Disclaimer: Anything recognisable belongs to our Queen, JKR. Everything else is mine. The dates of when Merlin lived and when the painting of Ginevra de' Benci was painted have been changed according to 1. what JKR said, and 2. to fit the timeline of the story. The original painting is believed to have been painted by Leonardo da Vinci in c. 1474, but here I have it as c. 900s.
Also, I have zero knowledge about French and whatever I have used in this chapter is what I've got from Google Translate. I've added the English of what the French is supposed to mean beside it, but please don't shoot me if it's gibberish.
The Memoir of a Forgotten Portrait
Circa 1001
She paused in the pruning of her juniper tree when she heard the familiar rustle of cloth against wood. Tilting her head to the side, she listened carefully but heard nothing; perhaps she had imagined it.
Most often than not, it was the wind that deceived her with its antics as it passed through the barely visible gap in-between the bookshelf and the alcove, filling her with futile hope. She had been removed from her original position at the very centre of the Hospital Wing and had been stowed away with the promise of being placed in a better location. It had been nearly a century since then, and she had finally come to terms with the fact that she was no more than a long-forgotten portrait who would spend eternity staring at the back of the wooden bookshelf that hid her away from the rest of the world.
Just as she let go of the branch whose leaves she had been rearranging—a healthy pastime she had developed a few decades ago—she heard the telltale sound of a young child's voice, followed by more rustling. Now curious, she glanced over her shoulder to see a young boy, perhaps a first or second year student, wriggle in through the small gap in the far left corner and tumble into the hidden alcove. The dark-haired boy tripped and sprawled across the floor, upsetting the century-old dust that had settled over the cobblestones. The untouched alcove shimmered as the cloud of dust caught the rays of the afternoon sun that streamed in through the lone window beside her—a sight she had not witnessed in a very long time.
The boy now groaned and coughed as he straightened up, and she quickly hid behind her tree. She was suddenly intimidated by the prospect of being in the presence of a human being when she had not seen one in so many years.
She could hear him move about in the small space, perhaps examining the variety of scattered articles the alcove had accumulated over the years. Children of various ages seemed to think that pushing things through the gap in-between the bookshelf and the alcove's edge was the simplest way to hide or rid themselves of some object, and it was a matter of constant annoyance for her. She had taken it upon herself to yell furiously every time someone did that, which was perhaps the reason behind them not returning to collect their belongings. And so, the items lay in a haphazard heap before her, unwanted and forgotten, a constant reminder of her own plight.
"What is this place?"
She held her breath as she heard him meddle with something, only to toss it away after a moment, the dull clunk of the discarded object making her flinch. He coughed, perhaps due to the dust he had upset, and she waited with bated breath as she tried to discern what he was doing from the vague scraping sounds she could hear. Unable to quell her curiosity any longer, she peeked out from behind her tree and peered down at the messy-haired child as he settled down beneath her, knees pulled to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs.
He sat staring at the gap for a long time, as though expecting somebody to enter through it at any moment. Every time the muffled sounds of footsteps and voices was heard from the other side of the bookshelf, he would stiffen momentarily, and she thought she could almost hear his heart thump-thump-thumping away. She continued to watch him, wondering what he would do next, enjoying the long-awaited interval in the otherwise monotonous days she spent doing nothing of import.
After a time, he grumbled and pushed himself up, pulling a slim wand out from under his robes as he stood with his feet apart. He then proceeded to point the wand at an object in the far corner of the alcove and made a familiar swish and flick motion with his arm as he said, "Wingardium LeviHosa."
The little broken toy did not move in the slightest.
He tried again. "Wingardium LeviHosa!"
Again, nothing.
"Wingardium LeviHosa! Move!"
Biting her tongue to keep from laughing out loud, she inched further out from behind her tree as the boy frowned and walked over to the toy. He nudged it with his foot and it fell over, making an odd, fluttering sound that seemed to further frustrate him.
"I hate this!" he yelled, and then slapped his hands to his mouth. He glanced towards the gap, and they both waited with bated breath as the seconds ticked by. When nothing changed, he dropped his hands and sighed in relief, and she had to control her urge to chastise him.
Foolish little boy, she thought. You are mispronouncing it.
Of course he could not hear her unspoken words, so he spun on his heel, pointed his wand at a different object, cleared his throat, drew in a deep breath, and then proceeded to go through the motions of the Levitation Charm once again while saying, "Wingardium LeviHosa!"
When nothing happened, he made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and stomped his foot. She slapped her forehead before she could stop herself and the sound seemed to echo through the small space. Inhaling sharply as she realised her mistake, she eyed the child with trepidation. He whipped around and fixed wide, piercing blue eyes on her as she stood frozen in shock, half hidden behind her tree.
The boy reacted in a rather exaggerated fashion: he reared back, as though someone had pushed him, stepped on the hem of his over-sized robes, and fell hard on his bottom. That did not stop him from staring at her slack-jawed, as though he had never laid eyes on a portrait before. She had the sudden urge to reprimand him and demand that he erase that ridiculous expression from his face, but before she could speak, he spluttered in a very unrefined manner and got to his feet.
"You—You have not been here this whole time, have you?" he asked stupidly. If there were some place else she could go, she would not be stuck in this predicament, now, would she?
She straightened up as she stepped out from behind her tree and sniffed, holding her chin high and clasping her hands together before her. "Of course I have." His eyes widened further, making them bulge out of his little head, and she could not resist saying, "And of course I had the unfortunate opportunity to witness your unsuccessful attempts at casting a simple Levitation Charm."
His cheeks coloured, and she thought he would retort in embarrassment, or even anger, but he only sighed and let his shoulder droop. Head hanging, he said, "And that is but the truth. I cannot even perform the simplest of spells. I do not need an old portrait to remind me of my lack of talent."
She clucked her tongue, unamused. "Is that not precisely why you must practice with more vigour and conviction?"
"I am!" he retorted. "But I simply cannot seem to get it right! Everybody else in my class has already mastered it, so I do not understand why it is only I who is incapable of performing it!"
She continued to watch him as he scowled up at her, cerulean eyes shimmering with anger. "Perhaps it has more to do with the fact that you are missaying the incantation than because you lack effort."
The boy frowned. "No, I am not. My classmate, Burbary, advised me on how to say it."
She huffed, placing a palm against her cheek as she looked away. "Then I am quite sure this Burbary is barely qualified to give advice of any sort, let alone on how to say an incantation."
He extended his lower lip out, sulking childishly, and she found his lack of spirit irksome. Deciding that she had had enough of watching him brood and wallow in self-pity, she returned to her tree and continued to prune it. After a time, he started to practice again, repeatedly mispronouncing the spell, and fed up with his inability to realise the cause for his incompetence, she snapped over her shoulder, "It is pronounced LeviOsa, not LeviHosa."
She heard him pause, perhaps to stare at her with the same dumbfounded, wide-eyed expression from earlier, before saying, "Wingardium LeviOsa!"
When she heard the telltale sound of the object rising up from the ground with a clatter, followed by the child's triumphant exclamations, she hid her smile as she plucked a stray leaf and discarded it to the side.
"Thank you!" he said after his moment of exhilaration, and she waved her hand over her shoulder without turning to look at him.
There was a faint rustle and grating sound as he began to inch back out through the gap, and just when she began to feel saddened at the loss of her momentary source of entertainment, she heard him clatter about. Glancing over her shoulder just as his dishevelled hair poked out from the gap, shining blue eyes directed her way, she raised her eyebrows questioningly. "What is it now? Have you forgotten it already?"
He shook his head and said, "My name is Merlin, fair lady. If I may be so bold, may I ask for your own?"
The corner of her lip twitched in amusement and she said, "I am Lady Ginevra de' Benci of Florentia."
"It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Lady de' Benci," he replied and ducked back into the gap, leaving her humming a little tune as she turned back to her tree.
(It was several decades later when she happened to hear a group of students talking about a great wizard named Merlin, who had been conferred with the epithet "Prince of Enchanters" by the legendary King Arthur himself for his expert ability in charm-casting.)
Circa 1215
She looked up when she heard the familiar, merry voice of a certain raven-haired thirteen-year-old girl whom she simply could not get rid of.
"I have come again, Lady Ginevra," the girl announced in a jovial voice as she sidled in through the gap. "And I have more news on the wrongdoings of a certain Professor Armswidth, who continues to force his presumptuous opinions onto me—"
"Must you continue to interrupt my solitude with your presence so often?" she quipped as she placed her book facedown beside her on the soft grass. Although she expressed her constant dissatisfaction over the bright-eyed girl's frequent visits to the alcove, she rather enjoyed the company of the cheerful Hufflepuff lass—even if her prolonged bellyaching about her Arithmancy professor could get rather tiresome.
"I have none but you to share my woes with," the girl said as she struck an exaggerated pose before settling down on the pile of books she used as a makeshift stool. "As I was saying before my lady so rudely interrupted me," she continued, "Professor Armswidth has threatened me to a month of counting figures in the dungeons if I do not prepare an acceptable essay twenty-feet in length on the magical properties of the numbers one through five by Monday, and not a day more, as punishment for my horrid score on the previous test," she said all in one breath. "By Monday, my lady! Barely a day after our promised trip to Hogsmeade!"
She hummed as she picked up her book and held it with one hand. "Perhaps it is a fit punishment for you who refuses to take her studies seriously."
"But," the girl whined in a very un-lady-like fashion. "Arithmancy is just such a terrible bore of a subject!"
"Why in heaven's name did you opt to pursue it if you are so vehement in your protestations?"
"I have elaborated on my reasons time and again, my lady." She leaned forwards to position her elbow on her knee and balanced her chin on her hand. "Father refuses to accept that he will never in a thousand years have a son to carry on the legacy of his ancestors, and so he has chosen to constrain me, his only daughter, down the path of lunacy."
"Your father is a noble man who knows what is right for his child. A good daughter would do as her father pleases, not revolt and bombard me with pithy complaints on trifling matters. "
"You continue to support that stubborn fool of a father even after months of having to bear with my pithy complaints?" she huffed. "He is but an overbearing old wizard whose doddering words are acknowledged by few in passing—"
Ginevra shut her book with a snap, causing the girl to look up at her. "Bridget!" she admonished. "I have instructed you time and again—I refuse to entertain you speaking of your father in such ill-mannered ways unbefitting of a young witch as yourself."
Bridget only rolled her eyes, further adding to Ginevra's annoyance. "Yes, yes, my sincerest apologies, Lady Ginevra. As a Wenlock, I should know better."
Ginevra sniffed. "As a thirteen-year-old girl born into an honourable family, you most definitely should."
"But I cannot help these loathsome feelings I harbour towards Arithmancy! Father's continued attempts to coerce me into continuing his unsuccessful experiments in numerology and further his legacy have all but driven me to insanity!"
"All good things have a bitter taste at first," Ginevra said with finality.
"Fustilugs."
"Bridget!"
"Being confined to this dusty old hovel has wrought your temperamental nature, perhaps, my lady?" Bridget asked, sitting back and swinging her legs back and forth in an indecorous manner. "Or might I be so bold as to suggest that you have always been this way?"
Ginevra opened her book and placed a finger to the line she had been reading, making her unwillingness to entertain that particular conversation conspicuous. Bridget barely seemed to be bothered by the cold treatment—as always—and continued to chatter on about how she had always wanted to train magical creatures and travel the world on their backs.
"Such drivel," Ginevra murmured, to which Bridget made a simpering sound.
"But of course you would never know what it is like to be mandated into doing something you do not want to."
She bit back a sigh as she focused on containing her temper. Bridget had a way with her words, and she refused to let a girl who had barely reached womanhood antagonise her into a futile argument. After all, if anyone knew what it was to be forced to conduct oneself in a viable manner through inescapable situations, it would be her.
"Your twenty-foot long essay will not write itself, I daresay," she finally said. "Nay do you choose to spend every evening till Christmas investigating the magical properties of numbers?"
The girl seemed displeased, but rose to her feet. "You are so quick to send me off every time, my lady," she said as she dusted her skirt. "Almost as though you abhor my company."
"Off with you!" Ginevra replied, waving a hand. "And do not show your face to me till such time that you have been deemed worthy of free time by your professor!"
"I shall return on Monday to narrate the tale of my adventures in Hogsmeade, as well as my plight after being compelled to an entire night's worth of numerology," Bridget called as she slipped out of the gap, leaving Ginevra to feel a hint of melancholy as she returned to her book. She could not help but smile wryly as she pictured the girl bent over a long scroll of parchment, scribbling away while she muttered about how much she loathed Arithmancy.
Although she would never admit it to Bridget, Ginevra really and truly did enjoy the evenings where she had to listen to the raven-haired girl's trifling tales of woe. The child's vibrant, buoyant personality served to shatter the perpetual state of monotony Ginevra lived in and gave her something to think of when she began to brood over her forgotten existence. She refused to think of the never-ending days of unchangingness once Bridget left Hogwarts—or even worse, forgot about her.
Pushing away such saddening thoughts, she turned back to her book and reread the same line that she had read countless times since she was first painted, the thought of Bridget returning with tales of her adventures acting as a beacon of hope in the vast ocean of loneliness that was the small alcove behind a bookshelf.
(It was only several decades later when someone stowed a book on Arithmancy and Numerology in the alcove that she found out that Bridget Wenlock, as contrary to her expressions of dissatisfaction as a young girl, had gone on to become a renown Arithmancer who discovered the magical properties of the number seven.)
Circa 1314
She sighed as she heard another group of hysterical girls rush past the hidden alcove, talking in high-pitched voices akin to screeching Veela, unable to contain their excitement even to the extent of maintaining a semblance of proper conduct. This was the state Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been reduced to every octennial since the founding of the Triwizard tournament over two decades prior.
Although it was a quadrennial event, Hogwarts hosted it at alternating times, and thus was the reason for her constant irritation ever since the arrival of the students from the prestigious Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute at the beginning of the sixth Triwizard Tournament. The constant chatter of excited children muffled by the great barrier that was the bookshelf blocking her alcove away from the rest of the school was a continuous reminder of the fact that she could never witness the grand proceedings of the tournament for as long as she was hidden away.
Her idle mind could only imagine so much; without ever actually witnessing the grand event, even she had limits to what she could concoct in her head. The tournament was already nearing its end; the third and final task was soon to be revealed, if the excited shouts from the other side was any indication, and she greatly awaited the days of monotony to stretch out before her once again. If there was one thing she hated more than having nothing to look forward to, it was being unable to be a part of anything, whether or not she was eager for it.
She had just settled back on the grass and returned to carving a pawn for the chess-set she was making by hand, from wood taken from her very own Juniper tree, another healthy pastime she had developed lately, when she heard the almost forgotten rustle of cloth against wood, signalling that yet another unwelcome child had managed to find her hidden abode. Pursing her lips, she remained still as a statue, watching with bated breath as a petite blonde of about seventeen years of age stumbled into the alcove, an expression of absolute misery etched into her pretty features.
"Pauvre de moi!" the girl gasped as she fell to the floor, a sob escaping her lips as she covered her face with her hands. "Woe is me! What am I to do? Que dois-je faire?"
Surprised by her fluent French, Ginevra reasoned that she must be a student of Beauxbatons. From her miserable state, and the tight-fitting two-piece suit she had on, perhaps she was the Champion of her school. Ginevra sighed despite herself; was this the universe's way of taunting her? As if she was not suffering enough in her solitude, the one person to stumble into her safe haven had to be a Champion from the French school of magic.
Hearing someone beside herself sigh in misery, the girl looked up, her cheeks colouring when she spotted Ginevra. The latter flipped her hair over her shoulder and held her chin high; she was not about to beaten by a French belle whose wide, tear-filled eyes and pitiful expression was even moving her own stone-cold heart.
"Qui êtes-vous?" the girl questioned. "Who are you?"
Ginevra answered back in fluent French, "Je suis Ginevra de Benci. Et vous? And you are?"
"Je suis Eudeline Babineaux, Madame. Je suis une Championne au Tournoi des Trois Sorciers. I am a Champion in the Triwizard Tournament."
Ginevra pressed her lips together and frowned in an attempt to convey her displeasure towards the current situation. Whether the girl understood or not was of little import, as she seemed desperate enough to go so far as to ask a portrait for help.
"Voulez-vous m'aider?" she pleaded, eyes shining with unshed tears. She clasped her hands together as though in prayer, and Ginevra sighed yet again. She did not fancy helping this girl, but she was not so stone-hearted a person as to ignore a child's tears.
But what help can an old portrait give this child? she thought as she nodded curtly. The girl, Eudeline, brightened up instantly and drew closer.
"Quels conseils pourrait vous donner un vieux portrait?" Ginevra questioned.
"Help zat none else are allowed to give," the girl replied in broken English.
"If you can speak my tongue then kindly do so from the very beginning, instead of putting me through the trouble of recollecting what little French I know," Ginevra quipped.
"Je suis désolé," Eudeline apologised. "I am sorry. Nous—we cannot ask for another's help for zis task and so I am not knowing how I must go about it."
"You have come to the right person, I daresay," Ginevra said, narrowing her eyes. "My forgotten existence may be of use to you yet without you having to break any rules."
"Merci," Eudeline said with a nod. "If I may ask—I must find ze book. You can help me?"
"What book would you be looking for?"
"Ze, erm, it is very rare and old, I am told. Hidden somewhere none else can find."
"And this book is the treasure you seek to fulfill this task?"
The girl shook her head. "Non, non. Ze task we do not yet know. We will be told only when we find zis book. Others have found it, but I have not." She bowed her head and sniffed, and Ginevra sighed.
"I haven't the slightest idea as to what book you search for," she admitted as she played with a stray curl of her chestnut-coloured hair, "but I do know of a certain hidden bookcase at the very top of Ravenclaw Tower that might hold the answer to what you seek. It is believed to have belonged to the Lady Ravenclaw herself, and while I cannot confirm its existence or its location, that is the last place I know of it having existed. Perhaps it will do you good to befriend a Ravenclaw and ask him or her to lead you the bookshelf."
"You speak the truth?" Eudeline exclaimed, rising to her feet. The hope that glittered in her eyes was obvious enough, as was the grateful smile she offered Ginevra before bowing low. "Merci beaucoup."
"I say, do not take my word for it," Ginevra insisted, holding a hand up. "For one such as me, who has been imprisoned in this alcove for well over two centuries, any information I give may not be throughly reliable."
"No matter," Eudeline replied with a curtsy. "Your help, I am truly grateful for. Je suis heureuse de faire votre connaissance, Madame de' Benci. I am glad for having made your acquaintance."
"Tout le plaisir est pour moi," Ginevra replied. "I am glad to have been of assistance."
"Then, excusez-moi." The girl bowed again and rushed out of the alcove, leaving Ginevra to examine the piece she was carving, a small smile tugging at her lips when she heard the muffled shout of jubilation from the other side of the bookshelf.
"All good things come to those who wait," she murmured to the empty alcove as she tilted the pawn and scrutinised the bottom.
(It was several weeks later that Eudeline Babineaux returned to the alcove to announce that she had won the tournament, becoming the first ever Beauxbaton Champion to have won it since its establishment twenty years ago. When asked what she could do in return for Ginevra's help, the latter demanded that the girl tell her everything of the tournament and the goings on on the other side of the bookshelf.)
~*To Be Continued*~
A/n: This was written for Diagon Alley II's Halloween Event: The Walls Have Eyes, where the story has to be written from the perspective of a Hogwarts portrait.
I found the idea interesting and wanted to experiment with a concept I've had for a long time but never really got a chance to write. This was originally meant to be a one-shot, but after doing a whole bunch of research I ended up with about 15 characters (not including the portrait), so this is going to be a mini-series with five chapters having three characters in each chapter. Each of the characters is a (in)famous personality from the Potterverse [except for Eudeline Bebineaux, whom I created because I wanted to write about the Triwizard Tournament before its abolishment] and how an encounter with this portrait may or may not have directly or indirectly had some impact on their lives.
Some of the characters I've experimented with include Merlin, Bridget Wenlock, Bowman Wright, Almerick Sawbridge and a bunch of known characters from canon (read on to find out who), so I'm excited to experiment with their characterisations.
Also, since the timeline begins in the middle-ages and goes all the way up till the next gen era, I've stuck to a more formal structure of English because it was literally impossible to write in Old English. Just FYI: the language will change as the centuries go by, at least in the way the characters speak, if not in the description, since the portrait remains the same throughout. (Also I'm not very good at writing in formal English, so any helpful comments are more than welcome.)
Just a few things I thought were necessary to detail in this author's notes. Since this is the first time I've tried something like this, any constructive criticism would be very helpful.
Do leave a review telling me what you think (and follow this if you're curious, because there's four more chapters to come!)
Thanks for reading.
Lots of love~
Arty xx