The Fat Lady's portrait had been hanging on that wall ever since anyone could remember.
Nobody remembered that she was the proud Lady Enza Umbertson; for generations she had always been the Fat Lady, and for generations more she would continue to be, until she herself forgot her own name. She had not been a particulary famous woman; she was mentioned in no books, seen on no awards, and her portrait guarded the Gryffindor common room merely because it was the largest they'd had at the time. It seemed rather silly to her that she was universally accepted as the Fat Lady, no one ever considering that she, too, had once been a little girl with a wand and a broomstick; that she'd had a past and had lived it quite well, thank you. Only once had anyone ever seen her as more than a painting on a wall, to be given a password and then ignored.
Her heart fluttered in her bosom as she thought of him; she'd first seen him as a skinny, scared first-year who missed his mummy, sneaking out of his room at night so no one would see him cry. Small boys who missed their mummies held a special place in her heart; she had comforted him and told him not to worry, there's a good boy, and he had looked up and her and asked, "What's your name, miss?" And he not only asked it, but he used it, as well -- on his way to breakfast he would greet her with, "Morning, Lady Umbertson!"; he'd tell her, "Good day, Lady Umbertson!" as he walked by on his way to classes; and whenever he gave her a password, it was always followed with a merry, "Thank you, Lady Umbertson!" Such a nice little boy, he was.
And then that nice little boy grew older, and into a fine young example of a man; Head Boy, he was, and cocky enough to address her as "Lady Enza" when it pleased him! Yet he was always still so polite to her, made sure to thank her proper each time she swung her portrait open for him, and he gave detentions to anyone he saw being rude to her. Yes, such a nice young man, he was.
And then that nice young man grew older, too, and he graduated. And for a long time she was sad and lonely that she may never see him again, for he was still the one and only darling to ever think of her as more than the Fat Lady, and -- she had to admit -- he was quite a looker, too. All those lovely muscles he had from playing Quidditch, his lovely auburn hair and his bright blue eyes...it almost made her swoon, but she composed herself each time. After all, Violet would get mad if she swooned onto her portrait, wouldn't she?
And then that nice young man came back, to teach at his beloved Hogwarts, only he was taller and more handsome and smarter, too -- he'd been through University -- and yet he still remembered her, and greeted her each morning with, "Morning, Lady Umbertson!" and every evening asked her, "How was your day, Lady Umbertson?" and once, during that awful incident when that poor Myrtle girl had died, he'd looked grim and said to her, "It looks bad, Lady Umbertson." Such a nice man, he was.
And that nice man grew older still; and his hair turned white and his beard grew long and one day he came to her and said, "I'm headmaster of the school now, Lady Umbertson" like he couldn't really quite believe it himself. And she'd been so happy for him, and for herself, knowing he'd be staying at the school for years to come.
Then one day he came to her, with Minerva -- and she remembered when Minerva had been twelve years old and turned a boy's hand into a slug for teasing her about her dollie, such a talented little witch she was -- and he said, "Lady Umbertson, I must ask you something."
"Yes, Albus?" she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him. He smiled up at her and said,
"In a few days the next term will start, and students will be arriving with their heads fresh and empty for us to put things in. And I must ask you, there is one student, who I feel you must keep an eye on."
"Anything, Albus," she said, and it was true; she would do anything she possibly could to help such a charming man. "Who is it?"
"Harry Potter," he said, and she gasped; everyone knew about him.
"Is it safe for him to come here?"
"You let me worry about that, Lady Umbertson, a lady of your prestige should not concern herself with such things," he said. "I merely ask for...shall we say, if you see anything unusual, I may be notified? Every student sneaks out of bed at one point or another, but for young Mr. Potter, I feel it may be...more prudent for us to know where he is at all times." He lifted his charming half-moon glasses and winked at her; she felt a swoon coming on and bravely restrained herself.
"Certainly, Albus," she gushed. "Anything to help you."
"Thank you, Lady Umbertson, words cannot express my gratitude," he said, and smiled. "Now, if you will excuse me..."
"Oh, Albus!" she cried, as he and Minerva turned to leave. "Albus, one little thing!"
"Yes, Lady Umbertson?"
"Please, call me Enza," she said, and winked outrageously at him. He smiled.
"Certainly, Enza."
And as they walked away, she could've sworn she heard Minerva whisper, "I think she rather fancies you, Headmaster."
"It must be my manly good looks," she thought she heard him reply.
Such a charming man, that Albus Dumbledore.
Nobody remembered that she was the proud Lady Enza Umbertson; for generations she had always been the Fat Lady, and for generations more she would continue to be, until she herself forgot her own name. She had not been a particulary famous woman; she was mentioned in no books, seen on no awards, and her portrait guarded the Gryffindor common room merely because it was the largest they'd had at the time. It seemed rather silly to her that she was universally accepted as the Fat Lady, no one ever considering that she, too, had once been a little girl with a wand and a broomstick; that she'd had a past and had lived it quite well, thank you. Only once had anyone ever seen her as more than a painting on a wall, to be given a password and then ignored.
Her heart fluttered in her bosom as she thought of him; she'd first seen him as a skinny, scared first-year who missed his mummy, sneaking out of his room at night so no one would see him cry. Small boys who missed their mummies held a special place in her heart; she had comforted him and told him not to worry, there's a good boy, and he had looked up and her and asked, "What's your name, miss?" And he not only asked it, but he used it, as well -- on his way to breakfast he would greet her with, "Morning, Lady Umbertson!"; he'd tell her, "Good day, Lady Umbertson!" as he walked by on his way to classes; and whenever he gave her a password, it was always followed with a merry, "Thank you, Lady Umbertson!" Such a nice little boy, he was.
And then that nice little boy grew older, and into a fine young example of a man; Head Boy, he was, and cocky enough to address her as "Lady Enza" when it pleased him! Yet he was always still so polite to her, made sure to thank her proper each time she swung her portrait open for him, and he gave detentions to anyone he saw being rude to her. Yes, such a nice young man, he was.
And then that nice young man grew older, too, and he graduated. And for a long time she was sad and lonely that she may never see him again, for he was still the one and only darling to ever think of her as more than the Fat Lady, and -- she had to admit -- he was quite a looker, too. All those lovely muscles he had from playing Quidditch, his lovely auburn hair and his bright blue eyes...it almost made her swoon, but she composed herself each time. After all, Violet would get mad if she swooned onto her portrait, wouldn't she?
And then that nice young man came back, to teach at his beloved Hogwarts, only he was taller and more handsome and smarter, too -- he'd been through University -- and yet he still remembered her, and greeted her each morning with, "Morning, Lady Umbertson!" and every evening asked her, "How was your day, Lady Umbertson?" and once, during that awful incident when that poor Myrtle girl had died, he'd looked grim and said to her, "It looks bad, Lady Umbertson." Such a nice man, he was.
And that nice man grew older still; and his hair turned white and his beard grew long and one day he came to her and said, "I'm headmaster of the school now, Lady Umbertson" like he couldn't really quite believe it himself. And she'd been so happy for him, and for herself, knowing he'd be staying at the school for years to come.
Then one day he came to her, with Minerva -- and she remembered when Minerva had been twelve years old and turned a boy's hand into a slug for teasing her about her dollie, such a talented little witch she was -- and he said, "Lady Umbertson, I must ask you something."
"Yes, Albus?" she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him. He smiled up at her and said,
"In a few days the next term will start, and students will be arriving with their heads fresh and empty for us to put things in. And I must ask you, there is one student, who I feel you must keep an eye on."
"Anything, Albus," she said, and it was true; she would do anything she possibly could to help such a charming man. "Who is it?"
"Harry Potter," he said, and she gasped; everyone knew about him.
"Is it safe for him to come here?"
"You let me worry about that, Lady Umbertson, a lady of your prestige should not concern herself with such things," he said. "I merely ask for...shall we say, if you see anything unusual, I may be notified? Every student sneaks out of bed at one point or another, but for young Mr. Potter, I feel it may be...more prudent for us to know where he is at all times." He lifted his charming half-moon glasses and winked at her; she felt a swoon coming on and bravely restrained herself.
"Certainly, Albus," she gushed. "Anything to help you."
"Thank you, Lady Umbertson, words cannot express my gratitude," he said, and smiled. "Now, if you will excuse me..."
"Oh, Albus!" she cried, as he and Minerva turned to leave. "Albus, one little thing!"
"Yes, Lady Umbertson?"
"Please, call me Enza," she said, and winked outrageously at him. He smiled.
"Certainly, Enza."
And as they walked away, she could've sworn she heard Minerva whisper, "I think she rather fancies you, Headmaster."
"It must be my manly good looks," she thought she heard him reply.
Such a charming man, that Albus Dumbledore.