A/N: Hey, y'all! This was written for Hogwarts (Challenges and Assignments)

Arts and Crafts Task 1: Write about a magical portrait or painting.

Word Count: 3482

Enjoy!

"All right," Sir Cadogan murmured as he took in his surroundings. He patted the flank of his handsome steed. The two of them had been through a lot together. Sir Cadogan tried to ignore the voice in his head telling him that this quest could be his last.

He scrutinized his surroundings— the field to his left, the cave carved into the mountain ahead of him. The Wyvern of Wye had been terrorizing the West Country for too long. He was determined to stop it.

With a mighty cry, he bravely charged into the cave.

Sir Cadogan drummed his fingers against his armor-clad knee, trying in vain to think of a way to alleviate his boredom. How he missed the days of gallivanting with Arthur's knights! Alas, now he was doomed to spend his days hanging on the wall of the seventh floor of Hogwarts... Worse still, he was stuck in this painting with a pony who didn't much like him— ignoring him on good days, and on bad ones, well... he didn't stick around in his portrait on those.

He looked around at his landscape, silently praising the artist's skill with a brush. Still, he felt as though the artist had painted the backdrop with his lazy steed in mind, not the ex-knight of the Round Table. A pale blue sky above him, tall yellow-green grass under his feet— yes, this was a pony's paradise. At times like these Sir Cadogan missed his good friend Merlin. Merlin would have understood. He'd have a dragon or another monstrous beast painted in here with him (but not a wyvern. He'd had enough of those to last a lifetime). That way, Sir Cadogan could slay the creature every day, protecting a village that Merlin also would have been kind enough to paint in here with him.

Yes, a village to save and a dragon to slay. That would do nicely. He glanced at the fat gray pony a few feet to his right, grazing contentedly.

A proper horse would do nicely, too.

Sir Cadogan sighed. His adventures with Merlin and Arthur may have ended, but he was determined to continue to fight evil— even in the confines of his portrait.

The cave was dark. Sir Cadogan reached for his wand, then lit the tip. The light created spooky shadows from the rocks in the cave, but the brave knight pushed that thought aside. He was concerned about one thing: killing the wyvern.

Minutes passed by, and still there was no sign of the beast. Undeterred, Sir Cadogan and his horse continued to creep further into the cavern, the click-clacking of the horse's hooves on the stone echoing eerily.

Sir Cadogan shivered. The temperature was steadily dropping, but his nerves were increasing. They should have seen the monster already. But the high-ceilinged cave gave no indication that anything lived there.

Something dripped on the back of his neck, causing the hair there to stand up on end.

He looked up.

"Oi! You, young fellow! Yes, you!" Sir Cadogan felt his heart swell with excitement. It had been several decades since he had been hung up— at least, he thought so, the monks a few portraits down weren't very good with time. Anyhow, a young visitor was approaching him warily (he must be a first-year, no one came down his corridor anymore).

"Er… yes?" The young boy asked, anxious. He was a Hufflepuff, Sir Cadogan realized, and probably late to class.

The knight jutted his chin out, trying to look intimidating, which was really much harder as a picture than one might think. "You, boy! What villain are you, to trespass on my private lands? Begone, you rogue—"

"What?" The boy looked perplexed. "But— this is a school corridor!"

Sir Cadogan leaned against his fat companion, only to have the blasted steed to move out from under his arm, nearly toppling him.

Huffing with annoyance, Sir Cadogan turned back to the young lad in front of his portrait. "This corridor is the property of the noble Sir Cadogan, knight of King Arthur, friend unto Merlin!"

The boy looked appropriately impressed. "Where is Sir Cadogan?"

The knight blanched, appalled. "Why, he is I, young fellow! Have you not heard the great tales of Sir Cadogan? But you must have heard of how I met my untimely end, at the claws of the Wyvern of Wye?"

The boy looked hesitant before answering. "Erm… no?"

"No!" wailed Sir Cadogan. "Well, my young comrade, you are in luck. I shall tell you my sorry tale—"

"No— I'm late for class!" exclaimed the boy, backing away hurriedly. "You can tell me some other time, yeah?"

The knight wilted, disappointed, but put on a brave face for the boy in front of him. "Farewell, then, comrade!"

But the boy was already gone.

He looked up.

Sir Cadogan's heart stopped right then. Above him, hanging upside down from the roof of the cavern, was the Wyvern of Wye. Its beady yellow eyes bore into him hungrily, and it bared its gleaming white teeth.

He was paralyzed with fear. He'd never faced such a fearsome creature before. After a moment, he steeled his nerves and dismounted. He raised his wand and looked directly into the wyvern's eyes. A silent challenge.

It accepted.

Years later, the knight was staring idly out at the empty corridor before him. Occasionally, his gaze would flicker towards the pony next to him. The lazy thing was still grazing— he wasn't sure it had stopped since they had been painted. It was just lucky that it couldn't get any fatter, seeing as it was made of oils and pigment.

Sir Cadogan had quickly learned that the other portraits did not appreciate it when he dropped by unexpectedly. After the last vase had been thrown, he had vowed to always knock first when entering the portrait to his left.

There wasn't much for him to do, being a portrait. Perhaps once every decade, he could guide a student to the Divination tower. But one thing was certain.

Once a student met him once, they never came back.

He dearly missed Merlin. Though the great wizard did have a tendency to cheat at cards, Merlin had always been willing to spend the day with him slaying a dragon.

On days like that one, Sir Cadogan would reminisce about his old adventures. He recalled Sir Gawain, a riot in the taverns; Sir Lancelot, so kind and chivalrous, it was impossible to resent him for receiving all the glory. Then there was Sir Percival, who proved himself to be loyal to a fault?

Sir Cadogan sorely missed his glory days. What good did being a knight of old do for you if you weren't remembered for it? He groaned, climbing to his feet. Sir Cadogan adjusted his armor, grumbling to himself. Thinking of the past always put him in a foul mood.

The knight took out his wand, twirling it about absentmindedly. Part of him wished that he'd never tried to take down the Wyvern of Wye.

It spread its wings and dived, and if Sir Cadogan hadn't been so focused on surviving this encounter, he would have marveled at the grace with which it flew. He ran to his horse and threw himself onto the saddle as his friend took off running, accustomed to the knight's fighting procedures.

The wyvern chased after them, screaming, but he didn't look back. He wanted to get the wyvern out of the cave, where he would have more space to maneuver.

He almost didn't notice it in time. A hot, prickling sensation on his back and arms— he looked over his shoulder and dove off of his horse. A wave of fire overtook the brave animal he had shared so many adventures with, and Sir Cadogan watched, helplessly, as the stallion was burned to a crisp and promptly gobbled up by the dragon-like creature.

He shouted in despair and drew his sword, preparing to attack, but the wyvern heard him. Snarling, it turned to him, its massive form tensed and ready to pounce. Its deep purple scales glinted menacingly in the light of Sir Cadogan's wand.

It sucked in a breath and roared, fire tumbling out of its mouth. With a startled yell, the knight threw himself to the left, but wasn't fast enough— his visor and sword had both melted, and his wand had snapped upon impact.

He was blinded, and his face burned where the warped metal touched it. It was all the knight could do to stumble out of the cave to safety.

Today the school was abuzz, and the Fat Lady of Gryffindor Tower was spreading some very interesting gossip— Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts.

This greatly pleased Sir Cadogan. The castle could use more heroes. A thought struck him— perhaps, someday soon, Harry Potter's portrait would be hung next to his. The adventures they'd have! Of course, Sir Cadogan didn't wish for Harry Potter's death— time passed by quickly when you were immortalized in a painting.

Perhaps Potter's portrait would have a dragon in it, he mused. Or a damsel in distress. A band of robbers. Anything!

Now, Sir Cadogan knew that the chances of this were low. Still, it gave him something else to think about.

Once a safe distance from the cave, Sir Cadogan tugged off his visor, cursing loudly. He threw aside his now-useless sword, but kept his broken wand. It was emitting sparks, but the knight wasn't much bothered by this. His wand he could replace. It was his horse he was grieving over.

He buried his face in his hands. He had failed to slay the wyvern. The people of West Country were depending on him. He thought of King Arthur, his fellow knights, and of Merlin— all depending on him to slay the monster. It was thanks to Merlin that he was a Knight of the Round Table, and Sir Cadogan refused to do anything that might suggest that he didn't deserve to be among the other knights.

His mind made up, Sir Cadogan looked around for a way back into the cave— he was going to face the wyvern once more.

Sir Cadogan was once again attempting to convince his only companion to do something other than eat the grass, but it was once again proving useless. The fat pony merely blinked slowly at him, then turned away. The knight walked over and yanked on its mane. Nothing. Sir Cadogan frowned. Where was the lively creature that he had charged into his final battle on?

Then something new happened.

He could hear voices— muffled, but growing louder. The knight leapt to his feet, and three teenagers came into view. A boy with messy black hair and green eyes, another boy with red hair and freckles, and a young girl with bushy brown hair and large front teeth.

He greeted them in the only way he knew how— he questioned their reasons for being there. When he heard of their noble quest, he wanted to shout for joy. He gleefully guided them to the Divination Tower, then reminded them that should they ever need him, he'd be available.

When he returned to his portrait, he was feeling so jubilant that he patted his pony on the back. On a whim, he dashed into a neighboring portrait and nicked an apple. He presented it to his steed, and the old fleabag looked pleased as he ate it out of his hand. It was the first time the pony had acknowledged him in centuries, and the knight was ecstatic.

Sir Cadogan ran into the meadow he had seen earlier, then spotted his salvation.

A horse!

He ran to it. Sure, it was a bit... large, and grey, and older than his last steed, but it'd do the job in a pinch. He'd avenge his dead friend, and protect the people of West Country, whatever the cost.

He swiftly lifted himself onto the pony's back. The animal stopped grazing for a moment to look at him, annoyed. He rubbed its neck soothingly. "Listen, good steed, you must carry me into that cave. It is of the utmost importance. We must save the people of the West Country! We must avenge your kinsman, my dear friend! All you must do is gallop into the face of danger, and assist me in slaying the beast."

At the word "kinsman" the pony looked up at him curiously. Once he had finished his speech, the pony began galloping toward the wyvern's lair. As they raced back into battle, Sir Cadogan prepared himself for the end.

It was with great pride that Sir Cadogan took up the role of guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. He took his job very seriously— the lady McGonagall had instructed him not to let anyone in who did not have the password.

Everything was going swimmingly. He saw so many children throughout the day, many more than he had thought attended the school. He even managed to have conversations with a few, and he greatly enjoyed seeing their laughing faces. Neville Longbottom was always so polite when coming through— he answered the knight's questions instead of just blurting out the password.

Then one night, a black-haired man came. He looked incredibly worn— he was practically skin and bones, his hair was matted, and he was as pale as the moon. He held a piece of paper in his dirty hands, and regarded Sir Cadogan with interest.

"You're new," he observed.

The knight was pleased. "Just filling in for the fair lady. She had an awful fright not long ago. Can I be of assistance, good sir? Are you on a quest? Or are you here to trespass on my land?"

The man looked sad, and his eyes darkened. "I'm on a quest, yes. A quest to make things right. Could you let me in?"

Sir Cadogan shook his head sorrowfully. "I am most sorry, good sir. I cannot allow entry unless given the password."

The man nodded. "Oh, of course. I have those here. Could I read them to you?"

Sir Cadogan nodded eagerly. He quite liked this quester.

The man listed all the passwords of that week. When he was finished, he looked up at the knight hopefully. "Were any of those right?"

The knight laughed. "Yes, yes, you may enter—" he swung open, and the man grinned. "Good luck on your quest, good sir!"

"Thanks," he heard the man mutter as he climbed through. "I'll need it."

Not long after, someone opened Sir Cadogan's portrait and a large, grim-like dog rushed out.

The next day, he learned that the man who had entered had been Sirius Black.

He and his new companion rushed into the cave, and Sir Cadogan struggled not to lose his nerve. He was ready to die, but at the same time, he desperately wished he wouldn't. The knight was no fool, however. Such was the life of a hero: one day, you met a monster you couldn't defeat, and then the next brave fighter would step up into the spotlight.

He took a deep breath, readying himself for the fight that was sure to come. Sure enough, he heard the familiar rumbling of the great beast. His wand clutched in his fist, Sir Cadogan charged the wyvern.

For several minutes, Sir Cadogan and the pony dodged the wyvern's attacks, sustaining numerous injuries, but continuing on determinedly. Just when the knight dared to hope that there was a chance he could win this fight, the wyvern leapt in front of them and swallowed them whole.

"Back you villains, you dogs, you scurvy—"

"Shut it, you!" a voice bellowed angrily.

A battle was taking place right in front of his portrait, and the students of Hogwarts were not winning. Everywhere he looked, Sir Cadogan saw curses flying, jets of light that looked so beautiful one moment but could prove deadly the next. All he could hear was screaming, and he was taken right back to Arthurian times, though those enemies had been very different.

There was one boy, though, who looked much too young to be there. Sir Cadogan knew that only the adults in the school had been permitted to stay, yet this boy appeared to be no older than fifteen.

"You lad," the knight called, apprehensive about distracting the young lad in battle, but more concerned over his qualifications to be there. "Who are you?"

"Dennis Creevey, sir!" he yelled over the din.

"Lad, have you received permission to take part in this most grievous of wars?"

The boy shook his head. "Well, no... but I have to help! My brother and I snuck back into the castle. We're—"

The boy ducked suddenly, narrowly avoiding a jinx. He looked shakily back up at Sir Cadogan, and the knight could see how scared the boy truly was. He was reminded of himself right before his death and vowed that he would keep the young wizard alive.

"I know I cannot stop you, lad." he said, drawing himself up to his full height. "But you are too young to die in battle. I can cover you— take down my portrait and place it before you. Crouch in that corner there— yes, precisely."

Dennis did as the knight said, his blonde hair falling into his brown eyes as he worked.

"Right, excellent," encouraged the knight, ignoring the way his heart was pounding.

From behind him, Dennis sounded hesitant. "Are you sure about this? If any spells come this way, they could hurt you!"

"Better you than me, lad," Sir Cadogan answered gently. "I am already dead. You can fire spells around me, if you so wish. Be vigilant!"

"Thank you!" Dennis sounded grateful, and very relieved. That more than anything else solidified the knight's resolve.

As the night wore on, countless spells peppered holes in his canvas, but the important thing was that he kept them all from harming Dennis. He was not a Knight of the Round Table anymore. He was lost to the ages, not even a legend. Forgotten. But if he could keep this boy alive, then perhaps the young lad would be inspired to build his own legacy. That, Sir Cadogan realized, would be a true honor.

Then a corner of his canvas caught fire.

He stared at it in horror, flashes of his fiery death flooding his brain. Once again, he was struck with the understanding that he did not wish to die, but still knew he must.

He watched, resigned, as the flames continued to eat at what had been his home for the last several thousand years.

"No!" exclaimed Dennis when he noticed the fire. "No, no— just wait, I can put it out—"

Sir Cadogan shook his head. "It is time that I meet my true end, young friend. But swear to me this— you will not forget the name Sir Cadogan."

"No, of course I won't. But—"

"Farewell, comrade. I hope that you do not follow me to the place of final rest."

"Sir Cadogan— Aguamenti."

Water doused him, and the fire was out. Unfortunately, his vision had been impaired.

Still, as the dawn broke over the horizon, young Dennis Creevey was still breathing, and Sir Cadogan was damaged, but still functioning.

Perhaps Merlin was still looking out for him, even after all these years.

It was dark and smelly inside the wyvern's mouth, and Sir Cadogan was overwhelmed by the unpleasant sensation of defeat. Here it was that he and this noble steed had met their end, but the Wyvern of Wye continued living.

Then his wand pierced the wyvern's tongue, and the gaseous fumes in the beast's mouth ignited.

The world turned bright and red, and Sir Cadogan screamed with pain as the fire consumed him, right before everything went black.

"—and yes, children, that is the tragic story of my death. But never fear! The internal explosion killed the Wyvern of Wye. No longer was he able to wreak havoc in the West Country, and my portrait was hung up in these hallowed halls. I will continue to protect any student who so needs my services— or direct you to your classrooms, if you be on a quest instead."

The children gathered around his portrait looked up at him in awe. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, students had been drawn to his portrait after hearing the tale of how valiant Sir Cadogan had saved Dennis Creevey's life.

His portrait had since been restored, and a few additions had been made— a bushel of apples for his pony, and a village and a dragon that flew by every so often to entertain him when he wasn't recounting tales of old to fascinated schoolchildren.

It might not have been like it was when he was alive, but this life was still an adventure.