Chapter Text
“How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June... If it were only the other way! If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old! For that-for that-I would give everything!”
-Dorian Gray, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’
The weeks passed slowly for the group at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry had eventually regained his less-stoic disposition and was now happier, albeit bored with the requirement that they remain mostly indoors. Ginny and Ron took turns playing wizard’s chess and other games with him, and Hermione occasionally joined them. She had finished reading the journal only a week after finding it and was now itching to do more research on the various people involved in Lord Henry’s incanting group.
Remus and Severus had asked her repeatedly what held her interest, but she artfully avoided answering them and threatened Phineas Nigellus’s portrait if he told them what book she had hidden in her room. Her conversations with the portrait continued despite his antagonistic disposition that had her walking out on him mid-sentence at times. In fact, she almost considered Phineas to be somewhat of a friend. It was odd that she would consider a portrait a friend, but stranger things had happened. She had proof: it was all written in Lord Henry’s little black journal.
Unfortunately, Phineas disagreed with the journal on almost every point she shared with him.
“There is no way to bring back the dead, girl. Stop harping on that stupid book and come back to earth. Your head’s in the clouds, and it’s ridiculous.” Those were the words he sneered when she read the eloquently penned information Lord Henry had written in the end of the third chapter.
“I think Lord Henry was an absolute nutter, and if you find a portrait of him, I’ll go tell him myself.” This was what he jokingly said when she read the bit about the abilities of wizards to tie themselves to portraits from chapter five.
“Right, right, of course you require an emotional connection to the deceased to make the spell work... what a load of bollocks. Obviously the man was deranged; couldn’t even figure out that there’s no way to revive the dead...” The portrait muttered this and slunk off to who knows where shortly after she’d gotten through chapter six. He wasn’t too pleased with her happy smile, but Hermione was used to it now.
She didn’t stop to consider why she talked to him about everything. It wasn’t as if he was easy to talk to. He whined about her tone of voice, reprimanded her for a lack of proper respect, complained that she was becoming as nutty as Lord Henry, and otherwise agitated her, usually while she was mid-chapter. Being able to talk to someone about such a huge discovery was enough for her.
“If you don’t quit this ridiculous fancy of yours, I’m going to be forced to report it to Dumbledore,” Phineas finally told her one night as she closed the book for the last time.
Her eyes grew wide and she stared at the portrait in shock. “Why on earth would you do such a thing? Sweet Merlin, Dumbledore would take the book away from me!”
“And a good thing that, too!” Phineas grumbled loudly. “You’re obsessed! And this is severely unhealthy. Why, your poor Muggle-loving friends keep asking where you are and why you aren’t spending all your free time with them. Not that I blame you at all, even if you are a Muggleborn...”
“Just you listen to me, Phineas Nigellus,” Hermione now said, tone even and wand in hand, pointed at the portrait. “You will not be reporting this to Dumbledore, or I will hex your portrait into oblivion. You do realize, don’t you, that I’ve learned how to reverse the effects of a charmed portrait?”
Now it was his turn to stare at her. He gaped and shuddered a bit, glaring when he finally caught up with his reactions. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me.”
Phineas tried to find the girl’s weakness, tried to peg her and find a reason she wouldn’t get rid of him. He thought long and hard as she stared into his painted eyes and finally came up with a long shot. “You wouldn’t do it because then you wouldn’t know where Sirius’s portrait is, and you couldn’t bring him back from the dead.”
The words were said off-handedly, but Hermione could hear the strain in the portrait’s voice. Somehow, though, her brain seemed to have stopped functioning. Sirius Black had a portrait of himself? How had they missed this?!
That night she walked away from the portrait, not even listening when he began to backtrack and tried to convince her he was lying about another portrait. She didn’t even listen when he once again threatened to tell Dumbledore. She merely walked into her room and closed the door, throwing on headphones and turning up the music on her radio when he persisted to climb into the portrait of the Black family martyr, Aurora Black, who screeched at him from her perch tied to the stake. Flames lapped at both of them, but Phineas continued to yell even after realizing Hermione could no longer hear him, in fact, wasn’t even bothering to blatantly ignore him anymore.
In the days that followed, she hid the books and newspaper clipping from everyone. They were in the false bottom of her trunk; it was a rather facetious buy, but Hermione had always held a fascination for trunks and chests. It was probably due to her great-grandfather, who had been a war veteran and fought in the royal navy. His navy trunk was proudly on display in the front of her parents’ office and was kept open to reveal various magazines and children’s books for those in the waiting room of the dental practice.
Hermione loved gazing into the trunk as a child and even climbed inside once or twice and held an overly large broomstick that she wielded as a paddle and pretended to sail the high seas. Being an only child gave her an incredible imagination that she used with the limited toys she had, and this trunk was one of her favorite things to play with.
When she grew older, she begged her parents to let her use the trunk for her trips to Hogwarts. Now she was glad they’d refused; with the constant abuse her trunk took on its long trip from the taxi to the train to however it was transported from train to castle, she’d already had to buy another one. Well... truthfully, her new trunk was just an impulse buy she’d made in an antique shop with her parents over the summer. She fell in love with the antique clasps and old leather bottom of the trunk. It wasn’t until they brought it home that she discovered the false bottom, located by an almost invisible strip of leather fitted into a crevice in the inside of the trunk. When she pulled on the strip, the leather bottom lifted to show a space about three inches deep in the bottom of the trunk.
That was where she hid various items, including her new favorite books. She left them there and began interacting with the others, knowing the portrait Phineas watched her constantly. It was while she was watching Harry and Ron’s 302nd game of wizard’s chess that Harry made his rather entertaining comment.
“Why is that bloody portrait still watching me?” He grumbled quietly, shooting a glance to the portrait above the bookshelf where Phineas peeked out at them curiously. “Dumbledore can’t possibly want him to keep tabs on me now, can he? I’ve been doing occlumency again with Snape; he should be happy now. And I haven’t had any dreams since last term.”
Ron glared up at the portrait and whispered loudly, “Reckon Snape’s the one who told him to spy on you? Think ole’ Snape’s worried you’re going to try to prank him while he’s stuck here?”
“I wouldn’t bother asking a mere portrait to spy on Potter, Weasley,” Snape’s drawl came from behind them, and the three turned to see the potion’s professor glaring at them from the doorway. “I could easily put a tracking spell on him or even better put a intruder alert on my room. If I needed to know what he was up to, I could easily infiltrate Mr. Potter’s mind considering his poor performance at occlumency.”
Harry glared while Ron clenched his fists. “Professor,” Hermione began, to diffuse the tension, “is there something you needed?”
Snape looked at her, sneer in place, and said, “Miss Granger, I don’t suppose I need a reason to come to the library, do I? I came for a book.”
So saying, he walked to the third shelf and searched briefly before plucking a book from the shelves. Opening it and flipping pages at random, he glanced back at the group still watching him. “Feel free to continue discussing the portrait or playing your little game.” His eyes flicked to the board. “Though, I daresay you’ll lose, Potter. Mr. Weasley has your queen hemmed in.”
He turned back to the book and then moved to sit in the chair next to Hermione’s table of books a moment later. When it appeared Snape was there to say, Harry and Ron went back to their game, grumbling under their breath at the wizard. Hermione thanked Merlin Snape arrived when he did; he’d kept them from thinking too hard about the portrait. She stood and glared up at Phineas for a moment when no one was looking, and he sent a wink back at her.
Feeling thirsty, she walked out of the room to the kitchen. Three minutes later she returned to the library to find it almost deserted. Professor Snape still sat in his chair, avidly reading the book in his hands; she couldn’t see the title but assumed it had something to do with potions. Looking up, she saw Phineas still sticking his head in the door of the portrait he’d snuck into. Harry and Ron apparently abandoned their game, and Hermione could guess why. They’d never be comfortable enough around the potions professor to really have fun; they would suspect him to jinx any fun they experienced.
Walking over to the other chair, Hermione sat her glass of pumpkin juice down and settled into the seat. Picking up the first book on her pile, she recognized it as another classic, Jane Eyre. She opened to the first page and began to read.
As she finished the first chapter, Hermione realized two things. First, she was being watched. Second, she was not only being watched by Phineas, whom she was used to catching spying on her. Glancing to her right, she caught the steady stare of Severus.
“May I inquire as to why the portrait of Phineas Nigellus feels the need to spy on you, Miss Granger?” Snape’s voice was dry, and he glanced over to the portrait in question.
She glared up at Phineas, who was now smirking decidedly down at her and had come fully into view. “I believe it has something to do with boredom, Professor,” she answered, somewhat truthfully. Phineas had told her he was bored at one point. “He likes to discuss the books I read since he used to be a Hogwarts Headmaster and was quite well-read in his day.”
“Oh, of course, Miss Granger,” Phineas’s deep tones caught her off-guard for a moment. “I find it fascinating that your student, Professor Snape, feels the need to read such unusual texts.”
“I don’t see how Jane Eyre, a classic Muggle novel, could be considered unusual,” Hermione huffed, angrily glaring at the portrait.
“Arguing with the portrait, Miss Granger?” Snape’s amusement only incensed her further, but she couldn’t take her anger out on the professor. “I believe speaking to yourself is one of the last signs of insanity; having arguments with a portrait is one of the first. Perhaps we can send you to Madam Pomfrey and get your little problem cleared up...?”
She looked over at Severus, who was smirking widely with a raised eyebrow that she longed to rip off his greasy face. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Professor,” she spat out, barely able to keep her voice civil. “Phineas here was merely bored and apparently has a tendency for arguing with people, in portraits and out. At least, that’s what Professor Dumbledore told me once.”
Staring back into Snape’s eyes, she rationalized her lie. So what if she lied? No, Dumbledore hadn’t told her that, but he had said something along those lines to Harry. Besides, she had to keep that bloody portrait from saying anything about the journal.
“That still doesn’t tell me why this particular portrait is spying on you, Miss Granger,” Snape drawled, looking completely at ease. “Are you up to something with those two goons you call friends again? No more Polyjuice potion here, I’m afraid. My potions stores are far from this dismal place.”
Looking into his eyes, she recalled Harry saying that eye contact helped Snape in legilimency. She turned away, focusing instead on the portrait. “I’m not sure, Professor,” she said vaguely, giving the portrait a death stare. “You’d have to ask Phineas why he’s been spying on me. Perhaps he’s attracted to me? Or perhaps he’s trying to avoid something himself? I can’t answer for someone else.”
“Attracted to a Muggleborn?” Phineas’s haughty voice was filled with contempt. “How dare you even suggest such a thing, you filthy child. I am of the noble house of Black; we cannot be bothered to fraternize with such ridiculous creatures as yourself-”
“But you have been, have you not?” Hermione asked innocently, smiling up at him in triumph. “You’ve been chatting with me as I read, and you seemed interested in what I had to say. But I’m sure that was just an act. You’re probably bored up there in that portrait of yours; I’m sure you just needed someone to talk to, and I was here.”
Seeing that she’d turned the conversation away from Snape’s suspicions of her illicit activities, Phineas glared. A moment later the glare turned into a pleased smirk, and he nodded at her in defeat. “Yes, yes, stupid Muggleborn. You were at least someone to talk to, and I’ve always wondered how a world full of Muggles could survive without magic. I think I found the answer now.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the gleam in the painted ones staring down at her. He paused dramatically before saying, “All Muggles must survive on hot air.”
The chuckle from Snape told Hermione he understood the idiom, and she had to give Phineas credit. Even though he insulted her, he kept Snape’s attention diverted and did not give away her secret. Feeling annoyed that he’d still gotten the better of her, she glared down at the book in her hands.
Ten minutes later, both Hermione and Severus were reading again, having given up on conversation when Phineas decided to disappear from the portrait. Hermione knew he was only biding his time to scathingly rebuke her for calling him out, but she looked forward to it. Now that she had proven she was not obsessed with the journal, she could begin to inquire about this portrait of Sirius that Phineas mentioned a week ago.
But Hermione didn’t get the chance to talk to Phineas again for a week. He wasn’t around to talk to, but she knew it had something to do with the increased activity at the Black home where Order members were constantly shuffling in and out. Something had happened, and it was something no one wanted Harry to know about. Even access to things as simple as the Daily Prophet became as hard to get as entrance to Dumbledore’s office with a vegetable password would be.
The meetings became more frequent, usually happening in the dead of night after the students had gone to bed. Hermione only knew this because she often read until 1 and 2 a.m. and would walk to her room to the murmur of voices from the kitchen. She never bothered going downstairs to see if she could hear anything, though. So far she was the only one who realized there were such late night meetings, and none of the others seemed any wiser when morning came and they sat to breakfast with tired-looking Molly and Arthur. Nor did anyone notice the multiplying circles under Remus, Tonks, and Snape’s eyes.
Hermione continued her late night reading, leaving her room an hour after Ginny passed into sleep and sneaking into the library. She halfway hoped to catch Phineas there, but it appeared Dumbledore had him on some other assignment. That week was one of the tensest ones spent at Grimmauld Place, and while Harry, Ron, and Ginny all sensed it, they never figured out that the Order had taken to midnight meetings that lasted until the wee hours of the morning.
The following Sunday something changed. It was obvious in the suddenly rested looks on the faces of the adults. Hermione knew there hadn’t been another meeting the night before and wondered if something had happened. Molly had taken to hugging Harry a little more than usual, but other than that, no one showed any signs of relief or fear that Hermione could tell.
That night she found herself in the library again, unable to sleep and finishing another novel. Her pile of unread books had dwindled considerably, and she only had one left. Sighing, she put the book she was finished with on the taller pile and steadied it with her hands when it started to topple. A minute later she jumped when the pile fell with a thud of books on the floor.
“Great job, girl,” she heard somewhere over her shoulder as she picked up the books and put them in two piles instead of one. She turned to see Phineas watching her from the portrait again.
“I was wondering if I’d scared you off after talking with Snape,” she replied calmly, sitting back in her chair and watching him.
“Bah, scare me? You couldn’t scare a mouse.” Phineas smirked at her, and she smiled up at him, enjoying the caustic humor. “No, that Dumbledore’s got me running all over the place, trying to find...” He trailed off, glaring down at her suddenly. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” She asked impishly, grinning.
He leveled a long look at her before saying, “Been talking to my great-grandson, have you? That’s something he’d do, you know.”
“Who? Sirius?” She asked, feeling surprised and a little curious.
“Of course!” He gave a muffled laugh before coughing a minute. “Only a Marauder could do something like that so easily.”
“You knew he was a Marauder?” Hermione asked, more than curious now. “How did you know that?”
“He told me, of course,” Phineas answered. Seeing her dumbfounded look, he answered her unspoken question as well. “His portrait told me anyway. We had a long talk after he fell through the Veil. He told me all about his escapades with James Potter and that werewolf. Told me about that rotten Pettigrew, too. I always wondered how that one weaseled out of being put in Slytherin.”
“You did mention Sirius having a portrait...” Hermione began, trying to find the right way to phrase her thoughts. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“You haven’t been talking to him?” Phineas seemed surprised by that.
“No,” she responded, looking quizzically at him.
“I told him to come talk to you when he asked about Potter,” Phineas muttered, almost to himself. “I wonder why he didn’t come. It doesn’t make sense.”
She gave a hopeful smile and then asked, “Where is his portrait?”
“Hogwarts,” Phineas answered, still muttering to himself in a voice she couldn’t quite make out. “He’s been there since Dumbledore ordered the portrait removed from the Black house. Didn’t want Potter getting too upset seeing it hanging when he was dead.”
She sat silently, wondering if he would tell her more if she was quiet enough. Before she could get up her courage to ask anymore questions, Phineas started and then narrowed his eyes at her.
“You sure you weren’t talking to Sirius, girl?” He asked irritably. She shook her head. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Dumbledore didn’t want the Potter kid to know about that portrait.”
“I haven’t told Harry about it,” she told him truthfully. He scoffed at her, and she reiterated, “I haven’t told him, okay? But you said it’s at Hogwarts? Where at?”
“That’s enough,” Phineas suddenly said, looking annoyed. “You’re thinking about that bloody journal again, aren’t you? No, I won’t tell you where it is. In fact, I think I’ll tell Sirius not to speak with you.”
Before she could protest, Phineas walked out of the portrait and headed back to his Hogwarts portrait. Hermione sat in her chair and thought about the conversation she’d just had with him. Apparently Sirius was in a portrait in Hogwarts, and Dumbledore took the portrait there to keep him away from Harry. Perhaps there was only one portrait of Sirius, making it impossible for him to roam between Hogwarts and the Black house?
Yawning loudly, Hermione looked up at the clock and realized it was almost 1 a.m. Scratching her chin, she stood up and stretched. It was really much later than she meant to stay up, especially since Molly planned to take them shopping at Diagon Alley tomorrow for their school supplies. Their owls with the book lists arrived the day before, and Molly had an all-out rebellion on her hands when she tried to convince them to stay in Grimmauld Place and allow her to go get the books herself.
She acquiesced when Remus and Tonks volunteered to come along and supervise. Ginny and Ron pleaded with her not to come at all, but Molly wouldn’t hear of it. So they compromised and decided to go together and then split up for an hour or two of personal shopping. Molly wasn’t happy with the idea, but Remus convinced her the kids would be safe.
Settling in for sleep, Hermione curled into a little ball and fell into a dream she did not enjoy. It was the first time she’d had a nightmare in weeks, and she wasn’t happy when she woke up the next morning, especially when she caught snatches of her dream and realized it mostly contained a portrait of Sirius running away from her outstretched arms.
The next morning, Molly woke everyone up at an obscenely early hour that had Ron and Harry grumbling under their breath when they arrived to breakfast. The group ate quickly, ignoring the comments of the twins, who had arrived in time to eat and were now poking fun at the students still stuck at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron tried, in vain, to annoy the twins by making fun of them for never finishing school, but it was a long shot as the twins’ business had grown rapidly. They were now successful with their Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, and they planned to open a shop in Hogsmeade sometime in the next school year.
The entire group set off from the floo early in the morning as well. After breakfast, Molly rushed everyone to get ready and hurry downstairs. She seemed particularly nervous about something or other, but when they tried to question her about it, she brushed it off with an airy, high-pitched laugh. Finally they trumped to the fireplace and each took a bit of floo powder.
With calls of “Diagon Alley!” and a bright flash of green light, Ron, Harry, Molly, Ginny, Fred, George, Remus, and Tonks all disappeared into the flames, leaving Hermione standing at the last. Tossing her own handful of powder into the flames, she opened her mouth and called “Dia-diachoo-alley!” having breathed in a particularly nasty bit of ash knocked up from the use of the fireplace. She had already stepped inside before realizing her mistake and was whirled away immediately.
She landed with a bang inside a particularly dark fireplace and slammed against the back wall painfully. Holding her head protectively, she chanced a glance out into the dark room before her. Hermione’s heart froze in her chest as she glimpsed ancient pieces of armor, swords, various shelves of filmy-looking liquids, and other items she was sure were not good. Crawling out of the fireplace, she wondered vaguely where she had landed and looked back at it, only to notice the hearth was littered with various items.
Staring at one, she began to recall something she’d heard. It was a withered, skeletal hand seemingly attached to a small plaque. Hermione moved to get a better view of the plaque and noticed the words written on it: Hand of Glory. Her heart beat faster in her chest as she remembered a story Harry had told her back in second year of visiting a store in Knockturn Alley where he encountered this very item!
So, she was in Knockturn Alley. Hermione mentally mapped the area and began naming all the shops that were located on her map of magical London. Thinking hard she finally came up with the name Borgin and Burkes. She must have landed in the shop’s fireplace.
Realizing that no one seemed to have noticed her entrance, she began to look around for the door, hoping to catch up to the others before they began to worry. A tinkling noise somewhere in front of her alerted her that someone had entered the shop and was now between her and the door.
“Ah, young Mr. Malfoy,” she heard a grizzled voice say, seeming extremely patronizing to her ears. “What can I do for you today?”
Hermione connected the name with the person a second before she heard Draco ask, “What can you tell me about Vanishing Cabinets, Mr. Borgin?”
She crept to the doorway in front of her and glanced inside to see Draco standing before a greasy-haired older man with a pince-nez. She caught sight of the door behind Draco and silently cursed her bad luck. Hunkering down behind a particularly large shield, she listened to the conversation going on.
“Vanishing Cabinets, Mr. Malfoy?” The grizzled voice asked suspiciously, and Hermione’s brain began to work in overtime, trying to recall what she’d heard or read about them. “They are generally large cabinets colored black and gold, and if I recall correctly, they come in pairs. You use them to transport things or people from one location to another. Were you looking to purchase one?” The shrewd eyes of the store keeper watched Malfoy carefully, waiting for any clue to his questions.
“Actually, I’m looking to repair one,” Draco drawled, sneeringly. Hermione thought about that for a moment and then listened again. “What do you know about repairing them, Mr. Borgin?”
“It’s not a simple thing, actually,” the man answered immediately. “You need to know how the cabinet was damaged in the first place and know the condition of its twin in order to assess the right means of fixing it. If, for example, one cabinet is broken and the other is just fine, it is enough to restore the cabinet, depending on how it was broken, with a simple charm. However, if both are broken, it is usually impossible to fix either of them. I have a book on the subject if you’d like...” Rummaging in a nearby bookshelf, Hermione poked her head out from behind the shield and saw the man reaching towards a nasty-looking book, mangled and dusty. He yanked it out and offered it to the younger man.
Hermione watched Draco take the book with a grimace. It truly was a disgusting piece of work, and then he tried to flip a few pages but found he could not. Looking up at Mr. Borgin in exasperation, he said, “Locking charm? Really, Mr. Borgin, that’s not necessary. Whatever it costs, you can put it on my father’s account. I can assure you he won’t mind.”
The man gave him a lingering glance before pulling out a record book from below the counter. Opening it, he noted the title of the book, the price, and the account number to be deducted. It magically noted the amount and was charmed to alert Gringotts Bank to the charge, which would be deducted from the Malfoy account and credited to the store’s.
Draco nodded pleasantly to the man, smirking a bit as he exited the shop. Hermione nearly groaned when she heard the tinkling of bells from the doorway. She’d have to rush if she wanted to get out of there before Mr. Borgin found her. Glancing at the man, she waited for him to move out of the way, but when he began to walk, she realized he was coming directly towards her.
Hermione crept out from behind the shield of armor, careful not to disturb anything in her path and half-crawled around a table covered with all sorts of interesting artifacts. Mr. Borgin continued his path to the door she’d come through, not noticing the girl to his right, moving swiftly around the table, step for step as he took them. She hit the opposite side of the table and crouched down as he made the doorway and turned, surveying the room once more before muttering to himself and stalking off into the other room. Listening hard, she heard the footsteps recede and then made her way to the door quickly, cracking it and rushing through it when the bells chimed.
Looking both ways, she recognized the street to the right had to be the way to Diagon Alley and quickly walked that way, ignoring calls from street vendors wanting to sell her horned-newt eggs and blast-ended skrewt pellets. When she made her way into Diagon Alley, Hermione finally sighed to herself in relief, vowing never to step into a fireplace and floo after sneezing again. Now to find the Weasleys, Harry, Tonks, and Remus.