Hi everyone! Thank you again for taking the time to read this story and I'm glad to hear that many of you are enjoying it! I'm so sorry it's been so long since I updated, I've been going crazy with course work and life in general, but I've finally done it! More to come soon :)
Chapter Five
The Million Galleon Question
"Some Treacle Tart would be amazing, thank you!" Albus replied, sitting at the end of one of the four large tables opposite the kitchen itself. "Why am I here, Sirius?"
"Well, you needed to get out before Professor Jacobs lost his head, and this is the one place no one would ever think of look," the portrait of Sirius replied, shrugging.
"And why is it so important I got out of there before-"
"-Mr Potter!" a stern voice called from the doorway.
"Oh no," Sirius muttered, beginning to slowly back out of the picture frame Albus had propped up against his bag.
"Not so fast, Mr Black," Professor McGonagall continued, walking towards the table.
"But how-"
"-I have eyes inside the castle too, Mr Potter," she replied, sitting opposite him at what he now realised was the Gryffindor table. Confused, Albus made to say something but was interrupted. "You've missed three classes, Mr Potter. We were beginning to worry."
"'We'?" Sirius asked, sitting in an armchair painted on the canvas.
"I shared the Headmistress' concerns," came a voice from the portrait. "It took all of thirty seconds to identify where you'd gone."
"It's ok, Severus," Albus said kindly. "You can come out now."
"No thank you," the portrait's voice replied, fading as Sirius poked his head through the edge of the frame.
"The coward's gone into his Headmaster portrait!" the former prisoner exclaimed venomously.
"That's because he's convinced you'll try to hex him."
"Too right I will, Lily! He ratted out Albus!"
"Mr Black, may I remind you that we could have just as easily had the ghosts search the castle," Professor McGonagall cut in, taking a sip of her tea. "So, Albus," she continued kindly, "what happened today? It's not like you to walk out in the middle of a class."
"In his defence, Professor, Jacobs told him to get out," Sirius jumped in.
"I was not asking you, Mr Black. I'd quite like to hear the story from Mr Potter."
"Well, he – sorry, Professor Jacobs – he'd been … I don't know, Professor."
"Sorry? What had he been doing all lesson?" Professor McGonagall asked, now interested.
"Nothing," Albus replied rather quickly. "Would you mind if I went up to the library? Molly promised she'd help me with my potions homework."
"Of course," Professor McGonagall replied, again, with a kind tone of voice. "If this happens again, Mr Potter – you being asked to leave Professor Jacobs' class – you are to come straight to my office."
"Yes, Professor," Albus replied, gathering his things and stuffing Sirius unceremoniously into his backpack.
"Ow!" he vaguely heard the voice from the portrait complain. "Quills should not be poking me there!"
"There you are, Albus!" Albus' cousin Molly Weasley greeted him quietly as he joined her at a table in the far corner of the library, having just left Professor McGonagall in the kitchens. "You gave poor Rose and Scorpius quite a scare when you walked out of Transfiguration, you know," she said, placing the ancient book she was reading carefully on the table in front of her.
"I know," he replied, taking out his potions book. "I don't know what happened. I just got really, really angry and I lost it."
"I know," she replied calmly. "It happens sometimes, Albus. Sometimes you're so stressed or worried that the smallest things tip you over the edge and you let your temper get the best of you. It happens to all of us." She stopped talking and looked at him very closely. "So, you want to tell me what's bothering you?"
That evening, Albus found himself sitting between Dominique and Molly in the middle of the Gryffindor table, surrounded by the rest of the cousins.
"I took the opportunity to do some research whilst Al and I were still in the library," Molly said, pushing her glasses up further on her nose. "When a portrait stops moving-"
"-It means the piece of the subject is no longer preserved in its painted likeness," Dominique cut in. "We know, you've already told us."
"But you don't seem to understand what I'm saying!" Molly protested, leaning in closer to the others. "If the portrait is no longer moving, then-"
"-Godric Gryffindor is no longer in his portrait," James finished for her, hardly believing it himself.
"And the million galleon question is," Fred summed it up, "where in the name of Merlin's pants is he?"