Chapter Three

IN HIDING

The euphoria and laughter reverberating off the walls of the Great Hall was hardly enough to ward the troubled thoughts from Harry's mind. The ornate chair planted grandly beside him remained vacant. No matter how many times Harry tried to convince himself that its usual occupant was delivering papers, or meeting with an important person, he knew that those things were as far from the unpleasant truth as the Dursleys possessing magical blood. This had obviously not gone unnoticed by the other staff members, either. Flitwick was busying himself handing out timetables; although his height meant that he often had to jump and shout before the students discerned his presence. Harry could see Hagrid, down at the far end of the high table, writing on some sort of cue cards in his gigantic scrawl. He seemed to be preparing a speech – possibly the one that should have been delivered by McGonagall.

Now several questions flooded Harry's mind. Why was McGonagall hiding herself? Surely, she could just transfigure herself back to normal, or have Horace administer her a simple potion. What had happened to her, anyway?

His train of thought was quickly ruptured by the appearance of a tall, burly figure. "Hey, Harry." It was Neville. His eyes flitted over the empty chair, but his reaction seemed to suggest that the absence of the headmistress was not uncommon. "You all ready for your first day?"

"Er … I guess so." Harry lied. He knew that he was perfectly capable of improvising a lesson about stunning spells, disarming spells or shield charms; after all, his DA lessons had been mostly ad-lib. "Erm … listen, Neville, have you seen McGonagall? There's something I need to ask her."

In actual fact, Harry did not need to consult his former professor about anything; he just wanted to make sure that she was alright. After being shooed from the dungeons the night previously, Harry felt rather guilty for not ensuring her wellbeing, especially considering McGonagall's lack of presence, in her weathered state.

"No, I haven't." responded Neville, now piling eggs and toast onto his golden plate. Harry had been so lost in thought that he had forgotten to eat. He realised how odd he must have looked, and immediately filled his goblet with fresh pumpkin juice.

******

It was not until Harry's spare lesson – after almost ripping his hair out trying to teach first years the disarming spell, the fourth years the jelly-legs jinx, and the sixths, non-verbal spells – that he decided to wander around the castle. Although he doubted that much had changed since his return a year ago – aside from the obvious lack of corpses and debris – it had been on his agenda to revisit Dumbledore's portrait, and perhaps mention something to that of the sallow-skinned, hooked-nosed, Severus Snape. Despite Harry's pressing hatred of the greasy git, he thought it only fitting to acknowledge his efforts.

Before he had reached the eagle gargoyle, however, he heard sobs issuing from beyond the corridor wall; woman's sobs. He glanced around him, but the only other being present was the portrait of a domestic cat, which had never come to his attention before. Revolt gushed up inside of Harry – the last time he had seen a portrait of a cat was in Professor Umbridge's office – as well as curiosity. He was determined to find out where the mysterious noise was coming from, as he was certain that cats could not sob; in the muggle world, at least. He pressed his ear up against the wall with caution, not forgetting the last time he had heard mysterious noises issuing from the depths of the castle, and Harry could not avoid the foreboding sense that accompanied that memory.

Something thudded in Harry's mind, which he wished he could have remained oblivious to. Was that …? No, it … it couldn't have been. He was simply worrying too much.

Contrary to what he wanted to believe, Harry knew that he was not delusional. As he began to pace forwards, his ear still awkwardly pressed against the corridor wall, the sobs began to ever-so-slightly augment.

THUD. Pain surged up into Harry's ear. As he had paced up the corridor, he had walked into that ridiculous portrait of the cat, and his ear, which had been squashed up against the wall, had taken the full blow. Harry stepped back, clutching his now throbbing left ear, when he noticed something curious. The portrait was hanging ajar off the wall. That could only mean one of two things: there was a room concealed behind that portrait, or he had walked into it so hard that it had damaged.

Harry knew, unquestionably, which of the two possibilities had occurred.

Some things had not changed since Harry had first walked the hallways of Hogwarts; and his curiosity was one of them. As the blood thundered through his head, he groped for the portrait frame and tugged. An opening in the stone had now been revealed, but the space beyond the wall was very dim, and Harry could only just make out the flickers of burning candles amidst the shadows. If his head wasn't burning so savagely, he would have sworn that this was nothing more than a childish dream.

Harry stooped down to step through the portrait hole.

There, sprawled by the fireplace, was the beautiful mistress whom Harry had seen the night previously, but her splendour was no more. Her hair was dishevelled, her glasses askew, and her brilliant blue eyes alight with tears.

Against all of her Gryffindor virtues – all of her strength and pride – there she lay, in a state of decay.

[A/N] Sorry about the extremely slow update. I promise that I did not forget about you, especially after the promise that I made. I was just EXTREMELY busy, and having some difficulty with plot-holes.

Thanks for all your patience, and for sticking with me right up until now.