The Painting

The Fat Lady stopped suddenly.

Hermione almost tripped over her, she'd been running at such a pace.

"Why have you stopped?" asked Hermione, mildly annoyed. For a moment she was convinced she was being led to a useful destination. Maybe to a place where she could find out just what the heck was going on. It was a strange feeling not having all the answers, and she didn't like it.

"I didn't ask you to follow me, dear," said the Fat Lady with a roll of her eyes. "But since you insist on stalking me, I may as well give you this whilst you're here."

She reached into a pocket on her huge puffed-up pink dress and handed Hermione a small beaded bag.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Why are you giving me a bag?"

"Well it's yours, isn't it, dear? I saw you drop it earlier."

Hermione took the bag from her. She'd never seen it before in her life.

"It's not mine," she said, slowly turning it over and examining it.

"It is! I saw you with it with my very own eyes. I thought it was quite nice and I was going to keep it for myself, but, well, I'm a generous soul. It does look nice with my dress though..."

"It's not mine," Hermione protested.

"Well if you're going to get all ungrateful about it then I'll keep it." The Fat Lady reached out her hand, but Hermione quickly held the bag back. She wasn't ready to let it go just yet, even if it did look nice with the Fat Lady's dress.

"No, sorry. I um do remember it now. You're right, it is mine. Um...sorry."

The Fat Lady rolled her eyes again. "Well of course it's yours, didn't I just tell you that?" But she waltzed off down the corridor again before Hermione had another chance to reply.

Hermione turned around. Ron had been awfully quiet during this little exchange. It was just like him not to get involved. "Look, Ron, she's given me a bag. It's definitely not mine, if she'd given me a book instead, well maybe then I would have understood, but a bag? I don't think I own a bag except for the one I carry my textbooks in."

Ron wasn't there. "Ron?" she called out. "Typical, just typical," said Hermione aloud. "Men!"

She tapped her foot on the floor impatiently. "Come on," she called. "We haven't got time for games, this is serious. We have to get out."

No reply came.

"Ron?" she called out again, this time she sounded unsure.

"Ron?"

There was still no reply. "OK, fine," she shouted, almost scaring herself with the loudness of her voice. "You can find your own way out."

But she didn't feel like moving on. She wanted Ron with her, even if he was playing a stupid trick on her. She opened the beaded bag in order to delay moving on. She didn't want Ron to reappear and think she was just standing there waiting for him. He could see her having a look inside the bag instead.

The bag appeared to be empty, but that didn't surprise Hermione. It was so small she didn't think anything could even fit in there. She reached a hand in anyway, gasping in shock as her hands brushed against something. She pulled it out. It was a huge empty portrait. 'How did that get in there?' she said to herself.

Suddenly a little blind-folded wizard ran into the frame she was holding. "Left you again, did he?" the little wizard asked in a high voice.

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione, too surprised to even react with shock.

"The ginger one. He's run off and left you again."

"What?"

How does he know? thought Hermione. He has a blindfold on! And what does he mean 'again'?

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Hermione. "Yes, Ron appears to be playing a trick on me at the moment, but this is the first time. I don't know what you mean when you say 'again'."

"He's already left you once," replied the wizard in a bored tone. "Left you with that other boy in a tent. The one with the glasses. The hero."

"Harry?"

"Yes, that's his name. The very one."

"He left me in a tent with Harry?"

"I thought you were supposed to be the intelligent one," said the wizard. "I tire of this conversation. Goodbye."

"No, wait!" called Hermione, but he was gone.

Hermione stood there, not sure what to do next. Nothing made sense, nothing at all. She had to be dreaming, this just wasn't right.

As she stared at the portrait she felt something cold on her neck. She wiped it away with her hand. She felt it again. Annoyed, she wiped at it again. This time the substance caught her eye. It was snow.

But she wasn't even outside. She looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling had gone. At least, the portrait corridor ceiling had gone. There was still a ceiling above her, but it was made of fabric. She was in a tent.

'You're not still talking to that snivelling little wizard, are you?' asked Harry. 'He's been as much use to us as a broken broomstick.'

'I'm seeing things,' she said quietly. 'This is not real.'

'Er, it's very real,' said Harry with mild irritation.

'No,' said Hermione quietly. She closed her eyes. It all went black.