I was re-reading "The Flight of the Fat Lady" a few days ago, and it came to my attention that there are a few loose ends. Like, why would the Fat Lady be so terrified of Sirius? Why would he lash out at her? She would have known the Marauders' secret, having let them in and out at all hours of the night...
She would have been more prepared to believe the truth than anybody.
I think The Harry Potter Companion (specifically, the essays) is having a lasting effect on me. It makes me think of all the details, and wonder if Rowling engineered even the little things with more meaning than they appear to have. Think about it -
What if they planned it?
"They didn't even give me a trial, you know."
The Fat Lady opens her eyes, and a prickle of something – fear, maybe? Familiarity? – races up her back. The voice is hoarse and haggard, but she remembers when it was playful and mischievous. Moony is already at the castle, and here – here is Padfoot.
"Hello, Sirius." She gazes down from her portrait at him. "I heard you've broken out of Azkaban."
His laugh is sharp and bitter, and it sounds remarkably like the way his angry barks once did. A laugh shouldn't sound like that, she thinks. He is not the lighthearted child he once was.
The man stands before her, emaciated. The eyes – once glimmering and wry – are the only part of his face that seem alive. Yellowed skin clings to bone. His black hair is elbow-length and matted, disgusting. He is wandless, and, she knows, far from powerless.
"I shouldn't have needed to," he spits. "Do you know what they did to me? Do you know what he did?"
The Fat Lady is not afraid. She has faced hundreds – thousands – of students like this, unable to talk to their friends, throwing their feelings at a portrait instead. She shakes her head.
Sirius pushes up the tattered and filthy left sleeve of his robe all the way to his shoulder, showing her the scarred and pale arm.
"No Dark Mark," she observes calmly.
"No Dark Mark," he hisses. "Crouch didn't even bother to check."
"So why have you come to visit me, Sirius?" The Fat Lady leans back in her chair, a little sadly. "It's a dangerous castle tonight."
He does that harsh laugh again. "I know what day it is. I've been on the grounds, waiting. Halloween night, no chance that anyone else is going to get hurt."
"Who are you going to hurt, then?" The Fat Lady's heart is breaking to see Sirius like this.
"Peter," he snarls. "Don't look so surprised. The man had a dark side, and he's alive. He's inside that tower. The youngest Weasley boy keeps him as a pet."
The Fat Lady's chest is fluttering. "Sirius…even if I believed you-"
"I was going to be secret-keeper," he says urgently, and the Fat Lady fancies that a little of the insanity is slipping away as he discusses this. "But Voldemort – everyone – knew I was the first choice. I persuaded them – I begged them, to take Peter; he was so weak, no one would possibly think Lily and James would trust him…"
"And he betrayed them." The pieces are lining up so much better; Sirius Black, the eleven-year-old she remembers tagging after James Potter on their first night at Hogwarts. Who was desperately ashamed of his all-Slytherin family, who joined the Order of the Phoenix before his last year at Hogwarts had even ended. The number of times she saw them out on nights of the full moon; the number of times she kept herself from sleeping, waiting to see them safely back in.
"I confronted him. He blew up the street and faked his own death. And now he's here, sleeping in the same dormitory as Harry. Perfectly positioned to strike, hand him over to Voldemort just like he did Lily and James…."
If the Fat Lady isn't mistaken, there are tears in his eyes. "I hadn't recognized him," she says, shaking her head. "I wonder why. The third-from-eldest Weasley boy had him first; then Ron." She sighs, shifting uncomfortably. "I should have seen."
"I don't have the password," Sirius tells her, unnecessarily. "I know he's in the tower, by himself. I'm Harry's godfather; I swore to Lily I'd protect him. Are you going to refuse me this, Fat Lady?"
The Fat Lady thinks about it. Sirius is right. He is so right it makes her heart ache. Suddenly, there is a loud scraping noise from seven floors below. Sirius becomes more agitated, looking at her with the pleading eyes she'd seen work on James and Remus so many times.
"The students will be here in moments," she murmurs. "There isn't enough time, for you to go and search for him. Kill him while he puts up a fight."
Sirius's eyes are wild, and he stops pacing to grip the sides of her frame. "Please – Lily and James-"
She is calm, resolute. "They'll know if I let you in. They won't let me stay here; I won't be able to protect these children anymore."
Sirius is starting to growl, and he reaches in his filthy robes for a long, dull knife.
"Come back," she instructs him. His eyes widen. "I'll leave; go hide on another floor. You slash my canvas; I'll refuse to return. They'll replace me with another portrait."
He is beginning to understand her; his right hand tightens on the handle. "You'll have a much better time getting past whoever they put here instead. Then you'll have your revenge. Protect the Potters' son."
The Fat Lady gathers her dress and heaves herself down off her magnificent chair. Sirius, anxious at the noises of students running up to the seventh floor, draws the knife quickly and viciously across the empty painting as the Fat Lady watches.
She gives him an encouraging nod, then waddles as fast as she can down the hall to her left.
When she looks back, Sirius Black has disappeared.