Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN:
Answering a couple of reviewers:
In canon, Alphard Black was the uncle who died and left Sirius his fortune, when Sirius was a teenager and had already ran away from his family. That's why Alphard Black's name was one of those that Walburga Black had burned off from the family-tree tapestry in Grimmauld Place.
However, as we saw in the chapter about Narcissa, Alphard's future is different from canon's already – this caused by Harry's time-travel and presence in the past. For one, Alphard is still alive. A recluse, Narcissa said.
Harry Riddle and Alphard Black are going to be very much part of each other's lives, and they'll 'meet' again, so to speak, in the future.
Narcissa doesn't know anything about 'Harry Riddle' or that her son Antares with Harry Potter's soul was that twin of the Dark Lord she had briefly heard about from her mother Druella Rosier. But Narcissa does plan to get Antares mixed with old, hermit Alphard Black, because she wants the Black estates and fortune for Antares. But that is a whole other story – part II, that is. *grins*
Why didn't Charlus Potter ask Harry why he could see him?
Because Harry said he had heard him speaking, not seen him, when Charlus Potter was under the Cloak and had stilled and stopped talking when detecting Harry's presence. Harry didn't say "I see you" because for him it was obvious that Charlus was there, being seen, since Harry still didn't know at that point that the magic he was seeing was actually an Invisibility Cloak. And he didn't ask Alphard about it because he isn't telling anyone about his magic-seeing ability, only Tom knows. Harry isn't telling anyone because he doesn't understand why he can do it and because he doesn't want to stand out in that way and be a "freak", so to speak, since he already knows that everyone else doesn't see the magic in the school.
Why doesn't Harry simply follow the green magic lines around the school to find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?
If you remember, he saw the Slytherin dense lattice of magic only on the bit of wall that was the entrance to their common room, but there was nothing before he came upon it that blatantly indicated where it was – there wasn't a trail of green lines showing the way because all the common/general areas of the school present the colors of magic of all 4 Founders.
In the case of the entrance to the Chamber, since it's the sinks in the middle of the girls' bathroom, only the sink would have Slytherin's colors of magic, so Harry won't see it unless he gets in the girls' bathroom, and what reason would he have to do so? We'll see that much further ahead. So Harry's search for the Chamber will drag on quite a bit. After all, in canon, Tom only found it in his last year of school. Harry won't take that long, but it won't be immediate either.
That said, enjoy this chapter and review! *winks*
Part I: Chapter 18
Ever since Figwig Ogg, the school's Groundskeeper, had mentioned 'house-elves' when he told them to leave their trunks at the platform of Hogsmead's train station, Harry had been thrilled by the revelation that there were Elves somewhere in Hogwarts.
Though he had never imagined they would be in the kitchens. He wondered about that as he and Alphard cautiously made their way through the dungeon corridors, straining their hearing in order to detect if there was a flapping of wings that would indicate that Rascal the Corvus was still on the prowl.
In one of his fairytale books -that he and Tom had nicked from a bookstore in London, during the times in which it was Harry's turn to choose what shop to hit- he had read several Celtic folklore myths and legends about Elves; that they were willowy, unearthly beautiful beings that dwelt in the woods of Ireland.
Perhaps, Harry mused, there were also Elves who liked enchanted castles, and….um, food…. so that's why they were in the kitchens? Thinking about it that way, it didn't make much sense, but he was still very thrilled with the idea of finally seeing the magnificent beings!
So he eagerly followed Alphard as they made their way to the school's ground floor, as the boy told him, in a whispered voice, about how Dorea and Charlus Potter had ended up together.
"Charlus has always been after her since they were in third year," said Alphard quietly, "though Dorea wouldn't give him the time of day! It was only when they both became Captains of their House's Quidditch Team that Dorea started to take notice of him." He sniggered under his breath. "They're both the best Chasers in the school, but Charlus has always beaten her, and I think it was that that riled up Dorea and made her become interested in him. She only respects someone who can compete with her and best her, you see?"
He chuckled, and Harry shot him a puzzled glance, as he said confusedly, "But why did your sister Walburga say those nasty things to Dorea at the Welcoming Feast? What's wrong with Potter?"
"Nothing's wrong with Charlus," said Alphard rolling his eyes. "The Potters are one of the oldest and most distinguished wizarding families in Britain! They're light purebloods, granted, but that isn't that bad, because they have loads of prestige and are very wealthy. Walburga is just furious about the whole thing because…" He trailed off and then heavily sighed. "Well, because we, the Blacks, owe the Malfoys a bride."
Harry shot him a perplexed sidelong glance. "You owe them a bride?"
"Yes," said Alphard lowering his voice, his grey eyes shinning with mirth as they climbed up the staircase that led out of the dungeons. "Centuries ago, my ancestor, Isla Black, was betrothed to a Malfoy." He shot Harry a wicked grin. "But she eloped with a muggle instead! It was a huge scandal and the Malfoys were furious, and ever since, we've owed them a bride. We're magically and honor bound to it."
"Your ancestor married a muggle?" breathed out Harry incredulously. After everything the Prewett twins had been telling him about the Blacks, it seemed impossible!
"She did," said Alphard, his tone then dripped with relish as he glanced at Harry with much amusement. "It's due to the 'Black Sheep' Curse – that's what I call it, anyway!" He chuckled under his breath at his own pun. "In every generation of my family, there has been a member who was a 'black sheep' – who did something that got them disowned and cast away from the family." He brought up a hand, and started ticking off his fingers, "There was Isla Black, that I've already told you about. Then Phineas who supported Muggle Rights, and then Uncle Marcus who was a squib – just to name some."
He broke off and added in a whispered, cheerful tone of voice, "I've always said that it's because of a Bloodline Curse that must have been cast on the family – those things were used in the old days, you know? – but Walburga becomes demented every time I say that." He adopted a shrill, screechy, high-pitched tone of voice as he mimicked, "The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black is Not Cursed!"
Alphard sniggered under his breath. "I think it gets her so riled up because she dearly fears that one day, when she has children, one of them might end up being a Black Sheep too!" His grey eyes sparkled, as he chortled gleefully. "Wouldn't that be fantastic!"
Harry shot him an amused glance as they stepped into the Entrance Hall of the school.
When they turned and began walking towards the very end of the ground floor, Alphard waved a hand, as he continued, "The point is that Dorea was supposed to marry Maximillian Malfoy-"
"What?" Harry gaped. "I've seen him – he's… old!"
"That doesn't matter, he's a widower so he can marry again," said Alphard dismissively, to then roll his eyes. "Ever since the old wizard clapped eyes on her, he's demanded to have Dorea as his bride, and thus have the debt fulfilled." He shot Harry a pointed look. "And you've seen Dorea – she's the most beautiful of all unmarried Black girls, and the Malfoys have always had very high standards about the beauty their brides had to have. So Maximillian wanted Dorea, and my grandfather Cygnus – who's Dorea's father- happily agreed, since Cygnus and Maximillian are old friends."
He paused and shook his head. "Last year, during Dorea's Fifteen Birthday Ball, Grandfather took her to his study, where Old Maximillian awaited, and they sprung it on her. Grandfather and Malfoy had already signed the magical betrothing contract, and all that was needed, to clinch the deal, was Dorea's signature."
Alphard chuckled under his breath. "And you can just imagine how it went - Dorea was furious. She was already seeing Charlus Potter in secret, at school-" he shot Harry a very proud look "- only I knew about that, because she has always trusted me. And she had already decided that she wanted Potter."
He paused, and then added with much relish, "From what she told me, the confrontation was very nasty. Dorea refused to be 'the sacrificial lamb on the altar of family duty' and she wouldn't even consider marrying that 'lecherous, nasty old curmudgeon!'" Alphard chortled, his eyes shining with tears of mirth. "That's what Dorea has always called Old Maxy, you know – has never liked him."
Then he sobered up, his expression turning grim, as he added, "She wouldn't yield and Grandpa Cygnus was furious. He kicked her out of the house and disowned her-"
"And she went to live with you?" interrupted Harry, remembering the things Walburga had said at the Welcoming Feast.
Alphard nodded, and sniggered under his breath. "Grandfather got a nasty shock when my father took her in. Grandfather Cygnus is really old and a bit senile, and he passed on the title of Head of Black House to my father some years ago. And although my father has always heeded Grandfather Cygnus' advice in all matters, Grandpa should have known that Father would help Dorea."
The boy beamed a smile. "She's my father's baby sister and he has a soft spot for her, you know. And I've always thought he thinks of her as his older daughter, and his favorite one. That's one of the reasons why Walburga is so jealous and hates her so much." He grinned widely. "Another reason is that Father is also going to give Dorea one of the Black vaults as her dowry, for when she marries Potter."
"So they're getting married?" Harry said, blinking.
"Oh yes," said Alphard, grinning. "This summer, Dorea finally told Father about Charlus Potter, and she was allowed to spend a week with his family." His grin widened. "The Potters loved her, of course - Dorea can be very charming when it suits her purpose." He sniggered and then waved a hand. "And then Charlus stayed with us for two weeks, so that Father could assess him. And Father finally gave them his blessing."
As they turned a corner, the boy added matter-of-factly, "Now our families are negotiating the finer details of the betrothing contract, so that's why Dorea and Charlus are still scurrying around in secret. But once it's signed, they'll be able to be a couple openly, without breaching any rules of propriety."
Alphard then paused to shoot Harry a very toothy grin, as he added exultantly, "But the best part is that, to soothe Old Maximillian's furious temper at being denied Dorea, Father offered Walburga as a bride, and Old Maxy refused!" He chortled loudly. "And then Father proposed that Walburga became Abraxas' fiancée, to settle the debt, but Old Maxy rejected that as well!" He beamed and sniggered. "And 'Burga was spitting with fury and humiliation at being turned down – twice! She should have known, though. She's not pretty, so doesn't meet Old Maxy's standards, and Abraxas is about to be betrothed to some nasty German girl, from what I've heard-"
"He is? But he's twelve!" gasped out Harry, staring at him aghast, mouth hanging open.
Alphard blinked, nonplussed. "So? Many of us get engaged when we're in our cradles, or at least during our school years. By the time we leave Hogwarts, we're betrothed, at the very least." He cocked his head to a side, frowning. "Isn't it the same for Muggles?"
"No!" said Harry vehemently, shaking his head, feeling very glad that it wasn't.
"Strange," muttered Alphard, looking disconcerted.
Harry gaped at him, a bit horrorstruck. "So you're also... er –what do you call it– betrothed?"
Alphard snorted loudly. "No. Cygnus is the oldest, thus my father's heir. And I'm just the spare." He shrugged, though he looked a bit gloomy. "So no one cares who I marry as long as it is to a pureblood." A smile that seemed a bit forced spread on his face then, as he added, "But that's alright – it's the only perk of being the spare son, in my opinion."
Then he halted in his tracks, and announced excitedly, "Aha – here we are!"
Harry blinked, nonplussed, as they stood before a large painting of a bowl of fruits, hanging on a wall at the very end of the Entrance Hall of the school.
"You have to tickle the pear," said Alphard cheerfully.
"Tickle?" Harry cast him a disbelieving look, to see if his leg was being pulled.
Alphard grinned. "Yup, go ahead."
"Alright," muttered Harry dubiously, as he stretched out a finger to touch it.
It happened the very instant he touched the canvas. In the blink of an eye, his finger went through and the rest of his body with it, as if he had tumbled into it or been sucked in.
Harry cried in alarm just as he heard Alphard's identical shout from behind him. Harry's eyes grew as wide as moons, and frantic, as he found himself standing in a small room, only a table in the very middle where the bowl of fruits laid on top, the walls and floors made of stone.
But they weren't, he realized the next second, the discovery making him feel gobsmacked. Everything was made of oil paint.
The details were incredible, as to trick the eye to believe everything was real. But it wasn't. He took a hesitant step forward, his heart thumping in his chest, and saw how his footmark was left on the oil paint that formed the floor, only to vanish in the next second.
"What did you do?" came the frenzied, horrified shout, and Harry snapped around to see Alphard peering at him, looking wildly scared.
The boy was staring at him with wide eyes, from across something that looked like a frameless window that just floated in midair where one of the walls should be. It was a 'window' that displayed to the outside the painting within.
"I didn't do anything!" cried out Harry as he rushed forward. He frantically pressed the palms of his hands on the window, pushing. When nothing happened, he started pounding against it. "I can't get out! How do I get out?"
"I don't know!" said Alphard, looking beside himself. "Living beings can't get into magical paintings, only ghosts and the subjects of other paintings can, from what I've heard-"
"Obviously that's not true because I'm a 'living being' and I'm stuck here!" snapped Harry, his temper rising with every panicky beat of his heart.
"The painting's magic must be faulty! Perhaps due to the passage of time it wore off or something…though I've never heard of that happening before…" muttered Alphard under his breath. Suddenly, he halted and the boy's grey eyes grew impossibly wider, as he gasped, "How are you breathing?"
"What?" Harry stopped pounding against the 'window' to stare at him, then he gaped. It hadn't even crossed his mind, though it certainly did then. Shakily, he drew in a deep breath and cautiously let it out slowly.
The next moment, he sighed with relief. He was breathing as normally as he had been seconds before. The air even felt normal, albeit it had a lingering oily taste to it.
Alphard, who observed his experiment very closely, said tremulously, "Apparently you can breathe, but I don't think you should be doing it for very long. What if the air there is some kind of toxic poisonous fume made of paint or magic or who knows what! You have to get out!"
"That's what I've been trying to do!" yelled Harry, demonstratively pounding a fist on the window to the outside.
It was like being stuck in an unbreakable fish bowl, and his chest constricted with abject fear when he realized that he could be there forever, watching how life carried on on the outside and how the years passed, and he would only be a boy peering out from within a painting, growing old and dying, only his skeleton to be left for future Hogwarts generations to point their fingers at and tell the story of the once-upon-a-time Slytherin first-year of many centuries ago who fell into a painting. Future generations of Gryffindors would probably laugh too!
A shudder ran down his spine and he gazed at Alphard with huge eyes, as he chocked out, "What do I do?"
"Oh – try tickling the pear!" said Alphard excitedly, as if the brightest of ideas had just burst in his mind.
"The bloody pear?" said Harry in a strangled voice. "That's what got me into this fix to begin with!"
"But maybe now it will take you to the kitchens – magically transport you there or something of the sort," piped Alphard, his voice turning fainter as he spoke to end up in an uncertain note.
Harry, however, became hopeful, and he quickly reached the painted table and followed the suggestion. But nothing whatsoever happened except that after 'tickling the pear' it lost some of its paint and ended up in Harry's fingertip, just to fly back from his skin to the pear to become part of it again.
Dismayed, he began to turn around again to face Alphard, just when he caught sight of something on the back wall.
"There's a painted door here!"
"Of course!" said Alphard, slapping a hand on his forehead. "All of Hogwarts' paintings are connected to each other. It must lead to another one. Try it and see if you can get out from that one, I'll wait for you here!"
Harry didn't waste a single second and urgently pelted forwards and yanked the door open. He had to make haste, especially if Alphard could be right and he might be breathing poisonous 'air'.
The transition to another painting was like having jumped into a spiraling free-fall. He felt dizzy and disoriented for a brief second, his stomach sickly churning, and then he stumbled onto his feet, squinting when he found himself standing in what looked to be half of a small amphitheater, only that there was a long table in the middle holding a corpse that looked to have been hacked off and there were a bunch of men in green robes, with bottles in their hands, hiccupping, leaning on each other and sharing bawdy jokes, everything made of tiny dots and strokes of paint.
"… and the hag said to the troll, want to see my nimbulus tentacula?"
The portrayed healers broke into drunken peals of laughter before one of them caught sight of Harry gaping at them.
"Ah, we have a visitor!" the painting exclaimed cheerfully, red splotches appearing on his cheek as if just then added by a stroke of a paintbrush. "Come to learn from us the mysteries of the human anatomy?"
"You must be a new portrait. We haven't seen you around before, have we, chaps?"
Another healer squinted at him, hiccupping, "You would make an interesting subject for dissection. You look very realistic. Who was your artist?"
"My artist?" echoed Harry dumbly, before he raised his hands which still looked to be made very much of flesh and blood, and snapped, "I'm not a painting! I'm real, and I need help-"
The healers roared with laughter, guffawed and sniggered, starting to lean onto each other once again, as they traded impressions.
"Poor lad!"
"He's clearly a new portrait-"
"Still hasn't realized what he is, it seems!"
"Could be he's a post-mortem portrait. Have to pity those, they always have a hard time accepting that they're only a painting and that the real them has died…"
"I'm not a –" Harry started to explain frantically, but then he desisted and simply ignored the drunks and made his way forward.
The side where the rest of the amphitheater should have been was wholly occupied by the same window-type thing as in the painting of the bowl of fruits, only that this one was much larger, giving the outside world the full view of the painting inside.
Through it, he could see the grand, moving staircases that hung high up in Hogwarts' Entrance Hall, only that they were now at the level of his eyes. But it made little difference, as much as he pounded and pushed, the window didn't give way.
He considered yelling for help and screaming himself hoarse, but it would be pointless. It was late at night and there was no one roaming the staircases.
Harry spun around, and with frenzied eyes he searched the room. Finally, he saw it and rushed towards a shadowy painted door.
The plunge was again dizzying and he found himself squinting against sunlight, only to realize that the effect was caused by the bright colors that had been used to paint the sky all around him.
Glancing around, Harry saw he was like a giant amidst small, rolling green hills. He could see a castle and a tiny town painted in the distance, and his feet were surrounded by a long stretch of forest, the trees no taller than his pinky finger.
"Who goes there? Intruder upon my lands, name yourself, you scurvy knave! Or Sir Cadogan the Brave shall skewer you from hairy navel to jaundiced eye!" a tiny figure shouted, coming galloping on horse, with battered armor and tiny lance, rushing along a small hilltop.
"You overgrown villain, I shall pierce your heart if you do not lay your arms before my feet and declare me the champion of all-"
The tiny knight fell head over heals, horse caught in the middle of the tumble, as his lance got stuck on the ground. Harry snorted, paid him no mind, and made his third attempt to break out of a painting.
As unsuccessful in his efforts as ever, feeling increasingly more desperate, he went through countless of other paintings: snoozing ballerinas, a group of roaring drunk monks that told Harry exactly where the healers had gotten their firewhiskey from, an Amazonian jungle that had him running from enormous insects, the Gryffindors' Fat Lady snoring loudly in her sleep, a ship at sea where the sailors had every intention to push him off the plank, and an African plain where the very first thing he encountered was a rhinoceros charging forth from behind a scraggly bush, moment when Harry shrieked, turned tail and ran for the hills, towards a floating door, with no intention of sticking around to see if an enormous beast made of paint could actually kill him or not.
Harry heaved a deep breath and carefully tiptoed around the latest of the paintings he found himself in. It was just a portrait in this case, and he felt deeply relieved after his experience with the rhino.
It was dark, with only a fire crackling in the hearth, casting dots of orange and yellow splats of paint on the subject of the portrait. It was a richly robed wizard snoozing in an ornate armchair, with black hair streaked with grey on head and beard.
The room depicted was filled with shelves with books and appeared to be an elegant study. A tapestry hanging from a wall caught his attention, since it bore the Black coat of arms, which he recognized from the signet rings that Alphard's brother Cygnus and his cousin Orion wore.
As he silently made his way towards the window of that painting, the soft snores of the portrayed wizard abruptly halted and a deep, low voice grumbled gruffly, "Paracelsus, is that you again attempting to steal my smoking pipe?"
Harry spun around to see one grey eye cracked open, staring at him. Soon, both eyes flew wide open as the wizard stood up straight on his throne-like chair, the portrait's gaze roving up and down over him.
"You are not Paracelsus," stated the painting sharply.
"Er-"
"You are not a portrait at all," hissed out the wizard as he quickly rose to his feet, skewering him with narrowed grey eyes. "You are a student. From my own House, at that," he added, gesturing at Harry's Slytherin uniform. His eyes narrowed to slits, as he spat furiously, "How did you get in?"
"It was an accident," said Harry quickly, feeling a modicum of relief at having found someone who didn't look like a complete incompetent or a dimwitted drunk. "If you could help me get out-"
"An accident, indeed!" roared the painting. "I don't know what kind of spell you used – some new one that shouldn't have been invented, illegal no doubt!"
Harry's eyes grew large in alarm and he interjected swiftly, "No! I tell you, I didn't mean to-"
"You wanted to break into the Headmaster's office, didn't you? And you thought that the best way to do so was through a portrait, did you not?" snarled the wizard accusingly, pulling himself up to his full height. "Well, you little miscreant, you shouldn't have chosen my portrait to break in through!"
"The Headmaster's office?" Harry blinked and then frowned, before he glanced at the 'window' and through it to see a shadowy large oval room, with many rows of other portraits hanging from the opposite wall.
"Playing the innocent act won't work with me, no matter if you sound as dumb as you look!" roared the painting. "Don't you know who you're dealing with? I had the misfortune of being the Headmaster myself and I know all the little tricks you play when you're up to no good – hormonal adolescents who like to go around pranking the staff and with no space in your air-filled head but for thoughts of food, having fun, and chasing after girls and boys. Waste of a good education, you all are! When we try to discipline you, you can only whine and plead that you're misunderstood!"
"Er… right," muttered Harry bewildered, taking a step back. "Um… I'll just go then, and do my whining somewhere else-"
"Oh no, you won't!" snapped the portrait. "You'll stay put and face the consequences of your misconduct. I'm waking Armando Dippet. Let him deal with you!"
He whipped out a wand from his robes and aimed it at Harry the instant he attempted to inch away from the wizard.
Harry eyed the wand and then met the grey eyes again, as he said slowly, "You realize that it's made of paint, don't you? Just like you are?" The portrait nastily glowered at him, and before such response, Harry felt emboldened, squared his shoulders and scoffed. "Can you actually do magic at all?"
"You're in my portrait, I can do anything I wish here," snapped the wizard sharply.
Harry shot him a considering look, trying to discern whether to believe him or not. Finally, he smiled broadly. "Suuuure you can. But if it's all the same to you, I'll scamper off and get out of your hair-"
"You're not moving an inch!" snarled the painting, threateningly jerking forward the tip of his wand. "You'll wait here while I go fetch the Headmaster!"
"Of course I will," said Harry sarcastically, letting out a loud snort. "You just go do that. I'm taking off."
"You won't!"
Utterly ignoring the wizard's roar, Harry trotted towards the only visible door, since it was of no use to try with the 'window'. Even if he could miraculously get out through it, landing in the Headmaster's office would only get him in even more trouble.
"Even if you leave, I'm informing the Headmaster! You'll be facing expulsion for this, mark my words-"
"Right," unconcernedly said Harry over his shoulder as he yanked the door open, "and when he comes to Slytherin House to find out who got into your portrait, I'll just play dumb. If he actually believes you, which he won't, because from what I hear, the living can't get into paintings. Dippet will just think too much pipe-smoking has addled your brains – not that you really have any, being a portrait and all."
And with that and a last impish grin, he waltzed through the door.
He was momentarily stumped when he faced a long corridor of endless doors instead of falling into another painting. Clearly, this portrait had many other connections than any of the others. He started rushing along, uncertain of which door to pick.
"You little miscreant! I won't let you escape unscathed. You will face your due punishment for your rule-breaking!" he distantly heard from behind him, only to shoot a glance over his shoulder to see that the painted wizard had followed him into the corridor and was now chasing after him.
Harry grew alarmed at that. And he had thought that this one was a sane one! He broke into a run, putting as much distance between them as possible.
"Come back here, you runt!"
All the doors flashed by like an endless black blur as Harry continued rushing forth. For a second he caught sight of something silver and he instantly skidded to a halt before the only door that wasn't black.
Quickly glancing behind him, he saw that the wizard was still far away, and thus that he wouldn't know which door he had taken. Urgently, Harry opened the silver door and jumped into darkness.
He landed in a painting of a dark room, very much like the study he had left behind, only that there was no portrayed wizard there or any crackling fire. The scarce light that suffused the painting seemed to actually come from the outside world, through the 'window'.
Hopeful that perhaps he was in a painting hanging in a common room or dormitory, preferably of Hufflepuff House, so that he could cajole some insomniac but benevolent student to help him out, he excitedly rushed to the window. That was, until he heard the voices on the outside.
"…come, come, Maximillian, why not tell us once and for all what made you halt your attempts to get the mudbloods expelled?"
"I certainly do not know what you are talking about, Pollux. As I said, Hogwarts' Board of Governors is filled with despicable muggle-lovers. I was outnumbered and strategically decided not to push the matter. You know as much, you were there yourself."
Someone snorted softly and a tenor voice said, "You pretend to make us believe that was the only reason? When we have been receiving letters from our children, asking for our help, apprising us of the deplorable and shameful situation of having two mudbloods being sorted in Slytherin House-"
"Quite right, Rosier! With our children being forced to interact with them, against their will, they are being irrevocably tainted. Why, those mudbloods' presence amidst our children represent a threat to the values and education we have imparted on them, as my daughter Walburga so wisely pointed out in her letter to me. It only takes one of our children to start sympathizing with the mudbloods, to begin believing that they aren't that different, and it could start a chain reaction-"
"Ah, but Maximillian didn't have a daughter dutifully informing him of the situation and the gravity of the consequences. He was not as fortunate as the rest of us were, Pollux. If you'll remember, it was us who knew before him. And us who informed him of the facts."
A high-pitched laugh resounded and a voice interjected with pointed maliciousness, "Indeed, your grandson did not write to you about the subject, Maximillian. Why would Abraxas keep such news from you? It seems the control you have over your heir is slipping."
"My heir has worthier matters to be interested in than that of two mudbloods," drawled Malfoy's voice in a chilly tone.
"Be that as it may," interjected someone sternly, "I still believe there's something you're keeping from us. Those two mudbloods – what's their name, does anyone remember?"
"Riddle," someone answered with much scorn and disgust.
"Precisely, the Riddles. I was there with you when you received a missive from the Dark Lord, Maximillian. And that very day, you halted all your attempts of manipulating the Board of Governors to vote your way on the issue of having the mudbloods expelled."
"What are you implying, Pollux?"
"Is it not clear? What I'm saying, Rowan, is that the two events seem to be linked."
"You must be jesting," said Malfoy's deep voice, dripping with ridicule. "Why would the Dark Lord ask me to ensure that the mudbloods remain at Hogwarts?"
"Why indeed! That's what I ask myself and what I demand to know."
Harry's breath had long since been stuck in his throat from the moment he realized the wizards had been talking about him and Tom, but now, it was horror and disbelief that had his heart pounding frantically in his chest.
With a sense of ominous foreboding, and just wanting to know who exactly he was dealing with, he inched closer to the 'window' of the painting he was in, and he very carefully took a peek from one of its edges.
The group of wizards was right underneath his painting, their seats surrounding the fireplace that seemed to be under him. Maximillian Malfoy, he recognized immediately. Pollux Black, though he had never seen him before, he did as well, resembling Cygnus and Alphard so much. There was another wizard who looked very much alike, who could only be Arcturus Black, Orion and Lucretia's father. A blonde wizard who looked to be in his sixties, could only be the 'Rosier' who had been addressed before; Druella's father, or an uncle, perhaps. There were three others he didn't recognize at all.
"I grow weary of talking about the mudbloods," said then Arcturus Black. "What I want to know is when the Dark Lord will be conquering Czechoslovakia. That's more important and relevant for our plans. Surely the Dark Lord has confided in you, Maximilian." He arched an eyebrow. "Or perhaps your control in that regard is slipping as well?"
"Control!" A burly wizard let out a shriek of a guffaw. "No one controls the Dark Lord!"
"As unnecessary as that input was, Dolohov," said Pollux Black scathingly, "I quite agree with the sentiment. When it comes to the Dark Lord, it is dangerous to imply any sort of control over him." He shot his cousin a censuring glance. "Let us not forget that, Arcturus, or we incur in the danger of overstepping our bounds with him. And I, for one, prefer to show him all due respect and be spared from his wrath."
Rosier pierced the wizard with narrowed blue eyes. "But we are still planning on taking all possible advantage, are we not?"
"Advantage of him, certainly not. It's too risky. He's too powerful and unpredictable," interjected Maximilliam Malfoy, his voice curt and frosty. "Advantage of what he's willing to give us in return for our sustained support, yes."
"Sounds good enough," conceded Rosier gruffly.
"All this is very well," cut in Arcturus Black, to then piercingly gaze at Malfoy, "but I still want to know when he's taking over Czechoslovakia."
"Next March," replied Maximillian Malfoy curtly.
Harry's eyes grew wide at that, stunned and aghast, a horrified gasp escaping unwittingly from his lips, though it was drowned by the shout that rang at the same time.
"There you are, you little urchin!"
Startled, Harry reeled backwards at the same time that the painted wizard who had been chasing him before erupted into the painting and leapt towards him, just as he saw Pollux Black springing to his feet, his expression furious and alarmed, as he yelled, "What's the meaning of this, Phineas? Did I just see someone in your portrait-"
All the other wizards quickly and noisily rose to their feet at that, their voices meshing together as they rose loudly.
"A portrait was spying on us?"
"He's not a portrait, he's a Hogwarts' student!" panted out the painted wizard as he made a grasp for Harry.
Harry ducked, swerved to a side swiftly, and then made a mad dash towards the only door he saw at the very end of the portrayed study, his heart in his throat, his pulse beating erratically, and his feet skidding and slipping on the floor made of oil paint.
"How's that possible-"
"How much did he hear!"
"Get him, Phineas! He must be silenced!" roared Pollux, who by then, like all the others, had his face nearly pressed on the canvas of the painting, wand drawn out.
"I'm trying!" snarled Phineas, fast on Harry's tracks.
Harry yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him, knowing it would do little good. He didn't halt but inwardly groaned when he found himself in another corridor filled with doors. But this time he didn't wait until he found a door that looked different from all the rest. No, this time he was scared out of his wits and could barely even think straight.
'He must be silenced' didn't leave much room for interpretation. He wasn't fleeing from being expelled by the Headmaster or from getting detention, this time he knew he was running for his life.
Midway along the corridor, he choose a random door, prayed to whatever Gods he didn't believe in, and vaulted forwards.
"You're not getting away this time, boy!" was the last thing he heard from some distance behind him.
The free-falling sensation engulfed him once more and he abruptly landed in a painting of a library, with tables filled with telescopes and other astronomy gadgets, rolls of parchments here and there, and with a lone chair missing its occupant. He didn't even pause and rushed to the painting's window.
Just as he reached it, he saw the room outside, only lit by moonlight spearing through curtains, with rows of shelves filled with books and strange silvery artifacts that puffed and swirled. But what caught his attention was the large, weird looking bird sleeping on a perch. It was strange but breathtakingly beautiful, with fiery red and golden plumes.
It was a pet! So it could only be a teacher's familiar!
Frenziedly hammering his fists against the 'window', Harry yelled with all his might, "Wake up! Bird, wake up!"
A head popped out from folded wings, and yellow eyes blinked at him.
"Get your owner! I need help, please! Get the teacher that owns you! Or anyone - HURRY!"
The bird trilled softly at him, eerily sounding inquiring, as it cocked its head to a side and just peered at him with curiosity.
Harry nearly sobbed with impotence as he screamed desperately, "Don't sing to me! Help me! He's coming!"
Just when he thought that the bird wasn't as intelligent as any bloody common barn owl in the Wizarding World was, it took up flight into the air. To his astonishment, though, the damnable bird didn't fly out of the room in search of help. Instead, it flew right towards him.
Startled, Harry jumped backwards just as the bird crossed the 'window' and flew into the painting with natural ease. He gaped at finding that he wasn't the only 'living being' that apparently had no trouble getting stuck in paintings.
The bird, flapping its magnificent gold and red wings, steadied in front of him, trilling and shaking its tail at him.
"I don't understand you," said Harry urgently. "What do you want me to do?"
The bird trilled again, and flew lower until it was at the level of Harry's right hand, pointedly shaking its tail again, brushing its feathers against his hand.
"You want me to take hold of your tail?" guessed Harry, bewildered.
But he didn't stop to consider why or if he had understood correctly. He just grabbed the bird's tail feathers, feeling quite stupid doing so, and knowing that that wasn't going to help him at all.
In any moment, the so-called 'Phineas' was going to find him in this painting and he didn't have the foggiest idea what would happen to him then. He would at least scream at the top of his lungs until he woke the whole castle up, even if it was while he was being dragged from the scruff of his neck by a portrait. Or he would whip out his wand and take his chances, hoping that magic actually worked inside a painting and that a portrait's subject made of paint could be killed with the limited spells he knew.
"What-" he yelped in surprise as he was suddenly lifted into the air. He held for dear life on the feathers with both hands, and gaped at the back of the bird that was so effortlessly carrying his weight as it flew forth in a flash.
And he didn't stop gaping, flabbergasted, as one of the doors lining the wall of the painted library just sprung open by itself, as if commanded to do so by the bird, as inexplicable as that was.
As they transitioned to another painting, he didn't even feel the free-fall sensation of all the times before. Instead, it felt as if he was still embarked on a smooth flight.
His feet suddenly landed on a cushioned floor, and he automatically let go of the bird's tail as he quickly glanced around.
Harry was dismayed by what he saw. No wonder the floor of the 'painting' had felt padded. Everything was made of cords and threads, not paint!
The fat wizard with red cheeks that was blabbering happily as he conducted a bizarre dance by waving his hands, the three humongous trolls wearing ridiculously pink tutus, who were clumsily attempting to follow the wizard's instructions, even as they held clubs in their meaty hands, all of them were made of cords of colorful cloth and threads that stitched everything in place, making them look like big, walking and speaking –grunting, in the trolls' case- dolls.
"Paintings are connected to tapestries as well?" Harry moaned loudly as he peeled his gaze away from the crazy spectacle and glanced up at the bird. "Why did you bring me here!"
The bird softly trilled at him, the sound of it beautiful and soothing, but it was abruptly interrupted as the wizard made of cloth cried out cheerfully, "Oh, we have visitors! Titi, Tete, and Toto, get in position! Let's show them how beautifully you can dance a ballet!"
"Are you sure you meant to bring me here?" urgently whispered Harry to the bird, who had landed on his shoulder. He winced as he watched the trolls clumsily stumble on their big feet, making a whole mess of things.
"No, no! Titi, that's not a pirouette! It's done like this!" shouted the wizard, to then demonstrate by spinning around like a loon, flapping his arms up and down.
The bird trilled insistently, and Harry shot him a glance, to see that it had lifted up a talon and was pointing with a sharp claw. He followed the direction and saw a watery-like, translucent veil spanning throughout a whole side. Realization dawned on him. It had to be a tapestry's version of the 'windows' that paintings had!
"That's the way out!" he gasped in understanding. He snapped his head around and breathed out with profound gratefulness from the very depths of his relieved heart, "Thank you!"
The bird chirped and flung up into the air, and Harry rushed towards his exit. Just when he was a few feet away from it, he saw what was on the outside world: a very dusty long corridor of the school, that looked as if it hadn't been used in many years, but strangest of all, there was a female figure just across the corridor from him, floating inches from the floor, her tones greyish, as she swished up and down before an expanse of wall heavily latticed with bronze and dark blue cords of magic.
The figure had her back turned to him, but her voice was clearly audible. "I need redemption… I need redemption… I need redemption…" she repeated three times again and again, the distraught desperation painfully evident in her voice.
Harry stared, frowning, and took a hesitant step forward.
"No, Toto, we don't hit the guests!"
The warning had come too late. Before he could even spin around, something hit him on the head and Harry found himself falling through and out of the tapestry, painfully landing on the hard stone floors of the corridor.
He groaned as he rubbed the back of his head, glowering at the troll of the tapestry that was stupidly grinning at him as he flailed around his big club. At least the club had only been made of cloth, and at least now he had his answer: things from paintings and tapestries could indeed hurt him. Not that he planned to ever again touch a magical painting or tapestry for as long as he lived.
The bird seemed determined to stick by his side, because it swiftly flew out of the tapestry and landed once more on his shoulder, trilling softly.
"What are you doing here? Who are you?" said a sharp, angered voice.
Harry blinked at the ghost floating and towering over him. Now that he could see her face, it was clear that she was incredibly beautiful, with a willowy figure and long dark hair that reached her waist. What her eye color could have been in life was impossible to say, except that they had been light, because the grey of her eyes as a ghost was pale. The only thing that marred her beauty was a gaping wound and the copious dark grey spots that stained the bodice of her very old fashioned dress.
"I asked you who-"
Harry glanced away from the chest wound and kept trailing his gaze up until his eyes met hers, and the ghost suddenly clamped her mouth shut.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled as he picked himself up from the floor. "I didn't mean to interrupt whatever you were doing-"
"Eyes of jade, House of Snake," she breathed out as if repeating a long ago memorized litany, her eyes fixed on him, flickering from his eyes to his Slytherin uniform, then to his hands, "skin of gold, hard of touch, you will know him by these traits."
Harry stared at her, nonplussed. "Um… sure. I have to rush now!"
Then he swiftly turned heel, ready to dash away to pounce upon the very first teacher who crossed his path so that someone could help him out of the mess he had gotten himself into.
"No –wait! You have to show me your hands, your arms!" she cried out, in a flash floating right across his path, staring at him as if he was the ghostly apparition and not the other way around.
"Look, lady," snapped Harry irritably, "I'm in loads of trouble and I haven't got the time for-"
"SHOW ME YOUR ARMS!" she bellowed at him, the very force of it flattening his unruly hair backwards.
Utterly taken aback, Harry repeatedly blinked at her. In the next instant, he automatically obeyed because she looked dangerously scary at that very moment.
"See," he said pointedly, rolling up his sleeves and displaying his skin to her. "I'm a wee bit tanned because I like to be outdoors. But I don't have 'skin of gold'-"
"He didn't mean skin of gold," she breathed out slowly, her eyes impossibly wide, fixed on his arms. "He meant that you would have specks of gold on your skin, like he has."
Harry didn't even bother asking whom this 'he' was. It would most likely be a figment of her imagination, by the look of things.
"I don't have 'specks'! Don't you see?" he bit out impatiently. "I'm evenly tanned and I don't have any freckles!"
She shook her head, her mane of hair swishing with the motion. "He wasn't talking about freckles, but about specks of gold, and you have them."
Harry blinked, stared down at his own skin, and then stared back at her, highly miffed and exasperated. "I really don't have any sort of specks of any bloody color-"
"I see them," she whispered, inching closer as she stretched out a tremulous hand. "Hard of touch… the last trait… I must know…"
And in the bat of an eyelash, her fingers had clamped around his wrist. Harry shivered at the chilly coldness of her skin.
"I didn't go through," she murmured breathlessly, her gaze pinned where they were joined. She heaved a shuddery breath, and closed her eyes as she exhaled shakily, "I'm touching you. I can feel your skin against mine, your warmth. You're solid to me. I can feel you."
Harry cleared his throat and said as gently as possible, trying to rein in his temper, "Yes, it seems to be a freakish thing I have with ghosts, now if you don't mind I must go-"
She snapped her eyes open, skewering him with her gaze. "You don't understand." The grip she had on his wrist jerkily tightened to a painful degree, making Harry wince. "You're it. You're who was promised to me. My savior, my salvation-"
"I never said he, in himself, was your salvation, Helena," said a voice dryly.
She violently jerked as if doused in chilly water and madly spun around, her voice a mix of fury, incredulity and hysteria, as she cried out, "You!"
Harry peered around her and then gawked at the sight. There was a man shimmering and nearly translucent, with golden light and specks sparkling on his skin, in his early twenties, much tanner than he was, and very handsome, with curls of dark hair and the strangest eyes; milky white and sheer, looking as if nebulas or even tiny stars swirled in them, like mirages.
The man looked straight at him, a gorgeous wide smile on his face, as he said softly, "I've finally found you."
"Found me?" said Harry baffled, pointing a finger at himself.
"Yes, you," said the man, grinning. "It took me longer than I expected. There were so many possible lines in which you could have landed and I didn't want to find you until you were around this age. Too soon or too late, and it wouldn't have been good."
Harry frowned at him. "What are you talking about? Who are you?" He cocked his head to a side, as he added uncertainly, "Er – are you a ghost too?"
"He's not a ghost!" the real ghost shrieked, her voice angered and accusing.
The man utterly ignored her, his weird eyes remaining pinned on Harry, as he beamed a grin at him. "I'm no ghost, no creature, I'm just me. I am-"
" 'Santi' he's going to say!" cut in the ghost, letting out a humorless bout of incisive laughter. "Because it makes him sound so boyishly charming, doesn't it?"
"Enough, Helena," interjected the young man, frowning at her.
"Oh, you don't want him to know what your real agenda is?" she bit out scathingly. "What you have planned for him? Why don't you tell him and see how he likes it!"
All amiability vanished from Santi's face, as he said sharply, "You don't know what you're talking about-"
"I know enough!" snapped the ghost, to then point a finger at Harry. "You just said it – you finally found him. It's all about him. What about me!" Her voice broke, a half choked sob issued from her lips, her tone wretched, "Have patience, you told me, time and again. He'll soon be here, you'll soon have help. But it's been a thousand years!"
She wailed, the sound distraught, terrible and heart-wrenching, before her expression contorted into one of fury as she flew at Santi, her fingers poised as if they were claws and she intended to rip him to pieces, as she screamed, "All your promises were dust in the wind!"
The young man instantly gripped her wrists before he could be assaulted, and the ghost seemed to melt in his embrace, her hands gripping and trailing all over him, her voice shaky as she whispered brokenly, "Touch… it's been so long… why did you abandon me? Why did you leave me alone for a thousand years?"
"It was your own fault, Helena," said the young man softly, gazing down at her with a mix of pity and anger, though he still held her gently. "What possessed you to become a ghost? You knew it wouldn't solve anything. A thousand years would have gone by in a flash if you would have allowed your soul to be reborn-"
"Reborn!" she shrieked, suddenly furious again as she tore herself away from him. "And go through another cycle of rebirths, again and again under the Curse, with the pain, the men, the violence, the horror, the deaths! I couldn't go through it all again! You said my savior would come soon – I thought you spoke of years, or decades, not centuries, so I chose to be a ghost instead. But it's been a thousand years without touch, without being able to feel or taste, and you weren't here!"
Santi shook his head, and repeated sternly, "You shouldn't have become a ghost. If you had allowed the natural process to take place, I would have found you, wherever and whomever you were, this year, this very day, and I would have brought you to Hogwarts, to him." He gestured at Harry, who was confusedly watching them. "But as always, you chose the easy way out – or what you thought would be."
The ghost glared at him at that, and spat hatefully, filled with indignant fury, "Easy way out? How dare you, when you above all know of my Curse and all what I've suffered-"
"And you deserved every last bit of it," snapped the young man sharply, his strange eyes hardening. "You reaped what you sowed, Helena, and it wasn't undeserved-"
The ghost let out a yell of anger, "Everything I did, I did for the man I loved! I thought you were the only one who understood me-"
"Exactly, for the man you loved, and bugger everyone and everything else," interrupted Santi curtly, his words now strongly tilted with a foreign accent which Harry thought could be Spanish. "Selfish to the end, and I see you haven't changed-"
"I didn't deserve-"
"What she suffered because of you, that was undeserved," snapped the man impatiently and angrily. "What happened to me, that was undeserved. The Curse she cast on you, that you fully earned."
The ghost hissed under her breath, and Santi added sharply, gesturing at the wall, "And instead of doing what was right, what I suggested, you again chose to try an easy way out. Really, Helena, did you truly think the Room of Requirements could give you your salvation?"
"I had to try something – anything! All these centuries-"
"Room of Requirements?" interjected Harry with curiosity, staring at the expanse of wall that the 'Santi' person had gestured at, still seeing the lattice of vibrant magic. "What is it supposed to be, all that bronze and blue magic stuff?"
"You see it?" said Santi, smiling at him, though he didn't look very surprised, but rather satisfied.
"Of course he does!" snapped the ghost acidly. "He's just like you!"
"Not yet," whispered Santi softly, his expression content.
"But he will, if you have any say in it," bit out the ghost, "which you fully do." She swiveled around to pierce Harry with her eyes, as she continued in a voice dripping with scorn, though it was clearly directed at Santi and not him, "Because he's only interested in you, not me. You are exactly what he's been waiting for all this time. You're all he wants and yearns for-"
"Enough!" snapped Santi angrily, glowering at her. "You're doing nothing but scaring the boy. This is not the way-"
"Better said, you don't want to scare him off with the plans you have for him!" retaliated the ghost sharply. "You want him to think that you're his friend, his protector-"
"I am your protector," said Santi vehemently, disregarding the ghost to intently lock his strange gaze with Harry's. "The only true one you will always have."
Harry stared at him, befuddled, while the ghost scoffed. One look at her, and Harry saw that her quicksilver mood was about to change again – certainly, given her swift mood swings, she wasn't quite right in the head, and he dearly didn't want to be again in the line of fire.
Furthermore, he remembered the reason for his previous haste, and interjected quickly, "You two obviously have loads to talk about and I'm in the way, so I'll just-"
"In the way?" snapped the ghost, her tone shrill. "You're not in the way, child, you are the way!" She turned towards Santi, and said desperately, clutching his arms, "What does he have to do? Show him! Make him do it now!"
"It doesn't work that way," said Santi calmly. "I said he was the key to your salvation, not your savior, if you care to remember. There's much he needs to know-"
"Then tell him!"
"-from me, but from you, foremost," carried on the man as if he hadn't been interrupted, leveling at her a censuring glance. "It will take time-"
"Time!"
"Yes, time, Helena," said Santi curtly. "You waited for millennia, you can afford to wait for a couple of years more. He's too young and he doesn't have what he requires, yet."
He shot her such a chiding glance that the ghost went silent, and then he added with a sardonic curl of his lips, "Furthermore, it certainly won't be done in his presence. He has witnessed too much already."
At first, Harry thought Santi was staring at him, then he realized he was gazing at the bird on his shoulder. He had almost forgotten about it.
"Fawkes, is it, what you're going by nowadays?" said Santi, chortling as if vastly amused.
The bird squawked and flew off Harry's shoulder, and then the man did something – Harry could only imagine it was that 'wandless magic' stuff he had heard about, though seeing it now both amazed him and scared him – and the bird went careening towards Santi.
Alarmed, Harry cried out, "Don't hurt him!"
"Hurt him?" echoed Santi smiling, as he held a wildly flapping Fawkes by his talons, and then started petting him with the other hand, which only made the bird look all the more indignant and disgruntled. "Do you know what he is?"
"Er – no," replied Harry hesitantly, watching how the bird tried to free himself and uncertain whether to do something about it or not. "But he helped me-"
Santi chortled. "Did he now?" He raised his nearly translucent eyebrows. "Fawkes, here, is a phoenix."
"Oh," breathed out Harry, his eyes wide as he stared at the magnificent bird.
"Not only that," carried on Santi blithely, "but he's Albus Dumbledore's phoenix."
Harry froze and paled at that, and Santi chuckled at his reaction, as he said cheerfully, "Precisely. Though perhaps I should say that Dumbledore is his and not the other way around. You see, it's phoenixes who choose the wizard they want to bond with. You won't find this in any textbooks." He grinned at him in amusement. "Wizards don't like to think of themselves as being anyone's pet, but that's indeed the case with phoenixes and their wizards. And Fawkes here is very fond of his pet." He shot the bird a wide, mocking grin. "Aren't you?"
Fawkes squawked even louder than before, flapping his wings violently, but abruptly stilled when Santi added loftily, "And he wants nothing more than to fly back to Dumbledore to tell him everything he has learned tonight."
"Tell him?" repeated Harry perplexed, blinking at the bird. He knew next to nothing about phoenixes but he hadn't imagined they could actually speak.
"Yes, in his own way, he can communicate with his bonded wizard, transmitting thoughts through his singing," said Santi calmly, before he shot Fawkes a smirking, smug grin, "but he won't. Because there's something he doesn't want anyone to know, something I will disclose to you if he blabs to Dumbledore anything about what happened to you today."
Fawkes let out a shrill trill and then hunched his wings and went still, looking thoroughly annoyed but also defeated. Santi, for his part, beamed a satisfied smile at the bird.
"Leave," said the ghost suddenly, her voice sharp as she pierced Fawkes with narrowed eyes.
The bird flapped his wings once and let out a sad, mournful trill, which only seemed to anger the ghost further, since she snapped, "You've never helped me either, so leave! I don't want you here, ever!"
Fawkes shook his head sorrowfully, but then let out a soft trill and burst into a ball of flames, vanishing in the next second. Harry gaped.
"That's his favorite exit strategy when he's feeling frustrated," said Santi with an amused chortle. "But don't worry, he won't be telling Dumbledore anything."
Harry snapped his gaze up to stare at the man, and then carded his fingers through his hair, shakily. "That's not what I'm really worried about… Though it's better if Dumbledore doesn't know…"
He trailed off uncertainly, and then pointed a finger at the tapestry, not knowing where to begin or if to even say anything about it to this stranger, who he didn't really know who or what he was.
"Ah, you're troubled," said Santi before Harry could open his mouth. He smiled at him gently. "Don't be. I've already taken care of it."
Harry stared at him, frowning. "Taken care of what?"
"Of the bunch of dark wizards who were after your trail, of course," said Santi nonchalantly. "How was it that Pollux Black put it? Ah, yes, you had to be 'silenced'."
He grinned at Harry and chuckled.
Harry blinked, gawked, and then stammered out, "How do you know about that? It happened before I met you and I didn't see you anywhere before that-"
The ghost scoffed and Harry glanced at her, nonplussed.
"I, myself, the one you see now, didn't do it," said Santi calmly. "But I came back a few minutes earlier and took care of it. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black doesn't remember you." He widely grinned at Harry. "In fact, the only thing he remembers is Fawkes taking someone away from Paracelsus' portrait in Dumbledore's office. Because he caught just a glimpse of that before Fawkes took you to Barnabas the Barmy."
He gestured at the tapestry, where the loony wizard depicted was still trying to teach the three beastly trolls how to do ballet.
"I thought it was better if they believed that Dumbledore had something to do with it, that's why I let Phineas remember Fawkes," continued Santi coolly. Then he paused, his strange, swirling milky eyes losing their focus for a second, before he widely smirked. "In fact, right now, the wizards are interrogating Phineas and they are coming to the conclusion that you were a portrait of Hogwarts, sent by Dumbledore to spy on their secret meeting in Grimmauld Place number twelve. So see, there's nothing to worry about. It's Dumbledore whom they'll fully blame." He chortled happily.
"Grimmauld Place?" repeated Harry numbly, feeling very much out of his depth and not understanding a single thing.
"That's where you were," replied Santi patiently. "In the Black's townhouse in the middle of muggle London."
Harry shook his head repeatedly, trying to puzzle out his confused thoughts. "I don't understand. How did you-"
"How did I know what had happened? How did I wipe Phineas' portrait's memories? How did I do it all before I met you, and also undetected and unseen by them?"
"Yes," said Harry, frowning deeply. "And how did you get in the portrait to do it, because I've been told that no 'living being'…" His frown deepened even further. "How did I get stuck inside paintings, too! If you know, you have to tell me-"
"Because you're not a living being," snapped the ghost, looking very impatient.
"What?" Harry glowered at her, feeling deeply insulted. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She rolled her eyes, and then gestured indolently at Santi. "It means that you're like him."
"What?" repeated Harry, biting the words out. "And what's that supposed to mean, then?" He huffed and gestured at the spot from which Fawkes had disappeared. "Besides, the bird is a living being, isn't he? And he had no trouble getting into the painting-"
"Ah, but you asked for his help, didn't you?" interjected Santi. "A phoenix can come to the aid of those he considers worthy and good of heart, beings of Light Magic that they are, and no magical barriers can oppose them in such circumstances – like the barriers that prevent living beings from entering paintings and tapestries."
"Alright…" said Harry a bit uncertainly, then crossing his arms over his small chest to pierce the strange man with his gaze, his jaw in a stubborn set. "That doesn't explain all the rest-"
Santi waved his hand dismissively. "All the other 'hows' are simply explained by saying that I can do all that because I'm me."
Harry's green eyes narrowed to slits. "And what are you, then, exactly?"
Santi smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Simply that, me. I'm one of a kind."
"Two of a kind, now," piped in the ghost, her eyes travelling to Harry.
"There!" snapped Harry grumpily, pointing a finger at her. "What does she mean by that?"
Santi scowled at the ghost, and Harry darkly glowered at them both, as he gestured wildly with his hands and bit out, "Look here, I'm a living being, alright? And I'm not like him. I'm not glowy, golden, and all sparkly!" He stomped a foot on the floor with sheer exasperation. "I don't have weird eyes and I'm not transparent and stuff!"
"He can be as solid as he pleases-" began the ghost in a mock, cheerful tone.
"Helena, please," groaned Santi.
"I'm growing tired of all this," she snapped, scowling. "Just tell the boy everything and-"
"If you want to do that," interjected Santi curtly, shooting her a hard glance, "then it's you who should start telling him all about you."
She stilled and her eyes narrowed to slits. "Certainly not!"
"He cannot help you unless he understands," persisted Santi sternly, "and he cannot understand unless he has all the information-"
"I cannot tell him everything!" said the ghost, her voice wavering and becoming faint, even her face seemed to pale with desperation. "For that, I would have to relive it all!"
Santi shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "It's the only way."
"No," she said tremulously, her eyes huge and haunted.
Santi ignored her and turned to Harry, as he asked casually, "Do you know who she is?"
Harry glanced at her dubiously. "I think I do. I've heard about Ravenclaw House's ghost who doesn't like to be seen and is always fleeing away from students. I guess she's it, then – the Grey Lady."
A brittle sound, half choked laugh, half bitter scoff, issued from the ghost's lips. "Is that what I'm called nowadays? The living certainly have a short memory."
"It's a start," said Santi, smiling and nodding at Harry, to then pointedly glance at the ghost. "The rest is for her to tell you."
The Grey Lady glowered at him. "I refuse-"
Abruptly, a loud wail echoed through the corridor, mournful, longing and wretched, accompanied by the sound of clanking chains.
"Helenaaaa," the deep, gravelly voice was calling out.
The Grey Lady spun around, a look of abject horror on her face, her mouth opening in a silent, terrified scream.
In the bat of an eyelash, she swiveled around and flew away, sinking into one of the walls. Seconds later, another ghost flashed by, only to disappear into the same spot.
Harry blinked, and then pointed. "That was the Bloody Baron, I think. What-"
"That was the consequence of the Curse that ails the Grey Lady," put in Santi loftily.
Harry stared at him, and frowned. "You mentioned a curse before-"
Santi forestalled him with a raised hand. "That's for you to glean from her."
Abruptly, he came to stand before him, or better said, kind of floated to where he was, and gripped him by the shoulders.
Harry shivered, though not from unpleasantness. Even through the layers of fabric, he could feel Santi's touch, soft and so very warm. It also felt very strangely familiar, as if it belonged there and was just right.
Some of it must have shown on his face, because Santi smiled at him, ever so pleased, before he adopted a grave expression. "It is of the utmost importance that you get her to speak to you, to tell you all about her life. She will be very reluctant, but you must succeed. That's your task."
"Task?" Harry shook his head. "I don't understand. I don't see why I –"
"You want to help her, don't you?" demanded Santi, piercing him with his weird milky eyes.
Harry shot him a look of utter disbelief. "Er – no? Why should I?" He harrumphed peevishly. "I have my own problems and things to do, let me tell you. And she wasn't exactly nice to me, was she?" He tapped the side of his head with a finger. "Bonkers, she is, in case you didn't notice."
The corner of Santi's lips hitched upwards. "True, but she hasn't had an easy existence, and you're the only one who can help her." Seeing Harry's unimpressed expression, he smiled widely in amusement, before adding more seriously, "Furthermore, by helping her, you will be helping yourself, through all the things you'll discover from what she has to say."
"Right," said Harry dubiously.
"Trust me," said Santi vehemently, "even if I'm only a stranger to you, for now. I truly only have your best interest at heart. Will you do as I ask? You have nothing to lose."
Harry shot him another uncertain glance but then finally nodded. "Alright. When I find the time, I'll look for her and I'll try to make her speak to me…"
"Good," breathed out Santi, warmly smiling at him. His face turned grave again as he added adamantly, "Another thing, don't tell your… brother anything about me or her."
"Tom?" Harry blinked at him, then darkly glared, crossing his arms over his small chest. "Why not?"
Santi sighed, and said sternly, "Because the Grey Lady possesses, let us say, information that would be dangerous in certain hands – in your brother's hands, that is." He skewered Harry with his milky gaze, and added pointedly, "He likes to unscrupulously use people, doesn't he?"
At that, Harry scowled at him. It was true, for sure, but he didn't like others bad-mouthing his brother, only he had the right to do that! Besides, what did this 'Santi' person, or whatever he was, know about anything? He certainly couldn't know Tom, or him for that matter!
"What he would do with that information would be disastrous, to others," said Santi insistently when he saw Harry's unyielding expression, "but mostly, to himself."
"Oh," said Harry, frowning worriedly, even though he didn't even partly understand what the man was talking about. "To know about the Grey Lady would hurt Tom, then?"
Santi nodded. "Yes, exactly."
"Alright, then, I suppose…" Harry trailed off, but then he brightened. "But there's no reason for me not to tell him about you."
Santi looked briefly alarmed and then made a moue of dissatisfaction, before he said sharply, "You can't tell him about me. Ever." He lifted a hand when Harry was about to interrupt him. "I was serious when I said that I'm your only protector. That's why Tom can't know-"
"I don't need protection from my own brother!" snapped Harry, feeling quite indignant.
"You will," interjected Santi curtly.
Harry fiercely glowered at him, his small hands balling into fists. "Tom would never hurt me!"
"He wouldn't willfully hurt you, no, I don't believe he would," said Santi slowly, cocking his head to a side as if pondering how best to phrase his words. "But he will hurt you when misguided and thinking that he's doing what is best for you – and it will not be."
Harry frowned, feeling deeply perturbed, uncertain, and confused.
At that, Santi gently smiled at him and ruffled Harry's already unruly hair. "You're still so very young. But we have many years." He chuckled. "Indeed, we have Time."
At the strange inflection on the word, Harry shot him a bemused glance, and the man chortled, as if amused at his own pun, as he added, "I might as well tell you now, since the Grey Lady will certainly mention it. She will tell you that I can bend Time at my pleasure, which is basically true. But I also impose strict limits on myself, that's why I must go now."
Harry gawked at him, then snorted loudly, now believing that the Grey Lady wasn't the only one who was a loony.
Santi clearly knew what was crossing his mind because the golden, sparkly man patted his head, smiling indulgently. "You want proof, eh? Very well. I know all about your Sorting. I know that the Founders' judgments spoke to you. I know what they said." He widely grinned at him. "You are the 'tool of titans', that's one of the things Salazar Slytherin said, if you'll remember."
Harry gaped at him, his mouth hanging open, his green eyes wide. "How-?"
"You told me," said Santi with a shrug of his shoulders.
"I didn't!" choked out Harry, affronted.
Santi chortled. "Ah, but you did, in the future. And you haven't told Tom about it, and you never will. It was only I whom you trusted." His cheerfulness vanished from his handsome face when he added gravely, "On that note, given your little 'adventure' through the paintings today, do you care to hazard a guess who one of those titans is?"
Harry paled dramatically, his heart stuttering and dropping to his stomach, as he remembered what he had overheard, and he said in a thin, scared whisper, "Grindelwald?"
"Got that right," said Santi shortly, piercing him intensely with his gaze. "And you'll have to do something about it, won't you?"
"Do what?" exclaimed Harry, panicky and highly troubled.
"Simply prepare yourself as best as you can," replied Santi calmly. When Harry opened his mouth to tell him just what he thought about that 'brilliant' and vague suggestion, the strange young man held up a hand. "I must go. But we'll talk soon. Indeed, we'll have much time to talk all you want and to get to know each other."
"Know each other?" Harry's eyebrows shot upwards, not knowing what to feel about that.
"Yes." Santi dazzled him with a gorgeous, charming smile. "And you might want to hurry too."
Harry stared at him, blinking and befuddled.
"I believe you have a good little friend awaiting you," pointed out Santi gently, "beside himself with worry."
Harry slapped a hand on his forehead, his eyes wide as he breathed out dismayed, "Alphard!"
"Quite." Santi grinned at him. "I'll see you soon!"
And with that, and a cheery wave of his hand, the young man simply vanished into thin air.
Harry blinked, shook his head and then simply spun around and made a mad dash.
Indeed, he found Alphard Black still waiting for him in front of the painting of the bowl of fruits, looking as if he was in hysterics.
When he saw Harry running towards him, the boy actually flung himself at Harry, hugging him tightly, as he let out a frantic sob. "I thought you had died! I thought you were dead, in some painting – you know, because of the air!" He chocked, and then half hiccupped and half sobbed. "I was about to go wake up the Headmaster. I didn't know what to do!"
"I'm all right. Really," said Harry hurriedly, feeling very guilty, as he patted his new friend on the back.
Alphard pulled away from him, his teary grey eyes roving all over Harry to ascertain he wasn't lying. Finally, he rubbed his eyes and nose with the cuff of his shirt, and stared open-mouthed at him. "What happened? How did you-"
"I seems I can breathe inside paintings without problem," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "It just took me a long time to find a… er, a painting that would let me get out from it."
Alphard's grey eyes went wide, as he stuttered, "But how – why –?"
"I reckon it was just what you said," cut in Harry quickly, as he gestured at the painting of the bowl of fruits. "Its magic must have gone all wonky." He let out a forced laugh as he scratched the back of his head. "Best if we don't test it again, don't you think?"
"Oh!" Alphard breathed out, shooting the painting a terrified glance. "Yes, I sure don't want to tickle the pear now!" Then his expression turned downcast and mournful. "But I so wanted to show you the house-elves!"
"And you will," said Harry swiftly, beaming a smile, "some other night."
"I suppose it would be best if we just went to sleep," said Alphard slowly, still looking very much disappointed, "it's pretty late."
Harry nodded vehemently, and they began their return back to Slytherin House.
"I suppose we should tell a teacher," whispered Alphard at some point, looking troubled. "You know, about the faulty magic of the painting, so that they can repair it."
Alarmed, Harry had to quickly mask his expression, and he said casually, "Oh, I dunno about that. We would have to tell them everything then, and we were way past curfew. I don't want to get a detention!"
"Oh, right," said Alphard, biting his lip.
"And besides," Harry quickly added, "Apollyon Pringle must have a way to know when paintings' magic go bad, right? Being the Caretaker of the castle and stuff."
"I suppose," said Alphard, not sounding very certain.
"I really don't want to get detention," insisted Harry now with a whine, shooting him a woeful, little glance.
At that, Alphard understandingly smiled at him, patting him on the back. "Don't worry. We won't tell anyone, then. It will be our secret. It was kind of an adventure, really!"
"Yeah," breathed out Harry, who truly didn't want to have adventures of that kind ever again.
Though as they made their way to the dungeons, Harry was highly tempted, several times, to ask Alphard many questions. About his father, what he knew of the man's involvement with the Dark Lord, about the so-called Grimmauld Place and Phineas Nigellus' portraits, and about the Dark Lord Grindelwald himself. But he never dared, knowing there was no way he could do it subtly enough as to not make Alphard suspect that something else had happened during Harry's 'adventure' through the paintings of Hogwarts' castle.
By the time they reached their dormitory, panting with exhaustion, they had only had to escape from the prowling Rascal the Corvus for several minutes, but they had managed to lose him quickly through the labyrinthine corridors of the dungeons.
Choking on their pants of breath, they tiptoed around their dormitory very quietly and swiftly got ready for bed, with Alphard shooting Harry a last conspiratorial grin before going to sleep.
For his part, Harry would hardly sleep a wink, his mind too troubled with everything that had happened.
In the following weeks, his sleep would be fleeting as well, since he would constantly and fretfully worry and ponder about what to tell, how much, and to whom.
Since what would most heavily weigh and prey on his thoughts was the fact that, apparently, Czechoslovakia would be attacked in March.
The knowledge of such terrible thing would settle like an immeasurable burden on his soul. After all, Santi hadn't said anything about not speaking a word about that part.