Chapter 38: The Owl Portrait
After three o'clock on Friday afternoon, a languid weekend atmosphere settled over Hogwarts. For the younger students, Friday held a special kind of joy, even more potent than Saturday or Sunday, because it was the one day they could guiltlessly shove their homework aside and indulge in some well-deserved leisure.
Droplets of water still clung to the hem of Sean's robes from the freshly rained-upon grounds as he walked back from the greenhouses. Professor Sprout had informed him that Professor Snape would be occupied brewing his own potions for the next two days. Sean's plan to practice Potion-making, therefore, had to be temporarily shelved. Armed with the newfound knowledge gleaned from Libatius Borage, he felt like he was sitting on a mountain of gold he couldn't spend.
Fortunately, he still needed to master the modified incantations and gestures Borage had described. He decided to head to the hidden room to practice them until they were second nature, while also grinding his Charms proficiency.
"Off with your head!"
"Noooooo!"
The childish shouts from the lawn below held a comical contrast to their grim content. Sean glanced down and saw a group of first-years playing Hangman. Nearby, the sharp crack of exploding cards punctuated the air – Exploding Snap. Two boys nearby already had singed eyebrows.
Wizarding entertainment, Sean reflected, was surprisingly varied. It wasn't just Quidditch, Wizard's Chess, and Gobstones. Michael, in just five days, had already tried his hand at over a dozen bizarre games, which was probably why he was currently stuck in the library, desperately trying to catch up on his essays. Sean wouldn't mind so much if Michael didn't return to the dormitory every night wailing, "Sean, save me!" before burying his nose in Sean's notes.
Sean fingered the elegantly wrapped Fizzing Whizzbee in his pocket. The image of Bruce being led away like a parade balloon by Leon was still fresh in his mind. He'd noticed how Pister had mischievously popped another sweet into Bruce's mouth just as he was about to float back down. Pister had then pressed the rest of the bag into Sean's hands with a beaming smile.
"Hufflepuff's motto," Bruce had howled as he drifted away, "is—to—shaaaaare!"
The afternoon sun, like melted honey, bathed the ancient stones of Hogwarts, warming the cold rock. Tower spires etched golden silhouettes against the blue sky, and owls hooted softly as they swooped past. The wind ruffled Sean's hair. A hawk cried sharply from high above. And stumbling across the lawn towards him, waving enthusiastically, was Justin.
"Sean!"
Beside him, Hermione puffed out her cheeks in exasperation. The wind caught the pages of the dark green, dragon-emblazoned book in her hands – Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
"My mother says nature heals all children," Justin said quietly as he reached Sean. "Sunlight, the lake, the breeze, the grass… although Hermione doesn't seem to think any of it compares to Fantastic Beasts." He grinned. "She's right, though. It's a fascinating book."
Magical creatures? Sean thought. Yes, fascinating indeed.
Justin pointed to a page. Sean leaned over to read:
I refute utterly the Carrow-minded falsehoods that Miss Rita Skeeter has written in her purported biography of me. Let me state simply that I was never the 'cad who abandoned a broken-hearted Seraphina Picquery,' but that the President herself made it clear that if I did not leave New York voluntarily and speedily, she would take drastic measures to eject me.
Sean was momentarily speechless. Gossip, it seemed, transcended the boundary between the magical and Muggle worlds.
"And look at this—"
The Billywig is an insect native to Australia… Those stung by a Billywig suffer giddiness followed by levitation. Generations of young Australian witches and wizards have attempted to catch Billywigs and provoke them into stinging in order to enjoy these side effects.
"Wizards can be quite mad sometimes, can't they?" Justin said, shrugging. "What do you think, Hermione?"
"Absolutely," Hermione agreed, closing her book with a snap. "I read somewhere that some wizard even managed to use its sting essence to create Fizzing Whizzbees."
Before she had even finished speaking, Sean silently placed a Fizzing Whizzbee into each of their outstretched hands.
"Delicious," he stated seriously.
Hermione and Justin stared at the sweets, then at each other, wide-eyed.
"Floating is quite nice, actually," Justin mused as they walked, the effects of the sweet having worn off minutes ago. "Anyway, remember? Hermione and I asked Professor Flitwick about using that classroom."
"He agreed immediately," Hermione picked up the story as they waited for the staircase. "But he said… what was it he said?" Justin trailed off, though the mischievous glint in his eye suggested he remembered perfectly well.
"Honestly…" Hermione sighed. "He said, 'Of course, my dears, but only if the owl portrait agrees to let you in.'" She explained further, "Professor Flitwick told us that back in the tenth century, Hogwarts was the only magical school in Europe, so it took in students from all over. When other schools were founded later, many families chose ones closer to home, leaving Hogwarts with lots of empty classrooms. Most of them have been magically sealed off, but not that one, because…"
"Because of a particularly stubborn owl portrait that even the professors can rarely get past," Justin finished with a grin, looking far prouder than Sean felt he had any right to be.
Hermione shot him another exasperated look.
With a familiar rumble and Justin's three sharp knocks, the yellowed, cracked painting reappeared. The snowy owl, perpetually struggling with its spectacles and parchment, twisted its neck.
"What are you staring at? An owl is still an eagle!" it shrieked. "And no laughing! I have a truly difficult question for you today! One that even the cleverest little wizard couldn't possibly answer!" it added maliciously.
Justin's face fell. He thought for a moment, then hesitantly offered the owl a Sugar Quill, the top shaped like a tiny owl feather.
"Is that… is that an owl feather?!" the painted owl screeched. "Albeit a carved one!"
"Oh!" Justin yelped, snatching the quill back as Hermione burst out laughing. He fumbled, trying to hide the quill behind his back, and accidentally shoved it into Sean's hands.
"Do… do owl portraits eat mice, Mr. Owl?" Justin stammered, pulling out a squeaking Sugar Mouse as a last resort.
"Wizards! Foolish little wizards! I'm a painting!" the owl shrieked, flapping its wings furiously, parchment rustling, thoroughly enraged.
Hermione was shaking with laughter.
"Huh?!" Justin looked utterly defeated. "Where am I supposed to find a painting of a mouse?!"