quickly disappeared around a corner.

“You’re welcome,” Harry said.

“Would you excuse us a moment, Miss Granger?” She shot Harry a concerned look but he nodded, telling her it was okay.

“See you in Potions class, then.” She gave Harry a peck on the cheek. To Lucius’ eyes the simple gesture almost seemed calculated as a message. Mess with Harry and you’ll have to take me on as well.

Lucius seemed to be carefully considering his words as Hermione left them.

“You spared my son’s life,” he said hesitantly. “This is not gratitude. The Malfoys do not admit…” He paused to organize his thoughts. “Consider this merely the acknowledgement of a debt, Harry Potter. Our—” he searched for the correct word— “Our objectives are similar, but not necessarily the same, therefore I can do nothing that might interfere with—” He cut himself off. Finally he blurted out, “There may come a time when I will be in a position to grant you a favor. Insofar as it is within my power to grant it, I will do so. I shall then consider my obligation to you discharged.” With a dramatic swish of his cape, he turned on his heel and limped away, leaving Harry shaking his head in astonishment.

*****

“You are convinced that this young lady was an innocent victim in this affair?” asked Dumbledore.

“‘Innocent’ is not exactly the word, I would choose, Professor,” said McGonagall tactfully, “However, I have satisfied myself that, like Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy, she was misled about the true nature of the spells involved and that she did not intend to cause harm. However, she did lie and manipulate in order to achieve her own ends. In fact, it could be argued that she really didn’t care whether the spells were harmful to others, so long as she got what she wanted.”

“So, what are you going to do to me?” Gwendolyn asked nervously. Harry and Hermione stood to one side, their expressions unreadable.

Professor Dumbledore peered over his glasses. “You realize, young lady, that your conduct has caused a great many people at this school a great deal of trouble. Besides leading many young men astray and causing them to violate school policies, you nearly cost Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy their lives. A strict interpretation of the law prescribes that I should hand you over to the Ministry of Magic and let them deal with you. It is conceivable you could end up in Azkaban.”

At just the mention of the prison’s name, the girl went pale.

“But, since you did try to do the right thing in the end, I am inclined to show leniency. I am prepared to offer you what the Muggles refer to as a ‘plea bargain’.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you familiar with the Muggle composers Gilbert and Sullivan?” McGonagall asked. “I believe they were very popular in your day.”

“Of course”, Gwendolyn snapped irritably. “What about them?”

“If you remember The Mikado, the Emperor sings a song about ‘making the punishment fit the crime’.” She sat down on the big wooden desk, her black robes making her look like a judge. “Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger and myself have thought long and hard about what punishment would be most appropriate for your particular crime. It was Miss Granger who suggested the appropriate sentence.”

Gwendolyn’s eyes moved from one of her judges to the next. The stern looks on their faces were not encouraging.

“You can be a very charming young lady when it suits you.” McGonagall continued, “So charming, in fact, that Mr. Weasley has become quite enamored of you. Not surprisingly, the poor lad believes you to be equally besotted with him. You’ve spent so much time using your talents for your own selfish gains that we all agreed the most appropriate punishment was for you to concern yourself with the needs of someone else for a change.”

“I don’t understand.” Gwendolyn demanded, “What are you saying…?”

McGonagall went on to say, “You are to be Mr. Weasley’s…” she hesitated, a little uncomfortable with the word, “…girlfriend.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“We are perfectly serious,” said Professor Dumbledore. “Starting tomorrow, for the next three hundred-sixty-five days, you are going to be the woman of Ron Weasley’s dreams. You will laugh at all his jokes, patiently and sympathetically listen to all his troubles, take a keen interest in his hobbies—”

“Fred, George and I will be happy to tutor you in Quidditch, if you like.” Harry added helpfully. Gwendolyn’s only reply was a cold stare. Harry simply shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Simply put,” Hermione interjected, “For the next year your job will be to make Ron Weasley happy.”

“And if he isn’t happy?” Gwendolyn asked with a hint of defiance.

“We’ll put you back into the painting,” Hermione told her matter-of-factly, “Then we’ll hide it someplace where we can guarantee it won’t be found again for at least another hundred years.”

“You can’t do that to me!” Gwendolyn gasped, “That’s unlawful imprisonment! I’m a human being now! I have rights!”

“Strictly speaking, my dear,” Dumbledore said, “You are not a real person. You are an artificial creation. As such, you have no legal standing under wizard law.”

“I’ll go mad…” she pleaded softly. “You don’t know what it’s like to be stuck in there…!” The defiance in Gwendolyn’s eyes had drained away, replaced by what Harry saw as genuine fear. Her whole body seemed to slump in resignation, but there was still a bit of impertinence in her manner.

“When you say ‘make him happy’…? Does that mean that you expect me to…? That is… Do I have to…?”

Harry could barely keep from laughing at her sudden attack of Victorian reticence. He was half-tempted to tell her yes, she would have to have sex with Ron—as often and in as many variations as Ron’s twisted little imagination could conceive.

“Of course not,” McGonagall quickly interjected while shooting a stern look at Harry, “You and Mr. Weasley are far too young even to be thinking about such things!” Both Harry and Hermione wondered if their faces were turning red as they recalled some of the things that they themselves had got up to recently.

“Besides,” said Hermione, “Ron’s future children deserve far better than to have a mother who’s a lying, scheming little—!”

“That will do, Miss Granger!” McGonagall barked at her. “Young ladies do not use that sort of language here at Hogwarts—however accurate it may be.”

Gwendolyn considered for a moment.

Finally, she asked, “What happens when the year is over?”

“You will be free to leave,” Professor Dumbledore said with at least a tiny hint of sympathy in his voice.

“So long as you let him down gently,” Harry insisted, “you can give him any excuse you want.”

“I’d be totally free?”

Harry could almost hear the wheels turning in Gwendolyn’s head as she considered the possibilities.

“We will even give you the painting,” Dumbledore reassured her, “and show you the proper way to destroy it so you can never be imprisoned again.”

“Ron isn’t such a bad fellow… In fact, he’s rather sweet once you get to know him…”

“You may even find that if you spend enough time together, you might really begin to like him.” Harry offered.

“Heaven help us…!” Hermione muttered under her breath.

Snape watched from the shadows as Harry, Gwendolyn and Hermione left the Headmaster’s office.

“It’s for the best, Severus.”

“You talk as if I still had romantic feelings for the girl. Ridiculous! She’s still sixteen years old! That would be as absurd as my having a relationship with Miss Granger—or even young Potter for that matter!”

“What is it that the Muggles say, Severus? ‘It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all!’”

The Potions Master waited until Professor Dumbledore was well out of sight before he rubbed a tear from his eye.

“What absolute rubbish!”

Ron was waiting for them as Harry, Hermione and Gwendolyn entered the Gryffindor Common Room. Gwendolyn had been formally enrolled as a student at Hogwarts and had been placed in Gryffindor House. Though she was no longer under the spell to make her irresistible, she could still turn heads even in her simple Hogwarts uniform and robes.

Gwen looked at Harry and took a deep breath as if to say, “Here goes nothing!”

“Ron!” She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank goodness you’re all right!” Ron closed his eyes and just drank in the moment. Given the enmity between Gwen and the Malfoy family, it was no surprise when Lucius Malfoy had insisted that Draco’s mind be purged entirely of the whole incident. For his part, Ron had only vague memories of his time under Madam Lenore’s enchantment. The one thing that lingered was his infatuation with Gwen.

“Listen, I can’t wait to see you after class this afternoon!” Ron said, excitedly, “I just found this great new book of love poems in the library! Shelley! Keats! Wordsworth! You’ll love it!”

“Love poems?” Harry and Hermione said in wide-eyed chorus.

“Ron…? I know you and Hermione and I haven’t really gotten to spend much time together lately. The class is organizing a trip into Hogsmeade on Saturday. Why don’t the four of us spend the day together—call it a ‘double date’.”

“Just a minute, Harry!” Hermione interrupted. “Haven’t you forgotten something? You’ve already got a date this Saturday—with Moaning Myrtle!”

THE END

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[1] Charles K. Harris