Dudley's Playstation
Group: Fantastic Ferret
Posts: 16
Joined: 9-September 04
Member No.: 294
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Truth as Painted.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exited Hagrid’s hut a little past noon. Harry hadn’t told them about what the snake had said. It was raving mad surely, he thought. Umbridge could be an old and ugly hag, but she surely wouldn’t use dark magic. Or would she? Harry considered she had once used a Dementor to get rid of an adolescent, namely himself. And there was that time when she deemed it acceptable to cast Crucio on Harry, too. Harry had to take it back; yes, Umbridge was capable of it. Was she the dark, evil danger lurking in the forest?
“I’m starving,” Ron spoke first part way to the Castle.
Harry startled and did a double-take, “What? Oh, yeah… me too.”
Ron looked at his friends funny, “What’s with you two? You've both been too quiet since we left Hagrid's"
Ron was right, Harry then took notice that they had been silent since leaving the hut. Hermione was looking deep in thought. “Did you notice,” she finally spoke, “the cuts on the side of the snake’s neck?”
“Do snakes have necks?” Ron asked frowning. Harry shrugged.
“No,” Harry responded to Hermione. “What about them?”
She titled her head looking off into nowhere. “Well, I’m pretty sure I know what
species it was, the snake I mean. It had two large black wounds at each side where other two necks should have been. I’m pretty sure it’s a runespoor.”
“What’s that?” Harry asked. He thought he had heard that name before, but couldn't quite remember where.
“Three-headed snake,” responded Ron nodding. “Once visited one at the zoo – It, too, was missing a head, but not two of the three of them.”
He looked quite proud at having been the one to respond, of being quicker than Hermione. He added as an after-thought, “Ugly things, one of the heads won’t stop hissing, the other looks thicker than Crabbe and Goyle… the last one, I’m not too sure, but it is said it is the Planner. It seems to be the one who makes decisions, such as eating or sleeping.” He paused. “That was the one missing then, the Planner.”
“So?” said Harry, his voice tainted with annoyance. "Look, let's talk inside, I’m hungry.” It was more a matter of nerves than hunger, but he also didn’t feel like staying out in the cold.
As they went inside the Castle, Hermione continued, “I’m just worried, because one of the heads is poisonous, the Critic one. Maybe we should tell Hagrid –”
“He knows, Hermione,” Ron said. “He’s the Care of Magical Creatures Professor. He'd better know!”
“Hermione,” Harry said feeling suddenly curious. “Why were their heads slashed off?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, it dawned upon him that he might be asking a really dumb question. Hermione didn’t seem to notice, however.
“Well, mostly because the heads fight between each other. There’re three of them: the Critic, the Dreamer and the Planer. It’s said one of the heads is really annoying and vicious – the hissing one –and the other two can kind of agree to take it out, which in turn fights back poisoning… The snake on Hagrid’s house hissed a lot…”
“I heard they are pets of dark wizards,” added Ron. “Doesn’t surprise me, if they chop their own bother-heads off.”
Hermione bit on her lip nervously. “Oh, Harry, Ron, we have to tell Hagrid! I’m not sure about all this.”
“He won’t listen either way, Hermione,” said Ron. “He only listens to Dumbledore –”
“What if we tell Dumbledore?” Harry offered. It seemed like a perfect idea; he could speak to him about the strange happenings in the Prefects' Bathroom then, too. Ron and Hermione both agreed to go to Dumbledore with Harry after a quick supper.
Upon entering the Hall they noticed Mark Evans was still sitting in the same spot as earlier, as though he hadn't moved all day. The Trio took their usual seats at the Gryffindor table, continuing to steal occasional glances at him.
“He looks like he's under the Imperius if you ask me,” blurted Ron, and suddenly his expression turned very serious. “What if he is under the Imperius?”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” said Harry, his eyes still on the boy. The expression Evans was wearing was as though he had – for lack of a better word – seen a ghost. The boy’s blank face was staring at a random spot on the floor with obvious lack of focus.
Harry couldn’t take it any longer, he left the Gryffindor table and approached the boy.
“Hey there,” he greeted Evans, as he stood before him, a concerned expression on Harry’s face. Mark didn’t even blink. “Are you OK?”
This time Mark did look up at Harry, but his expression never changed. He stood mechanically and started walking out of the Hall. Harry could only stare at the retreating figure.
“Well, that’s weird.”
Ron appeared by his side, Hermione just behind. “Let’s go mate, we won’t be able to eat, the house-elves aren’t working,” he said with a saddened tone, and Hermione made a face, obviously not appreciative of Ron’s attitude.
“What do you mean [/I]they are not working?[/I]” Harry queried.
“Just that!” Ron said as he waved his hands in emphasis. “I’ve asked and knocked on the table, asking for food, but the elves aren’t responding.”
Hermione rolled he eyes. “Oh, you won't die if you miss a meal, Ron. Besides, you could have asked nicely. If the elves got offended would be no surprise, they shouldn’t even bother with you!”
“What did I do now!” Ron protested.
Harry was in no mood for bickering, Ron’s words had made him anxious. He exited the hall without a word to their friends, and started towards the kitchens. Something was very wrong in here, he thought reaching the entrance. Entering the place, his suspicions were confirmed.
The kitchen was empty. Not one single elf was anywhere to be seen. The fireplace at the far end of the room was lit, the kitchen was clean, and there was a glass of wine on a little table (probably left as Winky passed by) but no sign of the Elves.
Ron almost bumped into Harry. “Wha – where is everybody?” he asked.
But Harry was already too deep lost in thought. “This is too much. We've got to talk to Dumbledore.”
He spun around, almost knocking Hermione over on his way out. Dobby could not disappear too, Harry couldn’t believe it. He had just seen the Elf that very same morning! Dobby couldn’t just “poof” away!
“Going somewhere, Potter?”
Before Harry had a chance to react, he felt himself pulled backward by magic. Landing in an almost-laying down position a few feet from where he started, he half-turned, half-looked up. He was greeted by the wicked smirk of Draco Malfoy.
Harry made a grab for his wand, but was too late. His fingers only caressed its hard surface when he felt it slip between his fingers. He didn’t hear the incantation but he knew Malfoy had used Expelliarmus on him. The wand fell to the floor not far away, and Harry dived for it, but he never reached it. Malfoy's foot was pressing down on Harry’s wrist, trapping his hand.
“Nun, nun, Potter,” Malfoy drawled. “Don’t be a sore-looser, it doesn’t suit you.” The boy’s mocking tone made Harry angrier than he remembered ever being. He heard a girl screech and knew they had gotten Hermione. Harry could barely see what was happening from his position in the floor, it was maddening.
He tried to stand, even with his hand trapped.
He felt the kick to his stomach rather than saw it. Blood rushed to his head, lost of air, he dropped back to the floor. The imprint of Crabbe’s foot lingered, as if shaping Harry’s stomach. His hand was still under the full weight of Malfoy’s foot.
He heard Ron’s voice and the rustling of clothes. He knew his friends were fighting to get loose from the Slytherin gang’s grip, even if he couldn’t see it. He also heard a distinctive flapping noise which Harry couldn’t place…
“No,” a small voice cried. “No, no Harry Potter sir! Dobby is sorry, Dobby pleads, master Malfoy! Don’t hurt Harry Potter sir!”
Harry twisted his neck to the side. A gaunt-looking boy had Dobby trapped in his arms. At the very end of the corridor, a girl – Parkinson, he thought – looked to be acting as look out. Harry struggled around so he could see better. It was then that Harry felt himself being blasted to the side. Within moments Malfoy had cast binding around Harry’s body so tight that Harry was having trouble breathing at first.
Dobby bit his captor and got himself dropped down to the floor. Harry watched, mystified with the Elf actions for he was bowing at Malfoy’s feet. Malfoy, in turn, was ignoring him completely.
“So,” he drawled. “You thought you could make this vermin” – he kicked Dobby forwards making the later land on his stomach pitifully – “spy on me, Potter. Thought I wouldn’t notice the stupid Elf?”
Harry heard a heavy metallic noise which momentarily distracted him. He tried to sit up, overcome with anger. “It was you, wasn’t it? ‘Should have known. ‘Should have smelled your stink in the air. You started all of that, it was you who did that to the Prefects’ Bathroom!”
“A bathroom, Potter?” Malfoy snorted, an eyebrow raised. “Lost your marbles, have you? Blaming me for the fetor Weasley leaves about.” A few Slytherin laughed. “But do enlighten me, what are you on about?”
Harry was about to respond but then a red light hit Malfoy’s head. The spell was weak. Malfoy was clearly okay, as if he had only been hit by a snow ball. The eyes were now on the caster, Dobby.
“How you dare!” howled Malfoy, kicking Dobby again.
There was the metallic noise again! This time Harry realized what was causing it. There was a heavy-looking shackle around Dobby’s right ankle.
“What’s that?” Harry asked immediately.
Malfoy smirked. “Now interested in bijouterie, aren’t you?” he teased.
Dobby responded Harry’s question, “Dobby is not knowing, sir! Thing was there suddenly and Dobby can do no magic, Harry Potter!” Dobby sobbed apologizing for his inabilities.
Harry felt hot bile lick his stomach while witnessing the sickening scene, Malfoy laughing at the background.
Harry stood with difficulty and, though still bound, he dove on Malfoy, knocking him to the floor. There was nothing else he could do but, Harry thought now on top of the boy, at least he got the satisfaction of scaring Malfoy out of his wits. Harry smiled while replaying on his mind the startled look on Malfoy's face.
“I’m sure we solve it –”
Malfoy shoved Harry away, at the same time as the binding spell was released. His glasses askew, Harry straightened himself in time to see Malfoy leap to his feet and back away, the whole Slytherin gang with him.
Hermione was fuming, asking if they were okay with a mother-like worry. Dobby was also in a similar state. Ron shushed them both. Someone, or rather some ones, were coming from around the corner and, by the sounds of it, they were Professors.
“Nothing to worry about, the water will be back soon. It was a simple Impervius Charm, the repelling-water spell. It’s easy to break and temporary either way.” The first voice was a lively person, but an adult nonetheless.
“The prankster apparently wasn’t up for a permanent damage stunt, but it’s no reason to give a lesser punishment. I’m sure Filius could take care of the most complicated spell…”
The second voice was stern. There was no doubt it was that of the Potions Professor, Severus Snape.
“He sure can, Severus,” said a third voice which Harry instantly recognized as Dumbledore’s. “Professor Flitwick knows those spells and the counter-charms better than anyone on this school. I agree that’s no reason to forgive the offense, but let’s turn to our priorities first, we can proceed to punish the responsible as soon as we find them. We must convince the proper Portrait-subjects to return to their frames or I’m afraid our student won’t ever again be able to leave their quarters.”
There was something about the tone with which he said those words Harry couldn’t be sure if the headmaster meant them or if he was joking. Harry was sure Dumbledore would be able to take the students out if only by blasting the empty portraits up.
As the voices grew nearer, the Trio edged to the nearest wall, Dobby trailing behind.
“It wouldn’t be a great loose if some of them stayed inside their commons a little longer,” Snape sneered. “We’re facing a crisis far more important that the students’ lost weekend: Portraits disappearing in more than one way, House Elves afraid of mysterious figures and maddened eidolons. And if that was not enough to cope with, now demented students are seeing illusions of corpses moving on their own.”
“Indeed!” Dumbledore exclaimed interrupting him. “I remember reading a very appealing book about transmogrification of that type. Fascinating lecture! You wouldn’t believe the many things a wizard can do to create life out of a single item.”
He stopped in his tracks, standing in plain view of the Trio. Neither Flitwick nor Snape seemed to notice the three students, as they continued talking. But, there was something about Dumbledore’s actions that made Harry think that choosing this place to stop was no coincidence, and for a split of second he thought he saw the Headmaster smile their way.
“I was personally interested about giving shape to thoughts and ideas,” Dumbledore continued, the three professors were now walking away. “Paradoxical, wouldn’t you say? Muggles try to put dreams on canvas, and we wizards, try to take them back out!”
“Of course!”
Hermione’s sudden outburst scared both Harry and Ron out of their wits.
“What’s with you now!” Ron asked, but it was too late, Hermione already was sprinting away.
“Quick,” she called “I know what it is! I read about it in the Library before, come on!”
They left Dobby behind, making him promise he’d go to Dumbledore for help on the shackle business. Up two flights of stairs, Hermione half-dragged the both Ron and Harry, all the way to the fourth floor. Madame Pince glared and 'Shhh-ed' as the kids raced into the Library.
At the far left end of the room was a shelf where all the books looked ragged and dusty. If they looked abandoned it was no wonder, Harry thought. The books were huge and no student on their right mind would attempt to even take them out their shelf without risking being flattened down, head first, on the floor. (Muggle rising-up kicking in, Harry temporally forgot that he could levitate the books out.) Unsurprisingly, here was exactly where Hermione was heading.
Her hand went directly to a bound leather book, one called Theory of Transmogrification. She flipped a few pages with one hand, the other holding the book alone despite the weight of it. With a bright expression she placed the book on the nearest table and began to read, sitting down.
“Think it’s this chapter… right here somewhere…ah, yeah, here’s it!
‘It’s said that the ancient Chinese could make their drawings come to life. Today we are assured that is no more than a common unsubstantiated myth. All the same, we will attempt to explain why this myth was so popular and if indeed it was possible.
There has been not much investigation on the matter for obvious reasons, the main being the ritual to make it happen, for it was of a dark nature. Usually, the legend says, the wizard or other would start by drawing something up by the means of a bewitched quill containing cursed ink. The ink was made of blood of magical beings. The magical blood would work could be human or animal the same; the most powerful the better. Moreover, it is believed that only the blood of those who felt fear would work. Such magic would be therefore called dark and illegal as any other. That leaves no room for further experimentation to find out if it was ever possible –’ See?” she ended excitedly waiting for reaction.
“What?” Ron asked baffled.
Harry agreed, “Not following you either, Hermione.”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” she said impatiently. “This is the Dark Magic I was talking with you about earlier. Transforming the Portraits is just the thing we are facing. Pay attention to the blood ritual! All of a sudden the magical beasts in the Forbidden Forest are being attacked! It makes sense!”
“But why would somebody want to do that?” Ron inquired. “Voldemo –”
“No, it’s not him,” Harry said at once. He fell silent, remembering what he had witnessed down at Hagrid's. He hadn't actually explained what the snake had told him in the hut or what he knew about their former Defense Against Dark Arts professor. But should he? He was still not buying the snake’s version of the facts. Should he rely on the word of a poisonous, violent snake?
“Why do you say that?” Hermione inquired.
Harry looked up, the words aching to escape his mouth… “It’s nothing… ‘don’t know why I said that.”
An awkward silence arose. Harry couldn't imagine what his friends were thinking of him right now. Maybe they thought he was blabbing mad, contradicting himself all of the sudden like that. Wouldn’t be a difficult guess, he, himself, was starting to doubt his sanity.
The chaos in his head was such he couldn’t think clearly. Finally he decided he’d not listen to the snake. It was obviously misleading them, no reasons to worry Ron and Hermione over it. Harry’d keep the information to himself until knowing more.
“Well,” Ron started again. “So what about this transmodification thing?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Okay, where was I? Ah, yes, here's what I was looking for.” She flipped a couple of pages – “this one.”
She was pointing at a drawing of a body and a spirit linked by their hands.
“This is the ritual explanation,” she said studying the book. “It says – wait, I know it’s right here… ah, yes, it says that to become real a painting must take the spirit from an external source by Touch-Healing magic –”
“What’s that?” Ron asked.
Hermione put both hands on the table, trying to find the easiest way to explain. Taking a deep breath, signal that she was readying herself for a detailed explanation, she continued,
“It’s an ancient way of healing called Thaumaturgy – well, no, Touch-Healing is only part of it, a branch. Like with the Seers, or Metamorphmagis, not everybody has the power to heal with touch, it’s a gift you are born with. It’s also true that the Wizarding World has done some good research and has formulated other ways of healing, namely Medi-Wizarding.”
“Wow, wait,” interrupted Ron. “Healers have some inherited power, okay. How is Medi-Wizard magic different?”
“Well, I’m not too sure, but it looks like Healers might have more powerful magic – like in here, it says: ‘Calls the revenant to life again, the powerful Cliodne was the only one to achieve it, said the poets.’ Still it’s a myth. It isn't as though they could, I mean, bring people back to life, that’s unreal.”
“Coming back to life and immortality,” Ron considered and frowned. “Do you think it’s got something to do with You-Know – I mean, Voldemort? It looks like his style.”
Harry considered it. “I don’t think he cares enough to revive anyone except himself,” he said grimly. “I think of Voldemort as the killing type, not the healing kind.”
There was a brief silence before Harry added, “It doesn’t explain what’s been happening either. And what do you mean by ‘take the spirit from an external source’?”
Hermione looked down at the pages again. “It doesn’t say much here.”
“You know what I’m thinking,” said Ron. “That Mark Evans, he was acting strange, empty-looking, and zombie-like. He looked like somebody had stolen his spirit, if you ask me.”
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, the two pair of eyes widened simultaneously.
“Peeves!” Harry said. “It makes sense, he too was looking empty and out of character! Do you think you can take the spirit of a ghost?”
“Ron, you are a genius!” Hermione said and she lunged forwards excitedly. Before either of them knew what was happening, Hermione was hugging Ron, who in turn was blushing madly.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Hermione said as she backed away and Ron muttered something unintelligible that sounded vaguely like “N-no prob–”.
In retreating, Hermione diverted her eyes to the book again. There were only a few seconds of awkward silence before Hermione broke it off with an ecstatic squeal.
“Harry, here it is!” she said. “This is what we need to know! Listen! ‘To take the spell off the drawings you need to wash out the bloody painting subjects.’ ”
“Wash out?” Ron pondered. “So they have to take a bath! Maybe that’s why this all started at the bathroom… Err… Never mind.” Ron fell silent as both his friends looked at him as though he had grown another head, his second attempt at sounding smart this time failed.
They exited the Library not long afterwards. Both Ron and Harry started to the right, discussing what they should do next, but Hermione stopped on her track.
Ron turned around. “What’s wrong?” he asked her straightforwardly.
Hermione had the look of somebody after being too long exposed to Trelawney’s fumes. She opened and closed her mouth like goldfish.
“I,” she started uncomfortably, “I need to go to the toilet.”
Ron returned Harry’s puzzled look. “So? Go, we will wait up.”
Refusing to move, she muttered, “I don’t want to go alone.”
“Oh,” said Ron awkwardly. “OK… err, do you want us to escort you to the entrance? Sure, let’s go… Coming Harry?”
Harry, however, preferred to stay behind. He thought he could give his two friends some time alone, and he too could use the time to think things over. “You go, I’ll wait here.”
His friends left him and Harry leaned on the wall, yawning. It must have been past six by that time, the place was growing colder. The Castle looked almost deserted… it was kind of scary, he thought. It was also darker, but not enough for the torches by his side to lit by their own. Only a few lit candles hovered about.
Harry began to muse over the day's events. The spell Hermione showed them must be it, he thought, because it did fit. Somebody was turning paintings into corporeal beings by Dark Magic, and the kind which required the blood of magical beings, which explained the attacks in the forest. ‘Maybe even explain the disappearance of the House Elves… Harry hoped that last guess wasn’t the reason the Elves were missing, they surely didn’t deserve that.
It still didn’t explain why the Prefect taps weren’t working or who had done it, or why. Why would somebody want to repel the water?
The sinks aren’t working, he repeated on his head. Wait a minute! The first portrait… whoever was practicing the dark magic must have tried it on The Mermaid in the Prefect Bathroom first… but if The Mermaid fell in the water after getting out… Of course, they are trying to get ride of the water! He grinned thinking Ron might not have been completely wrong about that last guess of his at the Library.
Harry leap from the wall, excited to tell Ron and Hermione about his theory. A movement caught his attention. There was a shadow creeping down the stairs across from where he was standing.
“What’s that?” he asked himself. He drew near with unease and anticipation. The shadow was tiny. At first he thought it was a House Elf or a goblin, by the size of it. But the shadow was too dense to be either. It looked quite familiar, especially the way it walked.
The shadow was entering a dark part of the Castle, where the candles hadn’t been lit despite nearing nighttime. Harry had the distinct idea that he had never before had been in this part of the Castle. Growing nearer (and starting to really regret not having his invisibility cloak at hand), he heard coughing. But this was not just any coughing… It was a small, annoying cough that he knew only too well.
What he was watching was unmistakably Umbridge, covered by a black cloak, and something was trailing along behind her. This time Harry was right, it was a House Elf, and Harry noticed it was wearing a shackle just as Dobby’s. There was also a thin silvery line linking Umbridge’s wand with the binding on the Elf’s foot.
“Shush!” Umbridge’s hoarse voice said. “Stop whimpering you pathetic little beast! You should be glad I give you permission to serve me and to serve the Minister of Magic."
“Please, madam, please, Simmy is not bad House Elf. Simmy works hard and good and likes work."
“Shush, I say!” she demanded pulling on the silvery chain. The House Elf tripped forwards, barely keeping pace with its little feet.
Harry’s blood was boiling and he thought about cursing Umbridge then and there, but he restrained himself, curious as to what she was planning. He was still too far behind to have a clear shot, too…
“You’re going to give birth to a new generation and to the old ones too. Oh imagine! Being able to be by the side of those grand wizards and witches! Morgana and Merlin, Circle and Herpo… the Minister will have the best army to fight the war …Not like that poor excuse of a Headmaster… Better than the dementors who betrayed us – ah, where did all of the portraits get to? It shouldn’t take this long!”
“Please, please, madam,” Simmy said, teary. “Simmy is good Elf, Simmy wants to work.”
“And you will!” she responded. “You’ll take part on the Minister’s Army! You should be proud, the whole lot of you. Good House Elves, they know their place in the Wizarding Society. Smart beasts, still inferior but smart. Keep pace with me, animal, we are late!”
“Expelliarmus!”
A jet of red light hit Umbridge square, throwing her against the wall and leaving her unconscious. The sound of her wand falling to the floor echoed through the hallway as the shackles on the Elf’s foot disappeared. Simmy bowed thankful, and it was then Harry reacted to what he’d done… he hadn't realized he had thrown the hex at Umbridge…
“Harry!”
Hermione and Ron appeared behind him with perplexed expressions. They looked down at the limp body in front of Harry with wide eyes.
“What’s she doing here?” Ron asked shocked.
Harry opened his mouth, his wand-hand hanging limply, “… it’s Umbridge.”
“I can see that!” Ron said.
Harry sighed. “The snake in Hagrid’s hut talked to me. It said that the woman we had brought to the forest and left with the Centaurs came back and was the responsible for all the things happening.” He finished his explanation feeling quite dumb and waited for his friends to rage at him. It never came.
“That makes no sense,” said Ron puzzled. “I mean, she’s a – well, she is worst that the cruelest banshee and uglier than Aragog, but it’s impossible that she could do all the things that are wrong here right now!” Ron was looking at Hermione hoping for back up, “could she?”
“Well,” Hermione said in turn, “It just doesn’t make much sense, does it? Why would she do that?”
Harry was aware that he was not sounding too convincing. Seeing Umbridge in the Castle had been such a shock that he just couldn’t place his thoughts in order at the moment. He might have seriously injured the woman, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to help her in anyway.
He opened his mouth to start the explaining when something distracted him. For the third time that day, Mark Evans passed by wearing the same blank expression as he had each of the times before. But Harry’s attention soon left the Second year due to a new obstacle. Sir Cadogan and the Mermaid had just appeared before him, full sized and completely three-dimensional.
Harry heard Hermione gasp behind him. He would have as well if he hadn’t been so stunned. The first time he'd seen them he hadn't noticed, but the Mermaid wasn’t exactly walking. She was hovering over the ground, ‘swimming’ though air as if underwater. Her fish tail did a quick spin and he felt a waft of air hit his face.
It dawned on Harry that she looked exactly like her painting previously displayed her. It made sense, Sir Cadogan’s was smaller, their sizes seemed contingent on the size of their frames. If that theory was true then… An image of a giant Fat Lady in three-dimensions invaded Harry’s mind.
“Sir- Sir Cadogan?” Hermione attempted a shaky question.
It was no wonder she was scared. Neither, the Mermaid or Sir Cadogan, looked too friendly. They stayed silent, coldly sneering at the Trio. The situation became even more bizarre when Evans crossed paths with the living paintings, nonplused, as though the Portrait characters weren’t there, and the paintings ignored him just the same.
But the paintings didn’t give the same treatment to all they met apparently. Just as Mark Evans passed the Mermaid dived at Harry!
WAFT!
Harry dodged just in time, but felt the full force of the blast of air. It forced him farther backwards. The Mermaid was giggling madly, almost maniacally, before she dove again. This time The Mermaid's tail hit Harry, slapping him mid-chest and throwing him into the wall.
Harry looked up in time to see Sir Cadogan lunge forward to attack Ron! He had drawn his sword and, despite its size, he had managed to slash just below Ron’s knees. Harry might not have noticed if it hadn’t been for the bloody sword.
Harry had to turn his attention away from Ron because The Mermaid was coming at him again, diving at Harry with a wicked smile… she was about to crash into him…
Possibly because he'd experienced being underwater before, without even realizing what he was doing, Harry pointed his wand and commanded, “Relashio!”
Instead of harmless red sparks, a rush of hot air erupted from Harry’s wand pushing the Mermaid back. The Mermaid had turned the reality surrounding her water-like. He now had an idea. To affect the Portraits-subjects, they had to act on the reality each Portrait figure had created around itself.
Harry whipped his wand around again, this time with a different incantation, the Drought Charm. Suddenly, he could see The Mermaid’s face contorting with horror, obviously feeling the loss of air… or rather she was experiencing it as a loss of water to breathe in.
He quickly spun to check on Ron and Hermione. They held Sir Cadogan magically suspended upside down mid-air, and were smiling at him.
Haring a small gasp, Harry turned back to The Mermaid again. She was in pain because she couldn't breathe, and looked as though she was dying. Harry couldn't let that happen! Looking around wildly for a solution, he thought of Myrtle’s bathroom… but it was too floors down, they would never reach it in time, and there was no water in the Prefect Bathroom.
And then he remembered, his Firebolt was still in the Prefect Bathroom!
With a plan in mind, Harry told Ron and Hermione to go down to find Myrtle and ask her to flood the Prefects’ Bathroom toilets, and then meet him there. They raced off as Harry summoned his broomstick. It was there in no time, almost as though sensing the urgency of Harry’s call. He mounted and kicked up, taking the mermaid’s weakened body in his arms. By soaring over, rather than climbing the stairs, they covered the distance to the Prefects' Bathroom in record time. “Spring Flower!” he shouted urgently.
The door opened and Harry drove inside and above the pool-like tub. It was empty.
Harry waited, growing impatient… trying to think of water spells he knew… and failing… where was Myrtle? She should be here already!
Interrupting his thoughts, the sound of a burst of water startled him. He watched as Myrtle erupted from the first toilet bowl and slashed onto the next one; in and out, into the next cubicle and so on. Soon the floor was soaking wet and the water was slowly filling the pool-like bathtub bellow Harry and The Mermaid.
“ Keep going! ” Harry shouted and he helped by blowing up a couple of toilets himself (he would deal with Snape and other professors afterwards). Finally the water was enough for a body to fit…
SPLASH!
He let the body of the Mermaid fall into the water. Harry waited eagerly for reaction from the half-fish half-girl, hoping against hopes that it wasn’t too late…
There was no reaction. Harry’s heart pounded anxiously, his muscles were tense with worry…
Then something strange began to happen, the mermaid started to disappear. Only a pool of swirling colors remained. On cue, Harry looked up at the old frame of The Mermaid painting.
There, its owner was back, smiling and waving at Harry.
It only took seconds for Hermione and Ron to bring the kicking and shouting Sir Cadogan to the same pool and repeated the process. In no time the corrupt paint was washed away and Sir Cadogan rushed to visit the Mermaid’s painting to apologize for his behavior.
It was over. As the moon rose over the window of the Headmaster’s office, the Trio briefly recounted the facts to Dumbledore, who in turn would tell the House Elves and the Portraits. They visited the Hospital Wing afterwards. Ron assured his friends that his wounds looked worse than they actually were. Harry wanted to believe that, because the black patch on Ron's leg reminded him of Wilbur’s wounds.
Speaking of Wilbur, Harry decided the snake was not that bad, it only had a horrible temper. The next day Hagrid was made promise he would return it to the forest once it has fully recovered.
The Portrait spell broken, Peeves is back to being himself, to everybody’s horror. So is Mark Evans, who confessed that the parchment scrap with the password was his. His older brother had lent him the password of the Prefects’ Bathroom, and he had only planned on taking a bubble-bath, no harm meant. The last he remembered was something hitting the back of his head. He had no recollection of what he had been doing the whole day.
About Umbridge, she got away. They looked all over the castle, from where she was last seen to the far grounds of Hogwarts, but she had disappeared. There was no proof that connected her to the incidents going on at Hogwarts, so she won’t be even troubled by it. Needless to say, Harry was disappointed and would have given anything to have the hag closed up at Azkaban… or at a centaurs’ community.
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Status: better... but kinda busy To all who might be interested:: I'm going to lay down on the PF for personal problems.In the insides, very deep, I will always be a
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PBD ~ ROUND THREE ~, Mission & Submissions
evlpez PBD ~ ROUND THREE ~ Sep 23 2004, 10:57 AM
Sep 23 2004, 10:57 AM
