A/N: Ah, an update at last. Thanks so much for all your reviews! They make me smile :)

They were in a circular room of cold, hard stone. Torches on the wall made the lighting an eerie shade of yellow-orange and it flickered from bright to dim as a slow wind moaned through the room, entering from a dark corridor at the far side of the chamber that Harry could not see the end of

Looking around, Harry noticed that the room was completely bare except for three enormous paintings on the walls—two on his right, and one on his left. The one by itself held nothing but a muddy-brown background and a tarnished frame. But the two on the right were very occupied indeed.

Harry stared wide-eyed at a painfully old woman with heavy wrinkles and a sharp, hooked nose that reminded him strongly of a certain greasy-haired Potions Professor. The rest of the woman's body, however, remained a mystery to Harry, as the hat she was wearing was so big and took up so much space that only the woman's head and shoulders were visible in the bottom corner of the frame. Harry did not much like the look of her sneer

The last portrait contained what appeared to be a very bitter old man. His skin drooped with what was undoubtedly very great age, and his balding head looked lumpy and deformed, almost like a liver-spotted skull in the dim light. At the moment he was wearing what Harry believed to be an expression of the most paralyzing dullness he had ever seen.

Suddenly Hermione groaned and stood up, massaging her wrist. Harry noticed something that looked like a dark bruise on her forehead, and opened his mouth to comment…but the man in the portrait beat him to it.

"Which one is it, Grumiltha, dear?" said the old man. "Which one's the Mudblood?"

"That one over there." Grumiltha pointed her beak-like nose towards Hermione. "See the nasty "M" on its forehead

Harry watched as Hermione's hand flew to the mark on her head, and upon closer inspection, Harry realized that it was indeed an "M".

"Oooh," squealed the old woman. "Oooh, look, Marty—It's a girl!

"Are you sure? It looks more like a boy to me—such a masculine figure."

"No—No, look at that hair! No boy I've ever seen has hair like that—Well, to be honest, no girl I've seen has hair like that either…But look at that grotesque little clip—most definitely not a boy." She suddenly gave a sigh that sounded almost sympathetic, yet it was quite obvious that she was still thoroughly disgusted. "That hair, though—all the parents' fault, I dare say. Muggles do have the most repulsive features, you know.

Marty nodded, taking off his wire-frame spectacles and polishing them vigorously on his moldy, moth-eaten waistcoat.

"Too right," he said

"Now, wait just a minute," snapped Ginny, stepping forward with a furious look on her face. "What's going on here? Where are we? And who in the bloody hell are you—aside from a complete snob?"

"How dare you!" hissed Grumiltha. "Who gave you permission to speak? Much less ask questions." The old woman gave Ginny a once-over, looking her up and down with her pruning lip still curled up in a definite sneer. "I can see you are of our kind, yet you act no different than if you hadn't an ounce of pureness in your blood at all. Your posture is atrocious, your face is dirty, your hair is a nightmare, and any lady of high breeding should never speak a foul word in her life. It is most unbecoming.

At that moment, Harry was very glad that he was not Grumiltha—the look on Ginny's face was absolutely murderous.

Marty, on the other hand, was just nodded quietly along with whatever was being said. Harry imagined his hearing was so bad that he hardly even knew what was going on at all

Ginny's face was very red as she replied angrily, "Excuse me! Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to tell me what—"

"I beg your pardon, young lady (if you are, in fact, a lady at all) but I do not much care for your tone. As your elder, I expect a certain manner of respect—which you are most certainly not expressing. And as such, I do not believe that you deserve my council." Harry had the impression that Grumiltha crossed her arms in a huff, but he couldn't actually be sure as her hat was still taking up most of the frame. "From here out," she continued loftily. "I simply refuse to speak another word on your behalf.

"Behalf?" said Hermione, Ron and Ginny at the same time. Harry felt briefly as though he were watching a television show. So far, he had not been a very active participant in the conversation.

"Yes, behalf," replied the woman, looking pointedly at Ron and averting all eye-contact with both Hermione and Ginny. "How could she possibly learn decent manners without proper instruction?

Ginny was glaring daggers at the old woman and Ron's face was glowing with anger, but it was Hermione that spoke up first.

"You call that proper instruction?" she squeaked in a high voice that Harry only heard her use when she was particularly irritated

"You know, Marty," Grumiltha whispered out of the corner of her mouth, not turning her head but staring fixedly at Hermione, her eyes wide and round as though she thought Hermione were a wild lioness about to pounce. "I think that Mudblood just spoke to me," she continued, managing to sound appalled, baffled, and terrified all at the same time.

"Poked you, you say?" replied Marty, readjusting his specs and squinting at Hermione with his greatly magnified eyes. "Must have missed it—what did she poke you for? Prod her back, I say. Serve her right."

"No," Grumiltha said loudly, finally taking her eyes off Hermione (who looked like she was becoming increasingly hurt and confused by the old woman's remarks) and turning her head in Marty's direction. "SPOKE, dear, she SPOKE to me."

"You spoke to her? Why in seven Hippogriffs did you do that? Mudbloods are surprisingly dim, I've heard—complete savages. She probably didn't understand a word you said. No wonder she prodded you.

"Oi! Listen you!" Ron yelled, seeming to find his voice at last. "Call Hermione that name one more time, and I'll—I'll burn that ugly hat right off your wife's head!" Ron pointed his wand menacingly at Grumiltha's painting, whose occupant jumped in surprise, looking quite shocked and extremely offended.

"First of all, I am not his wife—" Grumiltha started to reply in a stern voice. But before she could get out another word, a mirthless, high-pitched cackling filled the room and there was a bit of confusion as everyone looked around wildly for the source

"FINALLY!" the voice squealed in ecstasy. "FINALLY THE MUDBLOOD IS CAUGHT!"

And then, quite suddenly, something appeared in the empty painting on the far wall. It was Mrs. Black

"I was beginning to lose hope," Mrs. Black said in a strange, slippery voice and it took a moment before Harry understood why it sounded so odd. It was then he realized that he had never actually heard her normal voice before.

The screaming he decided, though much louder, was not quite as creepy. And locked inside a dimly lit dungeon in which Harry had no idea what sort of surprises might lurk, he wasn't quite sure if he preferred this new voice or not.

"I thought your Mudblood friend," Mrs. Black continued, looking pointedly at Ron whose face was twisted in dislike, "would never find this place. After all, a person can never assume too much with a Mudblood—they all seem to come with varying amounts of stupidity."

"Hey!" said Ron, Harry and Ginny at the same time.

Now it seemed as though Hermione was the one being left out, even though, ironically, the entire conversation was completely about her.

It just wasn't fair, thought Harry as he saw the hurt expression on Hermione's face. All three of the portraits talked as though she were some sort of crazed cave-woman who couldn't understand a word of their conversation.

Now, Harry knew that Hermione could be a bit annoying sometimes, and true, she did need to lay off the rules a bit, but if there was anything Hermione was not, it was stupid. The injustice of it all made Harry want to chuck something.

"Eh-hem!" Grumiltha suddenly cleared her throat very loudly, making everyone jump. "I am very displeased," she said, squinting at all four of them with clear disgust, "with the tone you have been taking when addressing my lovely friend, Mrs. Black. This is her house after all and—"

"No it isn't!" Harry shouted. He suddenly felt as though something snapped inside him and he drew out his wand, pointing it threateningly at Grumiltha, who instantly looked very nervous at having yet another wand in her face.

"This house does not belong to that old witch—it belongs to Sirius! How can she even own a house when she's dead!"

At this, Mrs. Black let out a wail of despair and ran from her painting with her hands over his face. Harry secretly felt quite proud of himself.

But Grumiltha did not seem as pleased. In fact, she looked absolutely furious. "Now you listen here, young man!" she screeched. "That is absolutely no way to treat a woman of such high respectability—DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Harry opened his mouth to spit back a scathing retort, but was interrupted by Marty, whom, in all the excitement, Harry had forgotten was even there.

"Oh, no, Grumiltha dear," he said. "These children have been far too rowdy for jam. I say, if they're hungry, they can find something with a bit less sugar, don't you think?"

Then everyone was silent for a moment, temporarily thrown out of sorts by the complete absurdness of the old man's words.

Mrs. Black took this silence to shuffle awkwardly back into her frame, snorting loudly.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione finally burst out. She grabbed hold of Ron's arm and started dragging him towards the dark corridor at the other side of the room. "I don't know how we got in here, but we're not going to find the exit just sitting around like this."

Thinking this was an entirely sensible observation, Harry followed after her. But before he could get far, Mrs. Black called after Hermione, making her stop dead in her tracks as though she were suddenly struck with a particularly strong impediment curse.

"Don't know how you got in here?" Mrs. Black snorted cruelly, addressing Hermione directly for the first time since she had appeared in the dungeon. "Can't you see, you silly girl? It's all your fault. You're the reason you and your friends are stuck here. Curiosity is a wretched thing isn't it? You just couldn't keep out, could you? You just had to go nosing about, didn't you?"

"I was not nosing about!" Hermione snapped, whipping around to face Mrs. Black. "I was trying to find Rupert and Crookshanks! I know they're in here—what have you done with them!"

"Oh-ho-ho," Mrs. Black chuckled darkly, making Harry shudder. "They aren't here," she said silkily. "No—no, they are locked neatly away in the attic...Have been all afternoon, in fact. Kreacher can be so useful when it comes to those sorts of things, you know."

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he saw the look of utter despair on Hermione's face. He waited expectantly for screams of outrage and sharp demands that both animals be released at once. But what actually came out of Hermione's mouth was much worse than what Harry could have ever anticipated.

Instead of looking at Mrs. Black, Hermione suddenly turned to Ron, her eyes wide and filled with hurt. "You lied," she said, her voice trembling. "You lied to me, Ron."

A shocked silent followed, in which even the portraits seemed interested in the outcome of the unfolding drama

"I—I—didn't—" Ron started to say, but he couldn't get out anymore. He was more of a loss for words than Harry could ever remember (which was saying something, as Ron was not always the first one to find choice words in a conversation).

Harry looked over at Hermione and saw the hurt betrayal in her face quickly turn to anger. "Ron—you—" She clenched her fists, and Harry got the impression that she was using all of her self-control not to become the wild lioness that Grumiltha seemed so afraid of.

"YOU ARE SUCH A JERK!" she finally shrieked. Then she spun on her heels and stormed furiously down the dark hallway

"See, Ron?" Ginny said at once. "See? Didn't I tell you—"

But Ron was already gone. Harry saw a flash of red hair and then Ron too, disappeared down the shadowed hall, hurrying quietly after Hermione's receding figure

"Idiot," Ginny whispered.

Harry blinked. "Sorry?" he said in surprise

"Oh!" Ginny jumped and looked back at Harry with her cheeks glowing a faint pink. "Sorry, I didn't mean you."

"Oh—yeah—I know," Harry replied awkwardly. "I just…didn't hear you.

"Oh."

"Yeah…

"…So, do you want to—"

Harry stopped talking as he suddenly became aware of another set of familiar voices whispering sharply behind him. Harry turned around to see Mrs. Black squeezed ungracefully into Grumiltha's painting which was creating all sorts of problems for Marty. He was forced almost completely out of his own frame by the back end of Grumiltha's hat as it had unsurprisingly overflowed from her portrait and was now the most prominent feature in Marty's.

"Come on," Harry heard Ginny mutter as she glanced at him with shrewish look. "Let me set her hat on fire."

Harry smiled but shook his head. "Let's wait for Hermione and Ron to come back," he said. "We still don't know how to get out of here.

Ginny glared and grudgingly tucked her wand away. "Fine," she grumbled.

A/N: Thank you for reading. If you are so inclined, I would very much like to hear your thoughts. Next chapter will be much longer...I hope x)