A/N: hello, everybody! Ok, I decided that I'd continue. Chad, baby, this is for you!!!!!
AH!!!! I found the perfect picture of Brenna, even though it's a portrait of Andromeda Black. Oh, the artist, Doris, is absolutely astounding in their talent I hope they'll allow me to use this, because this is a direct link and you can't copy, paste, and call it yours!!!
I think Brenna would be about oh... twenty-three in this, and by the way she seems, just after/before battle. Teehee I'm happy!!!
Anyway, the link, yes, as is there!!!!!!
Oh, this chapter is in fist person, can you guess who it is?
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but in my mind....
---Chapter sixteen---
Hmm, perhaps I should try the look-out post again. No, there is no need anymore, my friend has gone. Bloody wizards and their trivial wars, how did I ever get involved? Oh yes, my past, of course. That's an entire tome in itself. Hmm, anyway, Potter still has not exited Brenna's chambers. My blood boils in anger and over-protectiveness, but I cannot say much. He loves her, at least, and wouldn't hurt her. Still, I want to know what they were up to...
Oh it is a tad boring here, with no one around. Well, at least the people I prefer company with are not present, so I shall make due.
I left my seat, a cozy, soft chair by the crackling fire, and strode across the Common Room. The portrait of the large woman opened for me. I don't know why they refer to her as "the Fat Lady". She is merely festively plump. Ah well, no matter. I continued my way down the dimly lit corridor, it is quite late you know. At least I won't be bothered by that tabby, Mrs. Norris. She is not such a bad animal as the students depict her, merely reacting to years of torment.
Stupid wizards, glad I never was one.
It does me good to wander at night alone. I enjoy watching the portraits, they always have fascinated me. And of course I've managed to find, get caught in, get lost in, and destroy a few secret passages. Ha-ha, of course I was not put at fault. I'm an Innocent; no one would suspect me of anything other than the occasionally stolen pastry or transfiguration animals; preferably, the rodents or small creatures.
Ah, my favorite portrait in the entire school, the one to the kitchens. Oh, which fruit was it again? I'm constantly forgetting. I did remember one of the redhead Weasleys coming down, but damn, what fruit was it?
Ah yes, the pear! That was the one. Hmm, I don't much like pears... but, no matter.
I jumped, and quickly tickled the pear. It let out a giggle, and the portrait swung open, allowing me entrance. I went in, automatically surrounded by the female house elves of the staff. They cooed and smothered me with kind-hearted affection, and I was seated on a stool where they brought me my favorite sweet, almond butter pastries.
I ate the first with vigor, but took my time with the second. I looked around, silent and as still as a statue, watching the elves bustle around. But ah, my large amber eyes spotted the oddball, the black sheep, you could say, out of the lot of them, the one they called "Dobby". Dobby was trying to get another elf, a female, to eat, but I knew that that one was Winky and she was still distraught, for some reason. For once, I hadn't been around for that incident, but each time I came down for a snack, Dobby would be ushering the female away, out of the kitchen with the other elves looking at them with glares of disgust and embarrassment.
I shook my head, and after thanking the elves, I got down from the stool and exited the kitchen, and began my way back up. Normally, I would take the route to the library to enjoy a good evening read, but tonight, I had a feeling. No, not intuition, that's trivial. No, this was instinct. I wished to be up with Brenna, to protect her... from something.
As I crossed the main foyer, I stopped amidst a pool of purple light, courtesy from the large stain-glass fixture above the doors. I could hear footsteps; they were coming from the left hallway. I quickly rushed and hid behind a large statue, and peered around to see Dumbledore and... ooh, Mister Shacklebolt. He's been coming around a lot lately.
Yet both looked worried, and I automatically felt the presence of foreboding.
"Albus, why, in the hell did you tell her?!" Kingsley shouted, angrier than hellfire, I could safely say.
Dumbledore was his calm self as always, the one quality that unnerved me. But surprisingly, his eyes were void of that annoying youthful twinkle. He looked old for once, like the old man he truly was and rarely let on to feel like.
"I told her the truth, Kingsley," Dumbledore replied calmly, hands folded in the wide sleeves of his robes; "No one disserves to be withheld from their basic right to knowledge, especially when it is about themselves."
"Do you know much about Elves, Albus?" Kingsley asked, obviously fuming. (I swear I saw steam escape his ears); "McNay will know by the end of the semester where Brenna is. And by then, only god knows what might happen!"
"Kingsley, I share my own knowledge on elves, I know what I have done!" Dumbledore had raised his voice only once, and that was against that damn Minister of Magic fool; "Do not badger me when you yourself have past transgressions!"
Kingsley was silent, and I slowly walked out from my hiding place. I slunk over to the stairs, not wishing to hear the rest of the argument. But I caught bits and pieces on my quick ascent and decided that I had best forget it. I eventually reached the portrait, which swung open for me when I tapped at the lower right corner. I entered the warm common room, and began to feel drowsy for the coziness. But I had to make sure everyone was alright.
I was nearing the stairs when I heard a snuffling, muffled crying even. I turned and looked over to the couch by the fireplace, and there was Hermione and Ron. The Weasley I did not tolerate, but out of respect of the girl I had lessened my enjoyable ritual of annoying him. But Hermione was crying, and Ron was comforting her.
I padded over to them, staying beneath a side table, out of sight.
"I just don't understand it, Ron," Hermione was saying, looking up from her hands at the redhead.
Ron sighed, wrapping his arms tightly around; "I don't either, Hermione," he said, resting his chin on the top of her head as she rested against his chest.
Hermione sniffed; "Why won't they tell us anything?" she asked quietly, staring at the fire as the flames danced in her watery eyes; "Harry's our best friend, so what's stopping him?"
Ron sighed and shook his head. I knew the redhead was not one for these types of conversations ,but it was amusing watching him so I stayed where I was.
"Maybe we can't comprehend it," Ron said quietly; "I mean, We know they're not... doing anything, and Harry's not in his bed. Maybe they're just... talking about things..."
"But, everyone's noticing;" Hermione said; "Even during DA meetings, Brenna's faltering. Have you noticed that whenever she doesn't cast a spell correctly, Harry sometimes misses it as well?"
"So?" Ron asked; "They could be bonded like mum and dad. That plaque could be right..." he glanced at the stairs for a moment.
I hate that smarty plaque.
Hermione looked up at him briefly; "I feel like we're being left in the cold, Ron," she said, "And you know I hate that feeling."
Ron smiled slightly, playing with her hair as he leaned back; "Yeah, I know," he said; "Come on, we need to get to bed."
I watched in silence as the two rose, and hand in hand went to the stairs. After a quick kiss, both went their separate ways. I held back a grimace as I trotted after them, but I took to the stairs leading to Brenna's room. I came to the landing, and the plaque came to life. Damn how I hated that dreadful thing, I wanted to rip it off the door and set it on fire.
"What do you want?" it asked lowly, glaring at me.
I calmly sat down, watching it; "La faen glaston;" I said, the words foreign to my mouth for not speaking in so long.
"Ha, speak English, fool!" the raven crowed, laughing.
I glared, searching for the words. Ah, thankfully I remembered my fluid second-tongue; "I wish entrance," I said calmly, but with a hint of malice to get my point across.
The plaque smirked; "How are you in your position, eh?" it asked, enjoying mocking me.
"You've had your fun," I said curtly; "I want to go inside."
"I can't let you," the raven said, turning its head and watching me; "Not without your credo."
Credo, my tongue for creed. I stared at the door, the insignia of the Bloodlines. I stared at the middle ring, my line's.
"Gunglamorea nos treh kohl delason," I replied finally (For Death I mourn, for Love I breathe my last).
The raven looked shocked and outraged, and I managed a smirk. With a huff, the raven clicked its beak. The door slowly swung open, and I slipped inside.
The sitting area was lit with a few wall candles, the fire all but gone. The ambers still glowed though, enough to show off the shadows of the room. I went to the staircase, and quickly covered the stairs. Poking my head out of the opening, I came to the loft. Making my way over to the bed, I clawed my way on to it.
Brenna was asleep, under the covers, still clothed. And Harry was right beside her, sitting up, leaning against the headboard, and staring out the window. His emerald eyes were stormy with troubles. I had a brief fear for my well-being, but dismissed it as I went over to them.
Harry turned to me and smiled, welcoming me over to his side. He reached to pet me, and I let him stroke my head. You have to keep up appearances, and playing a cat was one of them.
"Hello, Crookshanks," he said quietly, and I purred.
A/N: well, ha-ha so maybe I've done it again. There ya go. Okay, did you think it was Crookshanks? Or maybe a person? Review!!!!! TBC-maybe