A/n: This was written for two competitions on HPFC: The Biathlon Competition and Embrace Your Majors Competition. Prompts are at the bottom.

Finally some recognisable characters! I rather enjoyed writing this one. It's gonna get interesting from here on out.

(Since the Author's note at the bottom has prompts- let me know what you thought of this chapter! Reviews are always loved and treasured. There's still two more chapters to come, so if you're interested, make sure to follow this story!

Also, because so many of you have mentioned this: no, the portrait is not situated in the Room of Requirement. Although premise may seem similar, the portrait is an alcove in the far back of the Rear Hall, which isn't used very often and is covered from wall-to-wall with bookshelves, behind one of which she's situated.)

Circa 1899

She was awoken from her afternoon nap by a strange grating sound. Blinking the remnants of sleep away, she frowned as she saw someone tumble into the hidden alcove. The boy, who looked to be about fifteen years of age, took a moment to look around before his eyes fell upon her portrait. She awaited the reaction to come, but instead of the usual surprise or the like that she had been greeted by anyone who had accidentally managed to find her abode, the boy's shoulders slumped and he sighed long and deep, as though the realisation that he was not alone was greatly depressing.

What a rude child, she thought to herself, sniffing disdainfully. No one had ever disregarded her so, in all the years of her existence, and even a forgotten portrait had some pride left, even after the centuries of isolation that had been forced upon her.

The boy coughed as the dust fluttered around the small space and waved his wand to clear it, further ignoring her existence. Very well, then, she thought. If he shall not acknowledge my presence, then so be it. I shan't acknowledge him, either.

She shut her eyes and made herself comfortable beneath her tree, feigning sleep as she listened carefully to decipher the soft scraping sounds coming from the boy. Unable to contain her curiosity, she cracked upon an eye and peered at the brunet, watching his hunched form as his quill moved back and forth while he wrote in a small book. Several minutes passed, but the boy continued to ignore her in favour of whatever it was he was writing, and she was getting agitated at being disregarded by yet another student who had intruded her space without permission.

Deciding that she could not care less for a morose-looking fellow who did not even have the courtesy to greet her, she shut her eyes with more purpose this time, and fell asleep soon after.

When she awoke, it was to the sight of bright cerulean eyes watching her with interest. She made a startled sound as she sat up quickly, holding a hand out in an attempt to spare her dignity. "What in the world do you think you are doing?" she said in a shrill voice, startling the boy.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said he, moving back and holding his hands up. "I was only trying to decipher the inscription along the bottom of your painting is all. I apologise for disturbing your sleep."

She huffed, the heat crawling up her neck and settling in her cheeks as she patted her hair down and straightened out her dress. Glancing over his head, she noticed that it was nearing twilight, and she pursed her lips as she frowned at the boy before her. "What in heaven's name are you still doing here? It has been hours since you arrived."

"I like it here," he said softly, taking a step back. "It is quiet, and there isn't anybody constantly hovering over me to make sure I'm alright."

Her frown deepened at that. "What sort of illness ails you?" she asked.

He shook his head, a faraway look in his light eyes. "An incurable ailment of the mind and heart," he said in a despondent voice.

She eyed him curiously as she combed her fingers through her hair. "Have you been poisoned by love, perchance?" questioned she.

He snorted, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "How I wish," he replied in a way that made her feel as though he had been unjustly wronged.

"Then what is it that ails you, child?" she asked in a gentler voice, the hollow look in his eyes tugging at her long-forgotten maternal instincts.

He shook his head and dropped his gaze. His light eyes had turned a murkier blue, and a veil of sorrow seemed to cling to him. She could not help but feel pity for him. "Well," she said as she began braiding her hair. "I do not get visitors very often, so I suppose it should be alright if I were to allow you to stay for a little while longer."

His expression brightened at that, and the small smile that graced his features seemed genuine. "Thank you."

The boy returned every day, after that, small black book held tight in his hands, and he would spend hours in a corner of the alcove, scratching away, a deep frown etched into his forehead. He had introduced himself as Aberforth Dumbledore, and after seeing her eyes widen in recognition of the surname, he had admitted that he was, indeed, the younger brother of the famous Albus Dumbledore, previous Head Boy, the genius wizard whose intelligence was unparalleled by any his age, and excelled in just about everything. There was a bitterness to his confession that led her to assume that he was not all that fond of his older brother. Perhaps having to walk in the shadow of their genius brother was not something one would enjoy very much.

But even though she would engage him in conversation every once in a while, every time it seemed like she was getting closer to the reason behind his melancholic demeanour, or the reason for him spending every free hour hidden away from the rest of the world, he would shut down completely and resume his prolonged period of silence.

Somehow, she could not be angry with him. If anything, she pitied him and wished she could offer him some means of solace, but it was not until just before the end-of-year feast that he finally opened up to her.

"Do you think if I begged Headmaster Dippet he would allow me to spend the summer here?" he asked her as he continued to write in his book.

"I suppose not," she answered truthfully.

His shoulders drooped at that, and he looked up at her with woeful eyes. "I do not want to return to that empty house. There is nothing waiting for me except for more pain and agony."

The depth of sorrow in his eyes made her heart ache. A child as young as him should not have a reason to make such an expression. She hesitated for a moment before saying, "I would consider you lucky to be able to return home, unlike I, who is forced to remain here for all eternity."

"I would gladly exchange places with you," said he, his voice choked, and she inhaled deeply and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.

"What is it that pains you so, my love?" she asked, watching as he frowned at his book, as though expecting it to answer in his stead.

"My mother passed away earlier this year," he finally answered in a quavering voice choked with emotion. "It was a heavy blow on me and my siblings—yes, I had a younger sister as well."

Heart beginning to race, she asked, "Had?"

He bowed his head, dark curls covering his face, as he said in a deeply sorrowful voice, "She was ill, Ariana was. But my brother, the great Albus Dumbledore, could not care less for her. He would simply leave her in my care as he went gallivanting about with that—that friend of his, hateful fellow that he was. I told him that Grindelwald was trouble. I warned him. But did he listen?" He threw his arms in the air, his face flushed from anger and his eyes ablaze. "No! Why would he listen to anything his foolish younger brother had to say? And then, one fine day, they had a disagreement. Grindelwald wanted to leave home and go away with Albus, but, for some reason, Albus refused." He paused, fists clenches, tears pooling in his eyes. "A duel broke out. I was there, too. The three of us were so busy screaming spells at one another that no one noticed that Ariana had appeared, distressed by the fight. In an attempt to stop it, she came in range of the barrage, and she—I tried to stop her," he sobbed, looking at her with pleading eyes. "I tried to push her away, but I was too late! It hit her straight in the chest, and she died in an instant. I watched as the light left her eyes as I held her in my arms."

He had risen to his feet, all but shouting, arms held out on either side as though he was desperate for someone to embrace him and reassure him that everything would be alright. How she wished that she could do so. "But, Albus was too busy battling Grindelwald to even look our way," he continued. "He could have saved her! He could have saved Ariana! But he didn't. He didn't." The hate shimmering in his eyes shocked her, and she was almost frightened for the person at whom his loathing was directed. "Albus Dumbledore, the genius wizard, so great a magician that he was said to be able to perform miracles, and yet he could not save his only sister. And yet, he left her to die, without the slightest sign of remorse. Can you even begin to understand the hatred I feel for him? Can you even begin to fathom it, Lady Ginevra? Can you?"

The raw fury and loathing that burned in his eyes seemed to be eating away at his soul, but no matter how she wished she could help, she had not the slightest idea as to what to say to placate him. Her lips were parted in an attempt to say something, but no words left her mouth. He seemed to be waiting for her reply, but she could not give him one. Just as he dropped his arms and inhaled deeply, there were muffled voices from the other side of the bookshelf. It seemed somebody had happened to hear Aberforth's rage and was trying to find the origin of it.

The boy eyed the barrier that was the bookshelf that separated him from his fate, a frightened look on his face, and as soon as the voices could no longer be heard, Ginevra said, "You must leave, child." He turned to her wide-eyed, already shaking his head, but she was firm. "You should not be here. The feast should already be underway. You will be in great trouble if someone finds you loitering around the hallways."

"But—"

"No buts," she said sternly, holding up a finger. "You must leave, and you must not return. Have I made myself clear?"

Betrayal flashed across his cyan eyes, and it pained her to have to force him to leave, but she told herself that it was for his own good. She convinced herself that what she was doing was the right decision and that it would help him in the long run. She reached behind her and rubbed her palm against the ground, the rustling sound making it seem like the people on the other side had returned, and the boy looked over his shoulder again. It only took him a moment to grab his things, shoot her one last glance, and wriggle out of the gap. She stared at the place he had disappeared for a long moment, feeling a yawning hole form in the pit of her stomach. She clutched her chest and sighed, praying that he have a better life than he had led so far.

(That was the last time she ever heard of Aberforth Dumbledore. It was as though he had vanished off the face of the earth; as though her time spent with him was all an illusion she had concocted in her head. Perhaps it was; she would never know. Either way, she would never forget him, as it was him that had moved her stone-cold heart to make way for the future students that ventured into her hidden abode.)

Circa 1941

She paused with a blade of grass between her fingertips and cocked her head to the side, listening. She had thought she had heard a scratching sound, but when she did not hear it again, she decided that she had just imagined it and returned to her latest pastime: splitting the blades of grass that surrounded her and seeing how thin she could make them before they tore.

There was the scratching sound again, and she looked up with a frown. No one had entered the alcove, so she could not be sure as to where the sound was coming from. Suddenly, a thick forearm pushed itself through the gap and deposited something in the alcove. Alarmed, she stared wide-eyed as the arm shuffled about for a moment before disappearing with a groan.

Curious, she walked as close to the barrier of the portrait as she could and peered down at what had been placed beside the small mound of objects that had collected near the gap. All she could see was the top of what looked like a rather large, soft, white ball, and the longer she watched it, the more it seemed as though it was moving. Frowning, she wondered if it was some animal of sorts and had been abandoned in her alcove, hoping beyond hope that whoever had left it would come soon to retrieve it.

She continued to keep an eye on the ball-like object as she went about her daily routines, but although it would wobble about every once in a while, it showed no other signs of life. After four or five days—she kept track of the days by carving tally marks into the back of her Juniper tree. Every time she reached a triple digit number, she would peel the bark off and store it under the roots, adding the tally marks as the years went by—she heard the same scratching sound, followed by the appearance of the thick forearm.

She wanted to yell out to whomever it was to take back the ball, but she was rather intimidated by someone who was so large that only their forearm would fit through the gap in-between the alcove's edge and the bookshelf. As she watched, the person fumbled around till he found the ball, retracted his hand, and just as she was about to sigh in relief, replaced it back inside the alcove. It seemed that whoever it was had wrapped the round object in a familiar maroon and gold scarf, and although she still did not know what sort of animal was inside the object, every time it moved, she shuddered and moved as far back as possible.

Two weeks passed with no signs of the owner returning, and she was becoming more and more anxious as the days went by, because the creature inside the egg—she had deduced it was an egg after careful observation, when the scarf had fallen off from the creature's movements—was starting to become more active, as though ready to hatch. Something the size of a large coconut was not supposed to exist within the walls of Hogwarts, and most definitely not be smuggled in and hidden in her alcove, of all places.

As it neared the month's end, the egg had started to split open, and long, spindly legs had started to poke its way out. As four of the legs had made their way outside, she decided that the creature must be a spider of some sort. Racking her brains to remember her long-forgotten knowledge regarding various creatures that she had read when she was still in the Hospital Wing from a book a neighbouring portrait had leant her, she reckoned that it was most likely an Acramantula hatchling.

Now that she had figured out its identity, it only further increased her anxiety, and the next time the arm appeared, she called out to it. "Hello, whoever you are!" The arm paused, and she continued hurriedly, "I am the Lady Ginevra de' Benci, and I demand that you immediately take away that hideous creature this instant!"

The arm retracted without the egg, and she was about to yell again when the bookshelf groaned and was pushed further down so the gap was larger. A boy's head appeared, dark shaggy hair covering his rugged face, beady brown eyes staring up at her anxiously.

"Please," gasped the boy. "Lemme keep Aragog 'ere. If they find him, they'll kill him!"

"That vile creature has no place in this school," she hissed, crossing her arms and looking fierce. "I do not know how you procured it, but I demand that you remove it from here this instant! I refuse to allow it to hatch and scuttle about in here!"

She shuddered at the very thought, and even the boy's pleas could not change her mind. "Please, he's only a baby. He means no harm!"

"It matter not to me whether that… that monstrosity is a baby or not! Look at those disgusting legs floundering about! Remove it from here immediately!"

"I will," the boy said, "but 'tleast allow him to stay 'ere till I find a more suitable place for him."

She frowned. "Who are you?"

"Me name's Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid. I swear, just another day or two and he'll be out of your hair."

Shuddering at the very thought of a humongous spider in her hair, she waved him off. "No, no, absolutely not. Do what you will with it, but it take it out of here!"

There was a ripping sound, and the spider slid out of the egg and lay upside down on the ground, its long legs swinging about. "Take it away!" she shrieked, looking away, disgusted by the sight of it.

"Apologies," grunted the boy as he scooped up the creature, remnants of the egg and all, cooing to it as he carefully pulled his head out, followed by his arm and the Acromantula hatchling.

She rubbed her arms, scrunching up her nose in disgust, glad that the monstrosity was finally out of her alcove. She could not even begin to imagine what would have happened had it remained there for a day or two longer.

(About two months later, she heard rumours that Muggleborns had started to disappear, and several weeks after, she heard people gossiping about a certain boy, one Rubeus Hagrid, who had been expelled for letting lose a beast in the castle, which had apparently killed one of the students.)

Circa 1969

"Merry Christmas, Lady Ginevra!"

She looked up, a smile instantly alighting her face as she saw the familiar blonde who had traipsed into the alcove. "Why, Narcissa!" she exclaimed, keeping away her handmade quill and paper as the bright-eyed girl skipped up to her. "What in the world are you doing here? Is the feast not underway at this very moment?"

The girl scoffed, flipping her luscious blonde locks over her shoulder. "I got sick and tired of watching Dumbledore bumble about in his ridiculous powdered wig, making a complete and utter fool of himself. Really," she huffed, "how in the world he became Headmaster is beyond me."

Although the mention of Dumbledore dampened her spirits in the slightest, she quickly distracted herself by mentioning the reason behind why Narcissa had chosen to remain in Hogwarts for Christmas that year. "You spend an awful lot of time in here for someone who is supposed to be keeping an eye on her sister and her supposedly illicit love affair."

The girl pursed her lips. "I have been," said she. "But I rarely ever leave her side; it's getting to be rather tiresome, to be honest." She rummaged in her overcoat for a moment before pulling out a small envelope. "Bella even sent me a letter reminding me that it was up to me to make sure Anna wasn't caught up in something nasty. 'I'm counting on you to look out for our dear Annie,' she says. 'Oh, and happy Christmas, Cissy!' Balderdash."

Narcissa huffed, but Ginevra could tell that the girl was smug about the fact that she, being the youngest of the three Black sisters at fourteen years of age, had been tasked with such an important responsibility. "Bella and Anna never ever let me join in on anything," the girl had often complained to Ginevra ever since she had found the alcove earlier that year. But, she knew how proud Narcissa was to be a Black and to continue its pureblood legacy—which she did with such grace and elegance for someone her age that Ginevra could not help but be proud of her, as a mother would of her own child.

"Bellatrix might be wrong after all," said Ginevra as she fluffed her skirts. "Andromeda might just have remained back here to take care of her Prefect work, as she said she had."

"Maybe," Narcissa replied, pouting.

"Well, what about a certain other person who stayed back this year?" Ginevra smiled smugly as the blonde's cheeks turned a rosy pink.

"About that," said Narcissa, "listen to this, milady! Malfoy actually told me that he would be waiting under the mistletoe back in the common room for me! The gall, I tell you!"

Ginevra chortled at that, seeing her obvious delight in the girl's flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. "I say, what a daring young man he is, to court the one and only Narcissa Black in such a direct manner."

"It really isn't a laughing matter," grumbled the blonde. "Anyway, I have decided that I shan't meet with him. I shall spend the night here, if need be!"

"You shall do no such thing," Ginevra admonished, raising a finger. "Really, now, that is not ladylike in the least."

"I'm barely even a proper lady," Narcissa said in reply. "What am I to do if he attempts to—to—" she broke off, her cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red, and Ginevra threw her head back and laughed at the girl's display of innocence.

"My, who would have thought," she chuckled, wiping a tear from her eye, "that the smug, silent Narcissa would be so intimidated at being courted."

"Is that how you think of me?" the girl quipped, crossing her arms. "After how much time I spend chattering away with you?"

"But am I not the only one you chatter away with?" questioned Ginevra. "Other than your sisters, of course."

The blonde stuck her nose in the air. "I assure you, I have many friends."

"Oh?" Ginevra responded with a smile.

"But they are much too plain for someone of my stature," finished Narcissa, looking important. "All the boys and girls in my year, they only want to get in my good graces so that they can claim to be my friends. Such people are barely worth my time or energy."

Although she made a show of being strong and determined, Ginevra knew that a girl her age would be rather lonely if she had no one to open her heart to. Having heard stories of the subject of her portrait having spend many a day alone, with nobody to speak with, being the daughter of the aristocrat that she was, Ginevra could sympathise with Narcissa.

"Perhaps, then, it is time for you to find company in someone who is from, say, a different year?"

Narcissa frowned at that. "Are you suggesting I go meet with Malfoy and allow him to cosy up to me?"

"I suggest you wear something more appropriate, if that is what you plan on doing," Ginevra replied, giving the girl a once over.

Narcissa's cheeks coloured as she rose to her feet, chin in the air, attempting to look down at a portrait that was above her eye level. "You're always so quick to send me off," said she. "Even after I went out of my way to come visit you on Christmas."

Ginevra smiled, her affection for the girl growing. "Although that makes me very happy, I would rather you spend Christmas with your sister and the others than with a dusty old portrait." When the girl's shoulders drooped sadly, Ginevra said, "Besides, it is not very ladylike to brush aside an honest attempt by a rather intelligent and good-looking lad, if I go by your descriptions of him, to pursue you."

Narcissa stuck her lower lip out, pouting childishly, but Ginevra only found it endearing. "Now, off you go." When the girl hesitated, Ginevra waved her hand and said, "I shall be awaiting a full report on your escapades tomorrow."

The blonde seemed to brighten at that, and with a twirl of her dress, she skipped to the gap, offered Ginevra a brilliant smile, and with a, "Happy Christmas again, milady!" she was gone.

Ginevra chuckled to herself as she turned back to her quill and paper. As she wrote down the day's conversation in her self-made diary, she could not help but feel a sense of belonging blossom within her—an emotion she had not expected to feel after so many centuries of being all alone in her hidden alcove, forgotten by the rest of the world.

(There were always rumours swirling around the castle about the Black sisters in the years to come. Some said that Bellatrix Black had married a Lestrange and had become a supporter of some wizard who considered himself a Dark Lord; some others said that Andromeda Black had fallen from grace when she had eloped with a Muggleborn, disgracing her family and its name; but it was the rumours of Narcissa Black having finally married one Lucius Malfoy, and having had a son with him, that made Ginevra the happiest. Of all the students who had happened to stumble into her abode over the years, it was Narcissa whom Ginevra was the proudest of.)

The Biathlon Competition Prompts:

10 km

The athletes start in intervals of 30 seconds. Two shootings have to be completed (1 prone, 1 standing) and 10 targets to be hit. The athletes have to ski a penalty round the length of 150 metres per missed targets.

1. 1000 words minimum

2. 10 prompts

3. 150 words extra per penalty

(4 penalties: word minimum: 1,600)

Prompts:

poison

magician

wig

(Choose one): Fred Weasley; Gellert Grindelwald; Dobby; Minerva McGonagall; Ron Weasley (not used)

tumble

pursue

gallery (not used)

"This was way too easy." / "I told you that this was a bad idea rightaway." (not used)

intelligence

attic (not used)

Embrace Your Majors Competition Prompts:

List 1: - Statics: the physics of things that don't move - write about: a character who is making a difficult decision