Daphne climbed the grand staircase looking for what would hopefully be the next puzzle piece in Harry's plans. She'd found and checked out a book from the library on the castle's paintings and quickly identified what she was looking for. Now she just had to find it.
She arrived at the fifth floor corridor, turned down a side passageway, ducked under a tapestry, walked up another corridor, stopped at a particularly large suit of armour, turned around in a circle three times while humming, then walked back the way she came to find a completely different tapestry and a completely different corridor.
Now, if she was right, it should be right around here. She stopped and let out a satisfied breath.
"Good day there, Young Miss." The portrait of an older man sat at a small round table, cluttered with crystal balls, rods, and other divination paraphernalia. "And how might this old wizard help such a pretty young thing as yourself?"
Daphne controlled her combined flush of embarrassment and annoyance. She opened her mouth, but the self proclaimed old wizard beat her to it.
"-I hope you haven't tracked me down just to try to wheedle the lost secrets of divination from me."
Daphne shut her mouth.
"You wouldn't be the first, you know. Every decade or so, someone new tries." The portrait eyed the book she carried. "But you're a bit young for that, so maybe you're just an appreciator of fine art, eh?"
Daphne opened her mouth again. "You say they try? Why doesn't it work?"
The portrait sighed. "Because I can't. Yes, I have the knowledge, but I was bound never to speak them - just like every other portrait you'll find. All portraits are connected a little bit, you know - least the ones in Britain are. It's part of the Albion Family Magics."
Daphne's eyes widened. "Someone cast a spell that affected all the portraits in Britain? Who could possibly do something like that?"
The portrait looked back at her. "Why, the Wizengamot, of course."
Daphne groaned. Of course. The Wizengamot did have a small amount of control over the Albion magics.
"Now, was that all you visited me for?" the portrait asked, waggling its eyebrows. "Or did such a pretty witch have something else in mind?"
Daphne blanched, turned, and stalked away without a backwards glance. At least she now knew why this portrait was so well hidden.
...
On the other side of the castle, Hermione waited awkwardly outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. This wasn't exactly Slytherin home turf and the looks from passing Gryffindors were decidedly hostile. It was probably only the presence of a yellow and black Hufflepuff tie on Justin's very obviously muggleborn school uniform, looking so different from her own traditional styled robes, that stopped glares turning into something more confrontational.
Eventually, the portrait swung open.
"Hi, Dean."
Dean Thomas looked surprised. "Hey, Hermione, long time no talky. So you're the snake that wants to see me?"
"Well, me and Justin here." She gestured towards the Hufflepuff.
The two boys exchanged introductions.
Dean leaned against the wall. "So, what's up?"
Justin stepped forward. "Malfoy was trying to pull some stunt with me earlier and I nearly fell for it. Me and Hermione are putting together a group to teach all us who are new to this world how it works so we don't get trapped by people like Malfoy."
The dark skinned boy chewed his lip. "Doesn't sound like a bad idea, although I'll need to be careful. No offence, Hermione, but Slytherins aren't exactly liked in Gryffindor."
Hermione waved it away.
Justin nodded. "So you're in."
Dean nodded back. "Sure, just don't tell any of my classmates, especially not John Potter. He leads the Slytherins-aren't-to-be-trusted brigade." He kicked off the wall and turned to Hermione. "I really don't want to know what he'd do if he found out."
...
John Potter lounged in the middle of the Gryffindor common room's largest sofa, Lily Moon, on one side, Fay Dunbar and Lavender Brown on the other. Across from him sat Ron, Parvati, Neville, and Sally-Anne. John was buried, nose-deep, in an advanced defence against the dark arts book, only occasionally looking up to way-in as the discussion bobbed and flowed from school work to holidays to quidditch and duelling.
The portal opened and Dean stepped back in.
John frowned. It didn't look like there'd been trouble.
The boy passed halfway between the portrait and John's sofa.
"Hey, Dean!" he called out. "Who was the snake, then? Need any help with anything?"
Dean got to the couch and shrugged. "Nah. Yeah there was a snake, but it was mostly about the puff with her. A homework help thing I'd agreed to. You know, gotta help the puffs out, right?" He grinned, exchanged a few more pleasantries, and left, heading for the spiral staircase to the boys first-years dormitory.
John glanced behind him to see Dean vanish from sight. He turned back to his book, eyebrows furrowed. Something about that conversation seemed off, although he couldn't put his finger on what. The last time that happened he'd almost missed the troll and he couldn't afford any more near misses like that . He'd better keep his eyes and ears open. Especially with the first quidditch match this weekend and the Gryffindor duelling tryouts the day after tomorrow.
He put his book back down and stared into space.
Of course, the Slytherin tryouts should be happening today, shouldn't they? Who competed last time? Nott wasn't it? But Harry beat Greengrass in defence, and his draw wasn't bad at all.
His face hardened. If Harry somehow slithered his way onto the duelling team, he'd annihilate the bastard.
...
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