Title : Unity.
Beta: Florahart
Summary: Where are the Founders' portraits?
Nobody sees them. Nobody remembers ever have seen their portraits. Only some empty landscapes. They have disappeared in everyone's eyes, but they're still there.
They watch, invisible, as the Headmasters and Headmistresses come and go. When the students grow up, when they come back, now professors.
They watch when the Head of their House follow one another, hoping to be seen, but it never happens.
They watch their pupils become Heroes or fall into the Dark Arts, or even win the name of Dark Lord, three, four, five time maybe; they don't remember.
Each time, the same story. The Hat told them, recently; the others didn't listen. And they watch.
One day, they hear the rumours. The Youngest Teacher is worse. Meaner, darker, more hated than ever. He even almost fights with a student, the Green-Eyed Boy everyone talking about in this moment. They didn't catch his name. He's not the first celebrity in their school, and not the last.
They know better. He's ill. They see him, leaning against a wall, keeping his pained moans quiet. They see the fear, the uncertainty, in his otherwise dead eyes. But he hides all.
He hide when the Older Woman comes.
She tries to help him, she wants to help him, but he doesn't let her. He uses his best talent, his hurtful words, until she goes away.
His demons come back.
"She could help him. We don't do that to feel superior, or by pity. We really want to help."
"I know. But we're proud. Too much, maybe."
"Once, we were friends. Friends help each other."
"They forgot. He forgot. Does he even know?"
His condition worsens. He fights, but he's weakened. The New Teacher knows it. A new one each year. They doesn't like this one.
The New accuses the Young. Publicly, in the Hall. The Young lowers his eyes, looks the floor, his hair hide his face. He loses.
He steps backward when the New reveals his secrets, one by one.
He can't retreat farther; the wall stops him. The students listen, stare, accuse, believe. They like the New, hate the Young. The teachers too. Except three.
The Older Woman moves near the Young Man.
"Is it true?"
Her voice, a murmur. She doesn't want to frighten him.
He sinks to the floor, huddles in the corner, his head on his knees, his arms around him. It's true.
"I tried. I tried to fight it. I can't. Too weak. I'm sorry."
The New gloats.
"It's your nature! Do you really think we'll believe you? Why would you fight it? I'm sure you didn't even try."
"It's not our only definition!" tries to shout the almost ghost. But like always, his companions are the only ones to hear.
The Little Old teacher asks to the New to be quiet. The Older Woman kneels near the Young; place her hand on his. She whispers to him; they can't hear.
No one else speaks.
The Young lift his head. He asks, in a whisper. They hear her, now.
"I have only one regret. That you didn't feel you could come to us for help."
"You would? Help me? Even knowing what I've done, even now it's too late?"
"It's never too late. We're rather very stubborn in our House."
"So we are," says the ghost. Will it stop him? Silently, he urges the Young to accept. Could it be the moment…
He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He struggles, he's afraid. It's not what they taught him, not in his habits.
Finally, his hand turns, grips hers.
"Help me?"
She lets out her breath, she's happy, relieved. She pulls him gently toward her, takes him in her arms, squeezes his hand back.
"It'll be all right now. We're here."
The New sputters. They can't! He's Dark! He always was, and he always will!
Nobody listens to him. The Plump Witch run toward the Young, embraces him from the other side, holds the two entwined hands.
'We're here."
The New tries again. The Little Old wizard silences him with a wave of his wand. He joins the group, and adds his hand.
"We'll help. We'll fight it with you. Together."
Hogwart vibrates. Something is changing. No one see it.
The attention of everyone is on the group, follows them when they lead the Young to the hospital wing.
On his stool, far away, in the Headmaster' room, the Hat smiles.
"They listened. Finally. "
There are four new portraits in Hogwarts. Nobody can tell who they are, or if they have always been there. It's the feeling every one has, but they're not sure.
Everybody sees them, now.