a/n: Oh dear, I'm back! Finally, after an unbelievably busy spring and an almost equally busy June. At the moment I'm sick, but that seems to only bring me new ideas. This fic was going to end already, but I couldn't find a way for it to do so in an interesting way. Now I decided to combine the reading between the lines-thought with another,a bit similar idea. Please, tell me how you like it!
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Portraits and Paragraphs
She had never been very good at deceiving herself. Maybe it had something to do with her logical skills. It was like there were two Hermione Grangers: the first a normal schoolgirl with occasionally silly ideas, insecurities and realistic as well as unrealistic hopes and dreams – and the other, with an almost cruelly logical and a scary amount of detached observance. And at the very moment, the cool, ordered part of her was silently watching how the insecure schoolgirl pretended to be only leafing through Hogwarts, a History. However, due to her self-knowledge, both Hermione Grangers knew there was nothing random in her current interest in the book.
She was looking for something particular. Someone particular, to be exact. Someone, who had always, always before been in the plain sight on the page 346, smiling her small, self-satisfied smile and watching Hermione just a little bit too keenly. If she had always been so keen before, why wasn't she now, when she was truly needed?
Sure, she had dropped those little infuriating hints earlier, teasing Hermione, practically haunting her, for God's sake! Is the reader needing some advice with her love-life? Doesn't her Prince Charming notice her? Would the reader like some help with the matters of the heart? You know, there's only so much knowledge one can gather during what...sixteen, seventeen years? Me, I have over five hundreds years of experience on me. Wouldn't the kind reader like to benefit from my expertise? Was the fact that she had always before stiffly declined any of the picture's information really a justified reason to play hard-to-get now? Page 346, no self-satisfied smile. Page 347, no advices on love. Page 345, nothing of the sort. Damn! Damn! Damn!
Frustrated, Hermione slammed the book shut. It was silly, really, to seek any advice on this from a five-hundred years old picture in an old mouldy book. The logical part of her calmly noted that she was perfectly happy to seek knowledge on everything else in mouldy books, but for once, she ignored her very own voice of reason.
There was really nothing she could do about the situation, anyway, never mind how great advice she got. And he was only an infatuation, it wasn't going to last. He would find someone, and eventually, she would find someone, and they would both be happy and remain friends like only those can, that have shared the precious experience of growing up in turbulent times. And she was perfectly happy with that. Honestly.
Her inner voice sounded melodramatic and false even in her own mental ears, but she still experienced satisfaction over the conclusion she had reached. Hermione was just preparing herself to feel comfortingly sorry for herself, when the portrait hole opened and the very person who had held the leading role in her pondering entered. And he was whistling. As if his big, clumsy feet alone didn't wake up the whole tower! No, he had to whistle, and on a school night, too! At this hour, any decent person would have been asleep, or at least studying, not frolicking around and whistling. She almost opened her mouth to reprimand him for his behaviour, when she remembered not only that it wasn't even curfew yet and Harry and Ginny hadn't returned either, but also that she wasn't on speaking terms with the said whistler.
Only a second later, the realization about why was he whistling so merrily reached her, and then she couldn't have spoken even if she had wanted to. She was too hurt. How could that mysterious (why hadn't she let him introduce her – then she would have known who she was, at least?), hateful girl had made him so happy that he didn't even feel bad about the fight with his best friend? He always felt bad after fighting with her. She always felt bad after their fights, it was only common decency that he should, too! Only that girl had stolen her the right to see Ron miserable as he should be.
Images of how the mysterious female had come through with it aroused in her mind and she couldn't avoid them.
She didn't want to look at him. She was certain there would be that goofy grin on his face and that his hair would be tousled and his lips swollen from her kisses. Maybe there would even be lipstick on his collar – never mind that the girls in Hogwarts didn't use Muggle methods of make-up, still she could imagine him as an adulterer of any of the romance novels she had devoured in the summer, in the secrecy of her own room. An adulterer, yes, and for the second time in the same evening, Hermione Granger didn't let her logical part interfere with her feelings. It didn't matter that she and Ron weren't together – it only mattered that they should have been!
He didn't even look at her. Or, well, he glanced at her and nodded, but it was all the same, as if he hadn't noticed her. Of course he didn't, with his head full of that girl! (Surely a Hufflepuff, no question about it!) He ignored her and carried on with the infuriating whistling and disappeared in the Seventh Years boys' dormitory and she was left alone in the Common Room. The moment Ron had closed the door after him, Hermione opened the book anew and searched in determination. Page 107, page 108, page 109, page 218, page 297, page 386 – aha!
She almost shouted aloud and draw her wand, casting a binding spell on the page. Keeping the picture at her wand point – some silent voice in the back of her mind whispering that had anyone seen her, they would probably had alerted Madame Pomfrey – she muttered through her teeth: "There you are! Now, let's hear your excellent advice on love!" She knew the picture probably couldn't hear her, maybe it couldn't even see her, it was just spelled to recognise each of its readers and to know when it was looked at. Still, it felt enormously fulfilling when, as if answering her threats, the text under the picture shifted and shimmered and new words appeared.
"Oh, now you wish to read my advice?"
"Yes!"
"Love has finally conquered you, hasn't it?" The witch in the portrait smiled, evil smile, Hermione thought, and flicked her hair. She wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense of the word. She was at least forty, her teeth were somewhat uneven and her chin was more than slightly doubled. Still, she possessed a sort of...allure. It was in the way she smiled, the way she looked at Hermione, the silent demand of attention she held and the clearly visible certainty that told she truly believed she had rightfully deserved every bit of the attention she was given. Hermione didn't bother to answer. One so keen on taunting the others would surely speak even without provocation. She was right. Only after a couple of minutes, the words under the picture shifted again.
"Oh, yes...I know a lot about love. The men that I have had, in my time...but you are certainly too innocent to hear about those, aren't you now?"
Hermione harrumped and moved her hand as if she was going to close the book. The witch in the picture apparently felt the movement and hurriedly, the words changed again:
"Now, now...don't you be so hasty! I merely assumed. You have been shutting me up quite a many times, haven't you? Not interested in love, not in need of an advice, embarrassedby your own emotions...Ravenclaw, aren't you? No...Gryffindor, definitely Gryffindor. Only those with a lion's courage in battle can be so timid when confronting their own feelings." The witch smiled again, now with an irritating condescending superiority. Hermione wanted to shut the book for real this time, but she had to control herself – if not for any other reason than the accuracy of the witch's description.
"Well, well, my Gryffindor friend. You happen to be very lucky, indeed. As I am only a portrait," here she made a gesture that clearly stated she wasn't to be considered only anything, "I am unable to truly converse with you. However, as you are a Gryffindor, you are blessed with a fortune. Amongst your own, there is someone who can help you. Someone wiser, someone older, someone with silent observational skills and a lot of knowledgein the matters of the heart."
For once, Hermione's logic failed her. She just couldn't think about anyone the portrait could be talking about. Surely nobody would spill their heart's secrets to Professor McGonagall? She could just imagine how that would end. Hermione shivered at the thought. If the Professor didn't get all severe and deduct points, she would probably offer some advice along the lines of: "You just have to tell him how you feel" or something equally straightforward and useless.
Madame Pomfrey could maybe treat love as an illness. Maybe there was a potion that could remove love? Professor Snape would surely volunteer to prepare one. But hadn't Madame Pomfrey been a Hufflepuff and Professor Snape a Slytherin?
Someone older and wiser...if the portrait had been wasting her time talking about some ghost, she really was going to rip out the page, never mind it being in her favourite book! Ghosts were always irritatingly attached to their own age and to their own life, they hardly noticed their environment. Even if the ghost in question was Nearly-Headless-Nick, who probably would have loved to listen to her sorrows, he couldn't possibly have helped one bit.
Without realizing it, Hermione had stayed in her place, staring at the portrait. Suddenly, she stirred and saw the new words under it:
"Really, my child, you are not a Ravenclaw! Have you really not guessed yet? I am naturally talking about the precious guardian of the lions' cave, dearest Primrose.Give her my love, will you, dear? Good luck, and remember: Omnia Vincit Amor!" The witch in the picture laughed, showing her uneven teeth without shame, and left the picture. Hermione tried to catch her, but it was too late. Apparently, her binding spell had only glued the picture on its page, not the witch in the picture. Little bit like the Fat Lady, she could leave her frames when she wanted to...
The Fat Lady! It had to be her! Guardian of the lions' cave! But how could the portrait of a giggling, overweight witch who got tipsy on chocolate liqueurs at Christmas help her? There was no way that she was going to sink as low as to ask her!
The witch in the portrait had looked quite intelligent, though. Maybe her opinion shouldn't be so easily overlooked? Maybe there was more to the Fat Lady than what met the eye...but no! No! There was no way she was going to ask the Fat Lady for help! Shemight as well ask Parvati and Lavender, for Heaven's sake!
Hermione Granger collected Hogwarts, a History under her arm and climbed the stairs to her Head Girl room, determined that she would never, ever seek advice from an portrait again.
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a/n: I just had to finish it there. That was the cut for the next scene, you see? But as if you didn't guess how it'll continue already, there's some foretaste of the next chapter:
"No, no, no, dearie. There's simply no way I could help you." The Fat Lady shook her head so energetically that her curls bounced around her chubby face and the pink bow on the top of her head diddered vigorously. At the same time, though, her eyes danced with excitement and she reached for a quill and a piece of parchment as she loudly exclaimed: "I have given up that business, totally given it up, dearie! The Headmaster doesn't approve, you see. And I would never, ever confront the Headmaster, never!" As she spoke, she hurriedly scribbled something on the parchment and then gestured apologetically with her hands: "I really can't help you, dearie. I'm terribly sorry." While gesturing, she skillfully aimed at Hermione and a crumpled piece of parchment fell straight into the pocket of her robe. "So terribly sorry!"
Please tell me how you found it! I very much appreciate also negative feedback. I'm an adult, I can take it ;)