Portrait of a Painting
by volta arovet
This pastoral was painted by the great Banksinetto Graphitti, who painted it on the easternmost wall of the Italian Consiglio di Magia during the late 19th century. It is said that he created it in one single night under cover of darkness. Hogwarts acquired this work of art ten years ago in an exchange of walls that left Hogwarts with a new masterpiece and the Italian Council with a wall that requires considerably less upkeep. That's "Graphitti" with a 'pee-aich' and two 'tees,' make certain you spell it correctly, young man.
I believe that concludes this level's—no, excuse me, there is one more. I'm afraid we don't often come down this way, but there has in fact been one addition at the end of the next corridor. As you'll recall from the current version of 'Hogwarts, A History,' a painting known as 'Youth and Bay Leaf' once hung on these walls. He was a sweet boy, rather morose at times, but very beautiful...very, very beautiful.
Good e'en to you, my Lady of the Rotund. How fair you, and what business hath such a fair maiden with such a rough-looking yeoman in such a deserted corner of the castle?
Good evening to you, Sir Cadogan, and while I appreciate your concern, let me assure you that my virtue remain intact. This young man is updating the artwork section of 'Hogwarts, A History,' and I was about to tell him the story of what happened to the Youth.
Ah, yes, a very good story, a most glorious tragedy. It is indeed a tale worthy of song and tribute, if I may do the honor of reciting an introduction? Ahem:
Two houfes, bothe alike in strife,
In faire Hogwarts where the scene is writ
A paire of star-crofs'd lovers share their—
Sir Cadogan, if you spoil the ending of this story I shall never speak to you again.
My dear Lady, I was merely giving context. A tragedy this great must be known as a tragedy from the start, so as not to disappoint or mislead the listener and thereby do them a great discourtesy.
And who says it's a tragedy? In my opinion, it is one of the finest romance tales to ever happen to Hogwarts in at least the last century.
And in my opinion, it is the darkest comedy.
Phineas! I didn't expect to see you out here!
Good e'en to you, Sir Nigellus.
I thought it prudent to make certain you tell the tale correctly. This is a matter that concerns portraits, after all, not paintings.
I beg to differ, Phineas.
I thought you would. As I said, that is why I am here.
I assure you, I know what I am doing.
Nevertheless, I—
Two houfes, bothe alike in—
VERY WELL, Sir Cadogan, Professor Nigellus, if you would both permit me to tell the tale of the Youth before this edition of 'Hogwarts, A History' is due to print?
Very well.
As you wish, my Lady.
Where was I? Ah, yes. The painting titled 'Youth and Bay Leaf.' The Youth was very beautiful, as I have said, with sad gray eyes and alabaster skin and hair like a raven's wing. He was sweet and kind, though prone to melancholy. He was a favorite of the girls in the school, which I imagine is why he was eventually moved to this lesser-used corridor. He was a bit of a distraction, you see.
Well, it was that combined with the fact that if I heard the damned brat sigh *one more time*...
Over the years, the Youth was generally forgotten by the students. He wasn't very social, you see, and didn't like to leave his frame. It wasn't until, oh, let's see, how long ago was it?
It was the time of the Dark Lord's first insurgency, of course.
Of course. It was a horrible, beastly time. One night, a girl from—well, what do Houses or bloodlines truly mean now, anyway? Suffice it to say that the cruelties of the students were growing to match the cruelties of the war, and no house nor family was truly protected from it. She ran, blinded by tears, looking for an empty corridor where she could hide for a while. Instead, she found the Youth, who—
Too swiftlie didst she flee, and flee to fate!
Her only love sprung forthe from only paint!
Thank you, Sir Cadogan. Yes, in time she grew to love the Youth, and he seemed to care for her as well.
It was not love. The girl was merely desperate for a little kindness, and he was thankful for the company. It was not love.
The days went by and soon the girl realized that she would have to leave the school and her beloved Youth. She tried to think of a way for them to be together, and eventually she decided that she would paint a self-portrait and hang it on the wall next to the Youth. She tried many times, but she was always missing that magical something that makes a painting come alive.
It's the soul, you see. That's the difference between a portrait and a painting. A portrait requires a fraction of the soul to make it real. That's why portraits of living people don't interact with you folk the same way paintings or portraits of dead people do. She was trying to break her own soul, and she was doing it for a soulless painting. I warned her not to, he warned her not to, but it didn't stop her. He wanted her to live, but when you are made of canvas and paint you are stuck at that moment when you are painted; you don't grow, you don't live, you don't change until your paint gets neglected and you start to decay. It isn't something someone so young should strive for.
I personally don't think it is half so bad as you make it out to be, Phineas.
So says the lady who was never alive. In this case, it shouldn't have mattered. She was a decent painter, but she didn't have the skill necessary to be a true artist. The painting she left on the wall wouldn't live, even I could tell that. By all accounts she should have finished school, found a real man to love, and move on with her life. You know how these children are: they fixate on one person and believe they will never love another, which is absolutely true for very short amounts of 'never.'
I swear, Phineas, you haven't a romantic bone in your body.
Thank you.
What Phineas said wouldn't have happened, anyway. She did leave Hogwarts, true enough, and perhaps she did try to move on with her life. She was killed within the year, during a Death Eater raid. And then the most miraculous thing happened.
But harke, what—
Sir Cadogan, please. I had gone to visit the Youth, as he had been quite depressed since the girl left, and I found that the paintings had changed. The girl's portrait, the one we knew would never live, was empty. The Youth was kissing her in his own painting, but they were both so deathly still. The painting had become as flat and impenetrable as any Muggle painting, but at last they were together.
Bloody waste, if you ask me. They gave everything so they could touch, and now they'll never do anything, ever again. They are fools.
They are tragic heroes!
They're in love.
Exactly.
Sir Cadogan, if you would please conclude the story?
Thank you, O Lady of the Port.
For ne're a more tragick tale, forsooth,
Than of the girle and of her paint-ed Youthe.