Disclaimer: These are not my characters. Harry Potter and the world in which he lives are the property of J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and I do not intend infringement upon their rights as such in any manner. The plot and the Hogwarts lounge are mine.

A/N: Word of warning, this is a rather darker chapter than the rest of the story. It's sliding from humor into... well... something else. I've got a couple of ideas for stories set in the same universe, but different... anyway, I'll try to get back into the humor, as the muse allows. Thanks!

"Um... It's going to be very difficult. But you already knew that... And it'll be even worse if he is unwilling, which, knowing the professor, he will be..." Her forehead was scrunched up in the stereotypical puzzled scholarly frown, eyes closed and lips pursed. "But why do you say I am similar to Pettigrew?"

"Peter," he rejoined, and continued, "Because it's true. You two are very much alike... Very much alike. It was the actions of one man that turned Peter into the 'rat' whom you know, but I imagine that Sirius, when he's not enflamed with the rage of injustice, could tell you some tales..."

There is a look to man as he is slowly lost in memory, and such was the look of Albus Dumbledore. Hermione respectfully said, "I'll go to the library then. There ought to be something, I just have to find it. Sir."

The three left softly, leaving the Headmaster to reminisce.

* * * * *

A man grief-stricken is never a fair target; Lord Voldemort, however, has never paid mind to the rules of etiquette. He initiated an action, and followed through with it. He always did.

* * * * *

There are few things more painful than losing a spouse, as Peter Pettigrew could easily attest. Unfortunately, he had experienced some of them, as well. Grief will drive a man from his morals, hoping for a miracle. Unfortunately, true miracles never come cloaked in darkness.

* * * * *

Charms were never one of Voldemort's strong points, not that he would let anyone realize that. He needed a strong wizard, well-versed in charms and more ambitious than most. He wanted the best that Hogwarts had to offer--so long as they were pure in blood, of course. Lucius Malfoy was more than happy to supply him one.

* * * * *

It bore a striking resemblance to a scene but some days before; however, it was now Hermione languishing over piles of parchment, pausing only to take a strengthening snack. She attacked each new chapter with hope, vigor, and relentlessness, searching for something... anything. Unfortunately, paintings were rarely, if ever, changed after their initial awakening. A tattoo, as in Sir Cadogan's case, was seen as rather barbaric, a form of cannibalism unique to moving paintings.

She knew that there had to have been something, something upon which the Marauders had based their disastrous prank. Some passage, some reference, something like...

Something like "A Memoir of an Escapade Gone Wrong, Recalling the 'Period of Disarray' Surrounding an Ill-Fated Attempted Change in Decor."

It would have to be something like that.

This particular book held short essays decrying the stupidity of several ancestors; it was a moral book, of sorts, describing in detail series of events so as to shy the pranksters of the time away from certain, more damaging ideas. Hermione figured it had, in fact, had the opposite affect, as it did upon the Marauders.

She glanced at the page, decided that ye olde English would add nothing to the story, and cast a quick "Vernaculorous." That's better, much better... now, on to the story.

* * * * *

Dude, like, once upon a time there was, like, this dude, who was, like, so crickish you can't believe it! No, I mean it, there's like no way that there's a dude as crickish as he! Anyways, this crickish-dude decided he needs some action, like, now! So he does all this boring stuff, like with books, and paper, and stuff, and gets a spell, and he like, practices on his dog! And, like, the poor dog was, like, so sad! This dude was not the sharpest crayon in the toolbox, y'know? Or the sharpest knife in Caesar's back, or any of those messed up 'liturury' things, similes, or metaphors, or sentences- but he wasn't cool, man! There was a total lack of coolness around this dude. We're talking major lack-age. There was, like, a black hole, or some weird space term, y'know what I mean? Just this 'black hole' of anti-coolness, all around this dude.

* * * * *

Wrong spell. Definitely the wrong spell... dude... Hermione shuddered, and cleared her mind, concentrating only on the syllables and their emphasis and pronunciation.

"Vernacularous!"

Seeing as this did not look like the script from a movie costarring a skateboarder and a valley girl, Hermione began again.

* * * * *

There is a difficulty in outlining the events of the past for future generations. Therefore, I will not attempt to guess what modes of entertainment you have, whether Quidditch has already replaced Qualish, whether you still play 'throw-the-book-through-the ghost,' or even whether you use such 'out-dated' things as books, for I am willing to assume that you still have mistakes--and soup. This was a rather drastic one (a mistake, that is), committed by one of the more foolish of the previous court. There is no question that he should not have been allowed to procreate, yet, that was apparently his most ardent wish. He would ensnare a lady new to court, her ears untouched by warnings of him, or perhaps a muggle, or one of mixed birth--no self-respecting pure-blood would have him.

Despite his extreme efforts, he remained un-attached, and so decided to do something drastic. Before the young lass he was then attached to first came to his house for an evening sup, he decided that a change in decoration was necessary. Thus, to each painting, he added a small picture of the girl, rather like the symbol magics known to the aborigines. It was a moving picture on a moving picture, in every respect similar to the lady. One would think that he should have concentrated on developing his artistic abilities, rather than accentuating his lack of the wit required in court.

With each "Vivechela Pictarala" another painting sported the smiling face of his chosen lass, smiling slyly, sensuously, sparkingly. This, of course, posed a rather problem when the girl, seeing him for the true cad that he was, denied him her heart and went off to marry a rather more sensible baron.

* * * * *

Here followed a rather boring series of lectures upon the lineage of said baron, and his superb qualities. Hermione skipped it, but, as a responsible researcher, felt obliged to check further in the text for any other possible information, though she was certain that the Marauders of before hadn't been near so thorough.

It paid off. Truly.

* * * * *

As symbol magics unknowingly used often are, this was rather a more complex charm than it should have been. A future idol of the fool misused the charm grossly, adding a letter to attack the soul of the 'victim.' He sapped at the very soul of the girl that he had targeted, further proving the reason behind the Ministries banning of wizarding portraits--thus requiring Michelangelo to paint his Mona Lisa in the muggle way... not that there hasn't been some debate over the truth of that.

* * * * *

And that was that.

Many thousand thanks to Blue Eyes. I hope this chapter is okay!!!