Harry Potter and The Gilded Portrait
Standard Disclaimers Apply
Chapter Eight - Alternatives
That was the thing about sleepy little Muggle villages. Once the witching hour was upon them one could always count on Muggles shuttering themselves up in their comfy little homes safe from the darkness outside their doors and the unknown things that prowled outside their windows…
If they only knew…
The dark figure stayed well into the shadows of some medium sized fir trees that grew between two quaint three-story stone walk-ups off the avenue that ran through the center of the town.
She watched as a Constable made his way up the sidewalk on the other side of the street, whistling softly, wholly unconcerned and oblivious to the deceptively quiet of the night.
A thin fog hung lightly in the air as a misty rain swirled in the chilly gentle breeze as it meandered down the lane.
She wasn't concerned about detection due to the industrial strength glamour she had placed on herself before aparating to this place but there was no sense in being careless.
One thing the mysterious figure was certain of…she didn't want to be here.
In fact, she had made it a point to stay very far away from any place associated with him.
The risks were simply too great and the possibility of being associated with him in any way was to jeopardize one of her most cherished assets…complete anonymity.
Anger roiled inside her at the thought she was now forced to do just that but she realized without hesitation what must be done could not be left to anyone else.
She caught herself muttering epithets under her breath. She chastised herself for letting her self control slip.
Oh for the love of…The idiots have me muttering to myself like a doddering old fool!
In the past these tasks were left to lackeys to perform, those who were weak of mind and easily controllable. Those like that pathetic boot-licking Peter Pettigrew.
But as she moved from the shadows and proceeded down the street in the opposite direction of the Constable she remembered how unreliable even those who professed unwavering allegiance could be. In the end Peter Pettigrew betrayed them. Peter had kept secrets of his own.
She had been the one to recruit Peter for the cause all those years before and had convinced him to use the man. She had been the one to convince the sniveling rat to betray the Potters by planting fantasies of glory in his mind. It was simple to bend him to her will but as those memories filled her mind she realized she had been careless. She had counted on his weakness as an asset and completely neglected to realize weakness could work both ways, a terrible miscalculation on her part and one which she had no intention of repeating.
Even staunch supporters of the cause like the Malfoy's had wavered in their forbearance. That would never happen again!
It was why she found herself in this place, heading to the deserted and decaying house on the hill.
It was why she risked exposing herself against her own better judgment, a sound judgment that had kept her alive and undetected for centuries.
Now, after the events of the past several weeks and the complete lack of patience and common sense on his part she was forced to put into motion an alternative plan.
It was something that had occurred to her shortly after she had received word of his unfathomable incompetence.
I swear I don't know why I bother. He's shown his failures and weaknesses far too often to garner any confidence in his ability to control even himself, let alone anything else…
But even as her reservations plagued her she knew she still needed him. If for nothing more than the fear he instilled on the world around him by the mere mention of his name.
She had invested too much time, knowledge and energy into letting it all be thrown asunder but if there was to be success this time she would have to be in complete control. There would be no loose ends to fret over. No weak links in the chain. The new chain would consist of a link of only one... Hers!
The path that led to the dark and foreboding manor house was overgrown with weeds and brambles that snagged at her cloak as she swept her way through. She was much too irritated to care.
The previously grand entrance looked menacing and dangerous now. The wood that made up the wide front steps sagged and appeared rotted beyond use.
All the first floor windows and doors had been boarded up years before and most of the second story windows had been broken out by vandals or curious wildlife. She was aware of the servant's entrance around the back of the large, multi-story house so she picked her way through the waste high growth to the rear.
In the darkness of the overcast night she found there was just enough light to make out the small, nondescript wooden door. She moved forward startling a bevy of Black Grouse nested along side the path. She froze for a moment waiting for the birds to scatter, listening intently for any other sounds coming out of the darkness.
Behind and to her left she heard the faint rustle of something moving in the tall, wild grass. She spun, wand at the ready but realized it was only a small grey fox. The animal shot her a disdainful look as if to tell her she had just ruined his possible supper for that evening, then turned and bolted into the darkness.
She couldn't help but smirk.
When she finally made the door she fished around inside her cloak and produced a key.
Discovering where the key was had been a simple task. It was nothing more complicated than asking him where it was kept. Finding it, on the other hand, had been much more laborious. He had entrusted the key to his family's estate to none other than that conniving Severus Snape.
It took her the better part of a day to find it in Snape's home in Spinner's End. Breaking down his wards and charms was simple due to his demise but he had been very clever about his hiding places.
She finally discovered it suspended in an apothecary of Essence of Mertlap in his potions making traveling kit he used to take to Hogwarts with him when he taught.
She had to give the man credit for his intelligence and ingenuity. He had fooled them all into believing his dedication to the cause only to discover he was working against them the whole time. She realized he had been very much like her in many respects and that was difficult for her to admit.
She had discovered the many secrets this old abandoned house contained. She had discovered the truth when she had seduced Snape. He had been an intriguing and capable lover but she was only after information and this was what little he allowed himself to divulge. She wasn't sure if it was a calculated maneuver on his part or that he was simply a master at Occlumency.
As she slid the key into the door and unlocked it, she decided at this point none of that mattered any longer. What mattered now was waiting inside this dreary and desolate place somewhere below her in the vast damp darkness of the basement.
Once inside she closed and locked the door behind her, pocketed the key and cast a dim red lumos so she could make her way through the dark manor. She dare not shed more light then necessary for fear of detection from outside.
The property was well away from other inhabited structures but she knew very well the place could still be monitored but the Ministry. She had detected no charms, enchantments or alarm spells upon her approach but it still paid to be thorough.
The one thing she could count on from the Ministry of Magic was when they solved a problem their attention was quickly diverted to the next order of business. With the Minister's office, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and many of the other smaller Ministry offices in total disarray it was the perfect opportunity to put her plans into motion.
That was one of the scant few things he had actually done right!
Officials were presently looking the other way but she knew it wouldn't last long. They were nothing if not diligent and resourceful in their efforts to right their own ship.
When news reached her ears Harry Potter was being recruited by the new acting director of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement she knew it was a major cause for concern. That potential threat would not manifest itself for many months or even years but it was still something to keep a weathered eye out for.
It was also going to make implementing part of her plan a bit more difficult but she had contingencies in place for just such unforeseen circumstances.
The Ministry weren't the only ones diligent and resourceful.
As she made her way through what used to be a grand kitchen she stole to the far side of the room to a small door tucked into the corner of a niche. When she tried to open it, the door was suck fast, swollen by weather and age.
Bugger!
She was hoping not to have to use any major magic while she was on the premises but it seemed unavoidable.
With a swish of her wand and a muttered shrinking spell the door opened with a shriek of its rusty hinges that seemed to echo through the whole house.
Oh for Merlin's sake! Why don't you just dance naked on the roof singing Celestina Warbeck tunes at the top of your bloody lungs while shooting fireworks out of your arse!
She stood motionless for a long moment listening intently. Nothing could be heard but the rats scurrying in the walls. At the moment rats were the least of her worries.
Inspecting the steps that led to the basement level she discovered they were passable for the most part. Irregardless, she took her time and care descending into the utter blackness below.
The floor of the basement was lined with flagstones and the walls were mortar and brick. The smell of mold and decay assaulted her nostrils as she looked around the space.
She decided it was safe to cast a more powerful lumos considering she was now underground with no windows or doors to show light.
There was a single narrow hallway that seemed to run the length of the house in both directions with doors set into the walls every so often on both sides of the hall.
While she was certain what she was looking for was here she wasn't certain which small chamber it would be in and searching them all would take time…much more time than she wanted to spend there.
With an exasperated sigh she moved off to the left and went to the last door at the end of the hall. She figured she would start her search backward and might get lucky.
After all, what you're searching for is usually in the last place you look!
She wrenched the small white paint-peeling door open and peered about the small room. It wasn't much larger than a cupboard. This room contained stacks of rotting and molding books, papers and what appeared to be boxes of files.
The next room contained much the same. The third contained a few small pieces of furniture, lamps, odds and ends and an old bicycle. It was the kind that had the huge front wheel and the tiny rear one where the rider sat on what looked like a small wooden seat atop the large wheel. She had no idea how anyone could actually ride the silly looking thing without the use of magic.
And I thought brooms were dangerous!
The fourth and final room on the left side of the hall was quite a bit larger than the others and contained what appeared to be a vast majority of the furniture from the den and living room. She stepped inside and paid particular attention for…
Ah…There we are!
Portraits and paintings!
Several of them, all stacked neatly on a pallet and covered with what looked like an old canvas tarp.
She lifted the tarp with her wand carefully so as not to stir too much dust. When she had the tarp safely out of the way she approached the stack of frames. There were about a dozen all of different sizes. Thin slats of wood separated each frame from the other so as not to damage any of the canvases.
Someone certainly took great care when they stored these! And she thanked the Gods they did.
Laying her glowing wand on a nearby table she gently lifted the first frame off the stack. It was a scene of what appeared to be a rustic Italian village…or something like that. She could tell instantly it was a Muggle painting because there was no movement.
It was obvious the house would possess this type of art. His father and grandparents were Muggles after all but the portrait she sought was one of the very few…if only magical paintings that would have resided within these walls.
She knew it had been done at the request of his grandmother. The portrait had been commissioned just after his graduation and he had hated it. It was bad enough he had to endure the constant attention of his doting fool of a Muggle relative but sitting for a portrait was almost too much for him to bear. A compromise was made and his request it be done by a wizard artist was granted by his grandfather if only to keep the peace.
Besides, somewhere in that twisted mind of his he had actually envisioned his portrait hanging one day in the hallowed halls of his beloved educational institution.
The old woman had been the snobbish aristocratic type and fought to bring her strange grandson in line with the conventional ideology of the rest of the stodgy family, wealth and power were the orders of the day.
There are those who thought she had succeeded but not quite in the way the old Matriarch had hoped.
As she worked through the stack of antique and ornate frames it was becoming clearer the closer she got to the bottom the one painting she was searching for was not among them.
As she turned over the last frame on the bottom she saw a portrait of a boy standing dressed in fancy blue satin togs. It was a hideous portrait. The brass plaque on the bottom of the frame read; Thomas Gainsborough; The Blue Boy, 1770.
She made a face at the painting that suggested the thing smelled bad and laid it back on the pallet. She then grabbed her wand and with a swish the rest of the art returned to its original place, then she levitated the tarp back over the pile.
Why isn't it here? One would think all the artwork would have been stored together.
She resigned herself to keep looking. On and on she went through the storage rooms until at last she came to the door of the final room. Exasperated at the amount of time she was spending in this place she snatched the door open with her wand this time.
Stepping inside the room she saw the usual furniture, piles of linens, lamps and a collection of other such household items. This storage space seemed to contain what looked like the contents of the master's chambers. A huge, ornately carved wood headboard leaned against the back wall.
As she picked her way through all the effects she did not see what would appear to be a portrait. Discouraged at the thought of having to go back through all the rooms again or search the rest of the derelict old house she sat on the dusty corner of a red velvet settee half covered by a sheet.
As she sat there miserably deciding where to go next she laid her wand across her lap and put her hands to her face. When she slid them down, tugging at her cheeks making them sag slightly a glint of gold color caught her eye from near the floor behind the massive headboard against the back wall.
What's this then?
With as much care as she could she levitated the headboard as high as it would go. The wood made a dull thump as it bumped against the low ceiling.
There, leaning against the wall, almost covered completely by what looked to be a hand-made quilt was a piece of artwork. The only visible part of it was the two bottom corners of its ornate gold frame. The front of the painting was turned toward the wall. It was about three or four meters square in size.
With her free hand she gripped the top of the frame and hauled it out from behind the headboard then slowly lowered the huge piece of furniture back in place.
Her breath caught in her throat for a moment but then an amusing thought struck her.
Always in the last bloody place you look!
She carried the painting over to the settee she had sat on and leaned it against the back. Slowly she lifted the quilt to expose the canvas beneath.
As the picture came into view a wide smile played across her face as she recognized the subject immediately.
The figure in the painting blinked a few times then, peering out of the canvas, sneered at the woman's grinning face.
"It's about bloody time someone decided to come and find me!"
"You, young man, are fortunate enough I even bothered," the witch shot back gruffly.
"Yes…yes, whatever," the figure in the portrait waved a casual hand at the woman, "now be a good girl and get me out of here!"
The look the figure projected could only be described as careless boredom as he sat back on his chair.
The mysterious dark witch took in the whole of the portrait for a moment as her mind filled with indignant rage and her vision suddenly turned red with seething anger.
A teenaged Tom Riddle sat quite casually on a stiff, high-backed gilded chair that put one in mind of what a medieval throne may have looked like, its cushions covered in a gaudy red velvet.
One leg thrown over the other and arms crossed his visage projected an air of supreme arrogance and superiority.
She wanted to reach into the painting and smack the smug look right off his unquestionably handsome face.
She lunged forward with her wand a scant millimeter away from the canvas spitting angry red sparks from the tip.
Tom Riddle's image reared as far back as the chair would allow keeping his wide eyes on the tip of the wand.
"Now you listen to me you pathetic excuse for a sorcerer!" The witch spit with all the venom she could muster, "It's your blundering and continued ineptitude that has brought me here in search of your smarmy little picture! If you possess even a smattering of useful common sense you will keep your repulsive mouth shut and do exactly like I command or I swear I'll torch this little painting of yours and send you on to the next great adventure without so much as a twinge of regret…am I making myself clear or would you prefer that I etch it into the canvas above your oil painted head so you don't have the misfortune of relapsing into stupidity?"
Tom Riddle's image blinked rapidly at the dangerous, glaring eyes of the woman before him then settled back in his chair, arms folded tightly at his chest.
"I suppose I'm at the mercy and whims of whomever possess this painting so…" He held out a hand toward her wearily this time, "I'm yours to command." As he said it his face pursed as if he had just tasted something dreadful.
"Argh!" The woman slung the quilt back over the portrait with a flick of her wand. She repeatedly reminded herself this was a necessary evil so as not to incinerate the thing. With another wave of her wand she reduced the portrait to a size small enough to fit in the pocket of her cloak and slid it safely inside.
"Now, we will be traveling shortly," she said to the empty room but she knew he could hear her voice, "so do remain silent until I say otherwise."
"As you wish oh perpetual queen of the shadows…" She heard his miniaturized voice exclaim.
Gods! I should have just switched sides centuries ago!
With that sarcastic declaration she could almost feel the bones of her Great Grandfather tossing about in his grave.
After making certain she removed all traces of her presence at the old Riddle Manor she apparated to the room she was keeping at the Leaky Cauldron.
Now that the first phase of her plan was complete it was time to implement the next. She needed to prepare for her up-coming interview with a very important and clever witch. She would have to be on top of her game if she was to succeed in her endeavor.
It had been quite simple to produce the necessary documentation and credentials to pass even the most in-depth inquiries into her past and she had spent years perfecting her skills and knowledge necessary to acquire the position she sought. It wasn't that she had a desire to hold such a position in the past, it was as a result of his failures that required her to do so now.
But to fool her interviewer was going to take some very prodigious skill. She could ill afford to make any mistakes.
-->