The Painting

Hermione sighed as a blob of green joined the blob of silver already on her paint-covered robes.

"What are you doing, 'Mione?" Ron asked, as he entered the Gryffindor common room.

"My parents have asked me to paint a picture to hang in their waiting room. I'm also thinking of taking up art classes, you know, as an extra curricular activity."

He looked at her with his eyebrows slightly raised.

"And they think that painting will help me get over the trauma of Sirius's death," Hermione added.

"Fair enough. You do know that the paint is supposed to go on the paper, right?" said Ron, looking at her robes.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." She turned her attention back to her painting.

Ron studied the painting carefully. "What is it?"

"A vase," she replied, as a slight irritation crept into her voice.

"Then why has it got legs?"

"They're flowers."

"Oh," he said after a brief pause. "Are you coming to Potions?"

"Yes, but go ahead without me. I need to change first."

"Sure you don't want me to wait?"

"Positive." Ron was spoiling the creative mood she found herself in.

She found that painting was helping her to forget about Sirius, the *almost* death of Mr Weasley, Harry's soul crushing grief and her OWL results. Actually she didn't want to forget her OWL results. They were rather good.

By some miracle both Ron and Harry had also been accepted into Snape's NEWT level Potions class. Though she suspected there was another reason for this, rather than their natural potion making abilities.

Concentrating again, Hermione brought the brush to the paper and with one long swoop added an unusual purple shape. 'It's not that bad," she thought to herself.

Hermione glanced quickly at the clock. Then it dawned on her. "Oh no, please no," she said aloud, "I can't be late for Potions."

Realising she didn't have time to change her robes, she waved the painting around in an effort to dry it, and then headed towards the dungeons.

When she got there, the whole corridor was completely silent and the door of the classroom was already closed. Taking a deep breath, she knocked timidly.

Slowly the door opened and Snape stood on the other side. "It is so kind of you to finally join us, Miss Granger," Snape remarked with a smirk.

Embarrassed, Hermione walked into the classroom, avoiding the questioning yet sympathetic looks from Harry and Ron.

"Do tell the class why we have had to wait for you."

"I'm sorry; I was...er, feeling a bit sick."

"And does this illness have anything to do with your change of house?"

"My what?" asked Hermione, confused. Then it dawned on her that the paint on her robes was Slytherin colours.

"I was painting and I sort of got some paint on me."

"Did you not think to use a simple spell to remove the paint?" Snape was clearly enjoying Hermione's discomfort.

"I was in a bit of a rush."

"Ah, so by being in a rush you were late for my lesson because you were painting and not because you were feeling ill. Since you held us up over a painting I think it's only fair that we get to see it."

Horrified, Hermione looked Snape in the eye. "Please, no. It's just something I'm doing for my parents."

"Now, Miss Granger."

She suddenly felt genuinely sick as she handed Snape the painting, which she was trying to keep concealed at her side.

He stared at it for what seemed like forever to Hermione and then showed it to the class which resulted in mass giggling.

"Well," he said smoothly, "since I cannot work out what it is you can go and hang it in a public place to see if anyone else can work it out."

"No, I can't, it's..." However Snape's glare told her he was not to be argued with.

He handed the painting back to Hermione and red-faced, she left the classroom.

On the verge of tears, Hermione headed for the girls' second floor bathroom which she knew, apart from a miserable ghost, would be completely empty; and she wanted to be alone.

"What have you got there?" asked Myrtle, floating over to her.

"Nothing."

"Nobody tells me anything," Myrtle whined.

Ignoring her, Hermione selected a stall and closed the door. Feeling as miserable as Myrtle, she stared at the still slightly wet painting. Then it dawned on her that the girls' bathroom was a public place - even if it was rarely used.

She allowed herself to smile as she placed the painting on the back of the stall door. Not really wanting to return to Potions, she sat on the floor, stared up at the painting, and then closed her eyes in an attempt to drown out Myrtle's sobbing.

After about five minutes, she could no longer hear Myrtle and cautiously opened her eyes. To her surprise, she found herself looking down on the stall from an unusual angle. She could see everything in front of her but the more she moved towards it, the further away it seemed. She backed away slowly and stumbled on to something. She glanced up in time to see a purple vase go crashing to the floor.

A moment of realisation dawned on her. 'This can't be happening,' she thought. But it was. Hermione slowly turned to look behind her and was greeted with the sight of the vase she had recently painted; only now it lay splintered across the floor.

She picked herself up from the ground and walked to her left, stepping over the vase that had smashed all around her. 'Not a very attractive picture anymore,' she thought, though she realised it hadn't been very good in the first place.

'Well, since it looks as though I'm going to be here for a while, I might as well find my ideal pose.' She sat on one knee and dramatically held up one piece of broken glass. She got bored after three minutes. 'No wonder everyone moves around,' she thought to herself.

Hermione suddenly felt something poke her in the back.

"What are you doing here, dear?" asked a plump lady in a frilly pink dress.

Hermione immediately recognised her from the picture that hung above the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. "I'm in the painting," Hermione informed the Fat Lady.

"Well of course you're in the painting. You are here talking to me, aren't you?"

Hermione looked out into the girls' second floor bathroom. Moaning Myrtle was floating around, crying to herself. "She can't see me, I don't understand," said Hermione.

"Let me guess, the painting was still wet when you displayed it?"

"Yes..."

"Well obviously when you display paintings that are not ready to be displayed, they take something to complete the picture. In this case, the painting took you."

"Great," sighed Hermione. "I still don't understand why Myrtle can't see me, though."

"It's because you're not an original part of the picture. Others can only see what the artist intended them to see."

"Am I stuck here forever? Will I ever get to go to another lesson again?" Panic suddenly set in.

"Well, I suppose if someone completes the painting, then you will be released. In the meantime, why don't you get something to eat?"

"You don't happen to have any chocolate around here, do you?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"No. The fruit bowl painting in the Great Hall is our nutritional supply."

"So I'm guessing I can move around all the paintings in the school?"

"In all the world, dearie. Technically, you don't belong anywhere, so you have more freedom. Now I'm going to take you back to my painting for a while."

"No, thank you..." Hermione began.

"No, I insist!"

Grudgingly, Hermione followed the Fat Lady, who talked at high speed and walked surprisingly fast, out of a door that she had not noticed before. The door led into a darkened corridor.

"What is this place?" asked Hermione.

"This is the corridor to all the paintings in the school. Every painting has it's own door."

Hermione looked at the various doors. They each contained silver writing mounted on a golden plate. One in particular caught her attention. 'The Igytrogus. Snape's Office.'

The Fat Lady was walking at quite a distance away now, so Hermione quickly pushed the door open and went in. She looked out into Snape's office.

"Oh, there's Snape and Ron. Ron?"

"I don't know where she is, sir," Ron was explaining to Snape.

"Who are you?" a peculiar blue and orange striped plant with fierce looking teeth asked Hermione.

"Hermione. Who are you?"

"None of your business."

Snape turned to face the painting. "Will you be quiet?" he said to the plant.

"What are you here for?" the plant asked Hermione.

"Look, please be quiet, I need to hear what they're saying," said Hermione, looking desperately at Ron.

The plant in the painting persisted to make funny clucking noises and she shut the door in despair.

The Fat Lady was well ahead now, so Hermione hurried along the corridor to catch up.

"Are you all right, dearie?"

"Yes, I'm just upset that nobody can see me."

"Look dear, you really should make the most of being in a painting. There are for example, portraits in every dormitory." The Fat Lady winked at Hermione. "We're all going to a picture in Dumbledore's office. Do you want to come with us?"

"Isn't he away?"

"Yes, but we can use our imagination."

"Er, OK." Hermione hoped that by some chance there would be something magical in Dumbledore's office that would save her. Though somehow, she doubted it.