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1
Ariana has memories of her life before. But the portrait world is her life now.
Ariana learns that the magic of her world is from memory, painting, specific enchantment, and the essence of existence itself—a delicate balance between being and the representation of being. "The portraits are imprints of those who were alive, their world merely a reflection," There are whispers she hears in passing that she isn’t ‘really’ Ariana. There is no magic that can create life. This notion echoed in her mind, but to Ariana, this existence was as real as it could be for her.
In her belief, she is, for all purposes, alive.
In the portrait world, Ariana exists; she learns, mimics, and expands her understanding of what the world should look like. However, there is also a side that the ‘real’ people cannot see or understand. The side that blends paint, the black void that has yet to be formed– waiting for an artist to continue it. She has difficulty asking and questioning it because her former self was selectively mute, and she is compelled by enchantments and memory to follow.
Aberforth was the one who had her commissioned. She remembers the first time she was ‘awake’ and Aberforth’s first teary words to her: “I missed you.” It took her a while to process what he wanted her to respond– from memory, whenever he gave her something close to affection, she would pull her lips upwards and tilt her head slightly.
Aberforth gave a relieved chuckle, caressing her frame. She felt his magic, his happiness, and it made her portrait self motivated to do it again.
“Ariana.” He murmured.
Her brother spoke to her a lot. She was the one he confided in about his troubles and woes. She knew only to respond with what she was given.
Still, she grew, her responses expanding. It relied a lot on what Aberforth was feeding her, Aberforth's perceptions and the memories he chose to share with her. Each conversation, each shared moment, allowed her to expand her world, bridging the gap between the static existence of a portrait and the dynamic flow of living memory.
Her portrait has a room of small comforts she is used to. She is dressed in a beautiful blue frock. There is a bench, a swing for her to play on, and a large garden of vines and flowers behind her. Above her, the sky is always blue and clear, never a bad weather day.
She spends her day cleaning her portrait of stray leaves, playing with her accessories and toys, sometimes playing dress up, and talking to her brother. Albus still has a hard time looking at her in the eye. He’s visited a few times but he’s never said anything.
She has her favourite clothed doll, just as her mother stitched it for her, and she fiddles with it on her lap, arranging its pink frock when Aberforth enters.
“A quiet night, thank Merlin,” he gruffed; he brought his plate of food and sat on his table facing her.
Outside her portrait, she examines his dingy wooden room. The window reveals the creeping hint of dawn. Aberforth's eyes are sunken and tired, and he has a dirty towel on his shoulders. He’s grown to have a large stocky build, wearing rugged clothes. His face is weathered, marked by the passage of time and the menial work he does (better with my hands than wand waving), with deep-set blue eyes that mirror those of his brother, albeit with a harder, more cynical light. Aberforth prefers simplicity, with unkempt hair and a beard that suggests a man less concerned with appearances and more with practicalities.
He’s just closed his pub and is ready for his sleep. He always has dinner with Ariana before he retires.
“How was your day, Ari?”
Ariana shows him her doll, and he grins.
“You finally got the bow for little lamb, eh?”
As years passed, Abeforth spoke less, but he was always to bring a small smile to Ariana’s forever-frozen young face. He ate simple mash and leftover chicken. He talked about the funny patrons and the jokes he overheard, and Ariana clapped and twirled in his frame for his amusement.
“Goodnight.” He bid her in the end. Ariana waves at him and watches him retire to his room.
Aberforth used to talk to her about Hogsmeade and Hogwarts.
An enchantment in built-in Ariana would warn her not to leave her portrait. Outside the world that Aberforth fed her, it was a world of paint that would mesh and evolve into multiple worlds of portraits. Aberforth always said if she could go to Hogwarts, she would have been a Gryffindor, brave. Naturally, Ariana took that as permission for her to walk and explore the world beyond her portrait.
When portrait people moved into other portraits, it was usually very dangerous. Their existence relied on their portraits' enchantments, and leaving it could risk dissolving into paint goob. In the mixture of bleak colours, a portrait could be lost– but Ariana couldn’t explain why her portrait felt a strong connection deep within her that helped her wade through the colour. That was how she successfully first stumbled upon her first Hogwarts portrait.
The first portrait was of Hogwarts in its entirety, Ariana would sit and admire it for hours– the colour of the grass, the way the artist drew the sky, the castle. Ariana has memories from Aberforth, but it was a new experience to see them with her drawn eyes.
Then she found another framed portrait and met a portrait person like herself.
This was different than Aberforth. Who had been her companion and her reliance on information about the world for years. The other portrait people also had memories of their counterparts and were rich with magic by other artists.
Ariana was drunk on new knowledge and new sensations of magic. In its own unique way, it felt profoundly real. It was difficult to explain to Aberforth, and no one in the ‘real world’ had caught on to what was happening, but Ariana has been addicted to exploring and visiting other portraits ever since.
Today was no exception.
Ariana began her journey when she knew for sure Aberforth was properly resting. The winds rustle, and Ariana watches the clouds in her portrait drift by before she skips towards the slithered section of the vines of her garden. Each portrait was a window to another world, a slice of reality captured in oil and magic, and as she passed through them, she saw many scenes.
First, she stepped into a meadow at dawn, the air fresh with the scent of dew on the grass. The meadow was awash in the golden light of the rising sun, illuminating the wildflowers that danced in the gentle morning breeze. Ariana paused to watch, her eyes reflecting the colours that bloomed around her.
Moving on, Ariana found herself beside a wide, open field where horses galloped freely. Their manes flowed like liquid night against the backdrop of the bright day, muscles rippling beneath glossy coats as they ran. She waved at them with a joyous heart, feeling the thunder of their hooves in her chest as if it echoed her own untamed spirit.
The next frame, she lifted her arms and allowed the wind to carry her above the vast ocean. She was ‘flying’. The sun glinted off the waves, turning the sea into a shimmering expanse of liquid silver and deep blue. Ariana’s smile was wide, and there was a rush of air against her face. Seabirds and dolphins accompanied her.
Finally, Ariana's journey led her to a quaint garden, a serene haven tucked away in a secret vine fence of its own. Here, other portrait people who had pulled her into their fold gathered around wrought-iron tables, sipping tea and engaging in quiet conversation. The garden was a riot of colour, with flower beds and hanging baskets overflowing with blooms of every hue.
“Oh Ari, love you’re here. Come there; your favourite blueberry scones are there.” The Fat Lady beckoned at her. Her flower crown crooked on her head. “You know I can’t be long. The hellish Gryffindors just can't sit still in their dorms. It’s almost breakfast soon.”
Ariana’s eyes lit up, skipping happily to the group, her friends.
Anna Boleyn lifted her hand in a delicate wave, her ruff following the tilt of her head. Beside her, Barnabas the Barmy performed a ludicrous yet endearing jig with his trolls, pausing only to nod enthusiastically at Ariana's arrival.
Professor Basil adjusted his spectacles and offered a sage nod while Timothy the Timid peeked out from behind a large teapot, his eyes wide when she saw Ariana. Termeritus Shanks paused his animated recounting of a ghostly adventure to tip his hat in Ariana's direction, his spectral form flickering slightly.
Valeria Myriadd winked at her, her purple Hipogryff napping in the sun. Lastly, Ariana’s eyes fell on Damara Doderidge, her dark blue and golden crescent cloak spilling over her feet. The corners of her eyes crinkled in genuine affection as she gestured towards an empty chair.
Ariana sat, accepting a cup of tea poured from a porcelain teapot painted with delicate violets. Ariana felt a sense of belonging as she listened to the soft chatter around her.
Aberforth will always be her door, her reason for existence. But here…
She was home.
***
As Ariana delicately bit into her scone, the garden around her buzzed with the vibrant chatter of her portrait friends, each contributing their unique flavour to the day’s gossip.
"Oh, did you see the way those students sprinted from Professor McGonagall today?" Anna Boleyn exclaimed, waving her hand with a dramatic flair that only a former queen could muster. "As if the very hounds of hell were on their heels! Oh, and the way they panic when I change the staircase to stop them from running away."
“The poor firsties,” The Fat Lady said with a laugh. “I thought you love the occasional rebel?”
“Oh, but I love listening to our dear Mcgonaggal rant even more! She would have made a fine Queen of England, she would.”
Puffing on his painted pipe, Professor Basil added, "Indeed, today's youth seem to have more energy than sense. Although, not much has changed since my tenure. Children are still children. Although the hairstyle nowadays– all sorts of improper.”
“It’s the nineties, Basil,” The Fat Lady reprimanded. “Don’t need to remind us your time and the rigid moustaches and pointy hair.” The Fat Lady held her hands out to demonstrate and the group broke into raucous laughter.
Professor Basil’s long and thin moustache twitched, “It was proper,” he insists.
Timothy the Timid suddenly leaned forward to share in a scandalous whisper. "Nevermind the students, the most shocking gossip this week was catching Professor Sinistra and Professor Vector in a rather...compromised position."
“No!”
“Saw it with my own two eyes!” Timothy says, puffing his chest.
“How compromised?” Anna drawled, bored. “Filthy kiss?”
“There was some skin! Shoulders were exposed.”
“In the corridor?!”
“Night strolls can be ever so boring.” The Fat Lady says with a wink.
“But they have their private rooms!” Professor Basil says, outraged by the conduct of Hogwarts professors. “If a student caught them–”
“I think that’s the excitement, Basil.” Anne chimes in. “A little voyeurism to spice things up.”
They all gasped and giggled.
“Have anything from the Daily Prophet for us, Termeritus?” Fat Lady asks.
TemeritusShanks stroked his beard thoughtfully. He had a portrait in the Daily Prophet headquarters and always shared whatever he read with much enthusiasm "An upset at the Ministry again, you know how it has been now, with You-Know-Who’s confirmed to return–”
“And you were so quick to judge Dumbledore,” Professor Basil scoffs.
“There wasn’t any evidence! We aren’t all like you and can snoop on classified information and pretend to be bound by secrecy!” Temeritus tries to defend himself.
“I am bound to serve and keep the Headmaster’s secrets!”
Anne Boleyn waves impatiently to stop them from derailing the conversation. “Yes, yes, but what does the prophet have to say now?”
“Well, after the attack at the Department of Mysteries–”
Ariana was uninterested in hearing about politics. There was much she didn’t understand when preparing her third scone. The other portrait people added the next things they heard and saw. There was growing concern, but Ariana hoped it, like the previous crisis, would pass soon.
Valeria Myriad looks bored, too, and then whispers to Ariana, "I have more interesting news.”
“Oh, stop corrupting dear Ari with your Snape obsession, Val,” Anne chides.
“Corrupting? He’s always been among the most fetching of Professors.”
‘But there was that time– Gildery Lockheart.”
“Oh, but his portrait was a right git and you know it!’ Valerie sighs in her seat with a pout, “When will Professor Snape make his portrait? Imagine if Professor Snape joined our little gatherings,” Valerie started, her star circlet glistening in the light, her eyes dreamy, “I would love to ravish him.”
The men groaned and pleaded for Valerie to stop her obsessive Snape tirade. Valerie has been in love with the Professor ever since he started his teaching tenure. He needs a Gryffindor lover, she would repeat.
The group turned their attention to Ariana, "And what of the Hogs Head Inn, dear Ariana?" Damara Doderidge asked. "Any interesting suitors catch your eye? Aberforth must be relieved they aren’t pestering him about Dumbledore anymore."
Ariana paused, her expression thoughtful before miming a short man's stature and mannerisms. With a few exaggerated gestures with her hands, she depicted a lively poker game, her hands dramatically swooping to illustrate a loss and then mimicking tears of defeat.
"Flitwick!" they all guessed in unison, bursting into laughter at her spot-on impersonation.
Ariana nodded enthusiastically.
“The poor man still losing his bets?” Professor Basil asked.
Ariana nods, a little proud to contribute to the conversation.
“Better luck next time—oh what a bother—I think it’s already properly morning.” Anna peers from her portrait. “Well, see you a lot at the same time next week.”
They all agreed and dispersed with a hearty farewell.
***
In the portrait world, Ariana doesn't really care about time. Her days are punctuated with Abeforth coming up the stairs for dinner and then waiting seven times for him to do so before she leaves to meet her friends.
For the first fifty years since she was a portrait, it was always Abeforth and her. Abeforth carried her everywhere, and she saw him build and maintain his Inn. Complaining about irresponsible tenants and about women who didn’t understand him enough to stay with him.
Then, things were a bit settled, and Albus began visiting her. He looked different from Aberforth’s memories, but he had the same blue eyes behind moon glasses. He was in a dapper vested robe. Abeforth had said he was a teacher at Hogwarts. She could tell with one look that he was going through something very upsetting.
Aberforth had shared with her why Albus didn’t visit. Her passing was too painful for her. She felt sad even though she didn’t understand why.
“Hello, Ari.” was the first thing he said. She wasn’t sure how to respond; she hadn’t learned what Albus expected from her, so she replied how she did with Aberforth, with a smile. Instead of smiling in return, Albus’s eyes turned stormy. Replying with a fragile smile of his own.
Albus visited more. Her brothers sometimes got into arguments about “a war,” “blood promise,” and "deaths.” Ariana disliked the tension they brought and would knock on her portrait frame to get them to stop.
Abeforth left for a while with Albus “to settle something.” It was the first time Ariana had been left alone for a long time, and she felt completely lost and lonely, drifting alone in her portrait. When Abeforth returned, he brought Aurelias, his son, back. “He’s like you Ari,” he explained mournfully. Ariana didn’t understand what that meant but she accepted it and dutifully watched over Aurelias until he too passed. Abeforth cried for three days.
Sometimes, Ariana wonders if Abeforth cried when she passed. The concept of death was peculiar to her. She had heard about portraits dissolving into good, becoming nothing but a swirl of colours. She shudders, thinking about it.
For the next fifty years, their life was much more quiet, interspersed with a few shady people that Abeforth had to help subdue. Albus visited her some more, his beard and hair white, his smile less fragile, caressing her paint with his fingers.
There were mutterings about a Dark War rising. One worst than Grindelwald (Ariana still gulped upon hearing his name). Abeforth hosted a lot of Albus’s meetings with a variety of witches and wizards.
Ariana was worried, but she sat quietly in her portrait, a silent comfort.
There was a period of tranquillity, but lately, things seem to be returning to their grim ways. Albus visits were more frequent. Ariana tried to make him smile by making fun of his beard and his robes. They were all ageing, except for Ariana, who was stuck in her young teen portrait face forever.
Sometimes, in the deep dark of her thoughts, she wondered what life would be like if her brothers were gone. Who would maintain her portrait? Who else would visit her? It was why she began to rely more and more on the other portraits, on finding a connection with those beyond her blood family.
One night, Ablus visits her. She could sense this was a different visit. Abeforth was downstairs tending his bar, but Ariana had never felt the room so quiet. Albus’s twinkling blue eyes met her eyes. He held her frame with a blackened, shrivelled finger.
“Perhaps tonight I will be brave.”
Ariana smiled at him earnestly. Holding out her palm to ‘hold’ his. Bravery, she understood that.
The next day, Abeforth saw her– blue eyes clouded with grief– and told her. “He’s dead.”
2
Ariana, nestled within her frame, felt a profound sadness enveloping her heart, a sensation so acute it surprised her. She understood what death looked like, but she couldn’t imagine what it looked like on her brothers.
She tried asking Aberforth if Albus had his portrait commissioned. Aberforth couldn’t give her a clear answer. Her last brother was clearly agitated, worried by the current turn of events.
“I’m the last Dumbledore.” He murmurs, one hand loosely holding his lager, eyes staring blankly at the wooden floor. Ariana tapped her frame incessantly.
Aberforth was drunk but still understood her; he weakly grinned, “Alive, I mean, Ari.”
I am alive, she wanted to scream. But she deflated when her brother sunk his shoulders even lower. She never wanted to cause him more pain than necessary.
Aberforth explained to her what was happening. “It’s all done for. Albus can’t win this one,” he mutters.
The portraits in Hogwarts too, once buzzing with the lively exchanges of their occupants, now echoed with the silence of fear. Temeritus told them all of the Ministry's fall– the other portraits debated about how and what happened. Ariana felt much more scared hearing about Death Eaters and You-Know-Who.
Valerie was the most silent; instead of joining them by the tea table, she would hug her Hypogryff, unable to speak to Ariana.
“They say he killed him,” Damara whispered; her portrait was by the Grand Staircase, and she had relayed Albus’s funeral.
The ‘he’ was Professor Snape.
“There was always something off about him,” The Fat lady said. “Used to hang out to meet that Lily girl, never had too many friends.”
"We thought he was the good sort," someone lamented, the revelation that Snape was the one who killed Albus struck Ariana like a physical blow, her world tilting as she struggled to reconcile the man they thought they knew with his unthinkable act.
“I thought he was Dumbledore’s man.” Anne Bolyn whispered. “Val always insisted he was just misunderstood!” They tried to be sensitive towards Ariana and Valerie, but no one could stop the gossip.
“I wonder who will replace Albus,” Professor Basil lamented, puffing his pipe, “He was a great man, who else can protect us against You-Know-Who?”
Then, the terrifying news.
Ariana visited her portrait friends, and Temeritus literally jumped where he stood when he exclaimed, “It’s all over the prophet- he’s the new Hogwarts professor!”
Severus Snape, her brother’s murderer, was to become Hogwarts Headmaster.
***
Death Eaters infiltrated Hogwarts, and everything changed.
“Have everyone know that Hogwarts is bound to its Headmaster.” Headmaster Snape decreed the Portraits felt the magic rang true throughout the castle.
The Portraits were not allowed to leave their frames without the Headmaster’s preview.
“You should probably stop visiting us, Ari,’ The Fat Lady said worryingly, “If they knew a stray portrait could visit, who knows what they would do to you.”
Probably burned or dissolved her frame into the art of good.
Professor Basil was never allowed to leave his frame. The last Ariana heard was that the Headmaster's portraits were all frozen. Her friends were all separated, far away.
"They are putting bloody curfews and dementors, scaring away my customers!" Aberforth growled one evening. The strain was evident in his voice. His silhouette was hunched, the backdrop of his dingy room now a stark contrast to the chaos outside.
The sky in Ariana's world turned stormy grey ink, reflecting the turmoil of the ‘real’ world.
Ariana still sneaked about, trying to catch any glimpse of her friends, the students, the happenings of the real and portrait world.
From her frame, she observed the once vibrant halls of Hogwarts turn silent, the laughter and footsteps of students replaced by a haunting emptiness that echoed the growing dread within her. This darkness, a malignant force unseen yet deeply felt, seeped into the very pigments of her existence.
She could feel an unsettling chill creep through the painted vines and flowers of her portrait world.
The changes were subtle at first, mere ripples on the surface. But soon, those ripples became waves, crashing against the boundaries of her reality.
In all her memories, preserved and shared through Aberforth's visits, Ariana could not recall a time when such darkness threatened the very essence of their world. The magic that animated her and her fellow portraits, once a source of comfort and connection, now seemed fragile, close to breaking.
This was ‘fear’ from the real world.
This fear was not just for herself but for the living souls she had come to care for, the students whose laughter had once filled the corridors. Without the other portraits' knowledge, Ariana continued to hover and peek through the frame of their worlds. The other portraits were locked in their frames, silenced. Unable to act or help protect the children.
Ariana couldn’t help but check on her friends, she found the Fat Lady lying in her frame, her garden in ruins, her clothes in tatters, “You shouldn’t be here!” She had hissed. “Ariana, how are you even able to move through our portraits?”
Ariana shrugged, worried over what happened to her friend. "This is nothing,” the Fat Lady dismissed, Ariana still saw her lips wobble, “They tried to get the Gryffindor children... I couldn't stop them," she wept, her voice a whisper of despair.
“You must leave.” The Fat Lady kept insisting.
Ariana saw the students try to rebel, paintings of Dumbledore’s Army across the wall. A timid student by the name of Longbottom was pulled by the cuff to detention. The children scream as they are subjugated to the Cruciatus.
Ariana saw and heard enough to make her skin crawl. She knew she couldn’t let this continue.
Aberforth tries to ‘protect’ her, telling her only nice things. Discouraging her from leaving her portrait.
“I don’t want you caught up in this. You should play with yer dolls more.”
She’s surprised to feel a sharp sting– almost like resentment– by his words.
More than a century has passed, and Abeforth has forgotten that Ariana is not the fourteen-year-old girl. Not anymore.
They said portraits were just whispers of memories of people who were alive, Ariana has never met her real self, but Abeforth and Albus taught her who she once was and the other portraits, their liveliness encouraged her to grow, to expand– helping her come to the most natural conclusion.
She will help Hogwarts.
3
Ariana is able to bypass the castle's magic. When the students are running around causing havoc, with the help of her other portrait friends, Ariana would move between frames and help warn them.
When the Carrows were conducting their detentions, Ariana would help Peeves cause havoc, work with the ghosts to disrupt classes, and help students escape to their dorms. The portraits were silenced from speaking, but Ariana was very adept at using signals with her hands.
Timothy the Timid helped her by giving her the password so students could quickly go through shortcuts and secret passageways. It took her some time to write them across the portraits so students could use them.
Running was beginning to tire her out, so Valerie offered her Hippogriff. "I can't leave my frame, but maybe you can?" Upon Ariana's touch, the Hippogriff was able to move between frames, and before she knew it, Ariana was soaring high in the sky, swimming in the seas, or galloping across meadows. Ariana learned she could pull her portrait friends into different frames, and they could meet and converge.
"You aren't affected by Hogwarts's magic or the Headmaster's rule!" Anne theorized happily.
"Our main priority will always be the students," Damara insisted. Without Professor Basil, who was still locked in the Headmaster's tower, she took charge and advised Ariana what to do.
Ariana acted as the messenger, passing through portraits on Valerie's purple Hippogriff. Temeritus was upset he could no longer leave for his other portrait and learn about the outside world.
"We need more information, a way to connect us with whatever is beyond the castle's walls!" he complained.
Ariana didn't think much of his complaint until one day, she saw Neville Longbottom run away from one of the Carrows. His eyes were swollen, and his lip was bleeding; he was limping towards Gryffindor Tower.
Ariana knew the Carrows were already there, waiting for him. The Fat Lady was unable to close the tower, and the poor boy would not be able to escape his tormentors.
The closest portrait was Barnabas the Barmy. Ariana was flying in the sky in his portrait, telling him what she saw. He whispered to her, "There is a room that can protect the child; he should walk in front of it three times and ask for it!"
She followed his suggestion, flying through a couple of other portraits and waving wildly, hoping Neville saw her.
She tried to explain the room to Neville, and the boy smiled.
"Of course, this would be the perfect hiding spot!" Apparently, the boy was familiar with the palace and its magic.
Ariana hid in a canvas filled with large trees, spying on the Carrows who were frantically looking for a missing Neville Longbottom.
***
Ariana had led more and more children into the magical room on the Seventh floor. Barnabas always did a little jig when one new student was added.
She hoped the student was able to eat and be safe from the professors, but there had to be a way for them to receive outside help too.
Ariana was pretending to do her portrait when she overheard Abeforth pull Mcgonaggal into his private quarters, a heated exchange began between them that made her painted heart sink. One eyelid half open, she could see Professor McGonagall, her face etched with worry and determination, arguing with her brother.
"The children are missing. The Carrows say they don't know where they are--" Professor McGonagall began, her voice laced with anxiety.
"Minerva, what can we possibly do? I am here, swamped with dementors," Aberforth countered, his tone weary yet edged with concern.
"The murderer doesn't even care, Aberforth. He dismisses my concerns and says it isn't under my purview to care what happens to the children! Children, Aberforth!" McGonagall's voice rose in desperation.
"I can't leave my pub," Aberforth said stubbornly, a stubborn set to his jaw. "With dementors and Death Eaters crawling around, what more do you want me to do? I am as stuck as you!"
"We have to do something," McGonagall insisted, her gaze imploring.
"Perhaps keeping our head down would be best for now," Aberforth suggested, his voice low.
"Albus would never let any harm come upon children--" McGonagall started, her voice breaking with emotion.
"You don't speak for my brother, Minerva. Last I heard, he was dead. And haven't you read the goddamn book? The one revealing my family's secrets! It reminded me how much of an old croaker he was--thinking of fighting You-Know-Who. He was arrogant; he should have kept his head down. If he truly cared about the children, he would have stayed alive to protect them," Aberforth spat out, bitterness lacing his words.
"Albus would never jeopardize children--" McGonagall tried to argue, her voice a mixture of defiance and sorrow.
"Again, with all due respect, Minerva, you don't know him," Aberforth interrupted, his tone final.
"So you won't do anything?" McGonagall's voice was barely above a whisper, her disappointment palpable.
"For the last time, I can't! Now leave before your bloody Headmaster gets suspicious and starts storming my pub with them dementors!" Aberforth's dismissal was sharp, a clear end to the conversation.
Ariana felt a swell of emotions as she listened. The children were safe, but they were isolated, caged in a way in the hidden room on the seventh floor. If there was some way for her to help them leave…
***
With a newfound purpose flickering within her painted heart, Ariana found herself shadowing Professor Snape's movements. Her initial trepidation, fueled by the knowledge of his alleged betrayal, slowly morphed into a cautious curiosity.
Observing him, she noted the burden evident in his posture, the sunken, worried look in his eyes that seemed at odds with the actions of a cold-hearted killer. An oppressive silence enveloped the castle each time he passed through the corridors.
It felt as if he purposefully didn’t want to see the children. His movements were not of that with malicious intent.
As she flitted from portrait to portrait, Ariana sought any scrap of information that might reveal the true nature of Snape's intentions. Valerie's words echoed in her mind, painting a picture of a man who, despite the circumstances, carried himself with a certain dignity. “He looks like a man with a mission.” She would say. Ariana witnessed these moments herself—saw the rigid set of his shoulders, the unwavering stance as he listened to the Carrows drone, to the other Professors concern, his figure a lone bastion amidst the chaos.
He looked like Albus did. Struggling.
“This time, perhaps I will be brave.”
Ariana attempted to trail him up to the headmaster's room, but as she approached, she was met with a barrier of magic so dense and impenetrable that it seemed to push her back.
She didn’t understand Headmaster Snape, but there was darkness in the castle.
And her gut was telling her the darkness was not him.
***
Ariana was gliding past a few frames when she stumbled upon an unfolding scene of terror: the Carrows, with wands menacingly drawn, cornering two students whose faces were etched with fear.
“Tell us where the other students are hiding! Or face the wrath of the Dark Lord!”
Timothy the Timid witnessed the same scene from the corner of his frame. Despite his name, Timothy was no coward, especially when it came to the safety of students. He launched into action, his portrait frame toppling forward in a heroic, if somewhat clumsy, effort to disrupt the Carrows' intimidation. The frame crashed down upon one of their heads, creating a moment of chaos under which the students seized their chance, fleeing the scene quickly.
"Why, you stupid painting!" one of the Carrows bellowed, recovering from the shock. With a flick of his wand, he unleashed an incantation so dark, so filled with malice, that Timothy's portrait began to melt, the vibrant colours swirling into an abyss of blackness.
Ariana silently screamed, witnessing the scene from her vantage point. Without a moment's hesitation, she urged Veleria’s Hypogryff to fly past the frames urgently. They reached Timothy just as his essence began to sink into the encroaching darkness, his form distorting in the melting chaos of his own portrait. His hand feebly outstretched.
Ariana grabbed him and pulled him up to ride the Hippogriff.
"Good save, Ari," Timothy managed with a gasp, his voice trembling with relief. The threat was far from over; the swirling vortex of dark paint threatened to consume them whatever the spell the Carrows had cast would destroy the painting and everything in it permanently.
"We're getting sucked in!" Timothy's cried out. "There's no way out."
Ariana’s heart thundered in her ears, and with a resolve as unyielding as the stone walls of Hogwarts itself, she refused to succumb. She’s spent a century observing life, the living, silently screaming in her head, she was alive, she was alive!
The magic within her–pulled from her memories and the magic of her brothers– surged to the forefront. Clutching the reins of the Hypogryff with one hand, she extended the other into the swirling maelstrom.
The dark and chaotic colours began to adhere to her touch, moulding under her will. Timothy's embrace tightened, and he whimpered into her frock while the Hypogryff flapped its wings precariously against the dripping paint.
"If we cannot find our way out, then we shall make our own," Ariana thought. She drew upon the swirling mass of paint, crafting from the chaos a doorway that looked exactly like the thousand corridors she had seen in Hogwarts.
Magic was calling her. She held it tight, letting it guide her from the ruined portrait.
With a final, desperate effort, she thrust them forward through the makeshift portal, and they emerged into a realm of pure, unblemished white. Falling with a loud thump on the ground. Ariana felt her portrait heart beat loudly in her chest.
Catching their breath, Timothy wiped away the remnants of the dark paint, his gaze filled with wonder. "You saved us. What did you do?"
Ariana blinked, staring at her hands.
“You created a doorway, another frame—but how? That isn’t possible; only artists can do that, never a portrait!”
She was baffled by the revelation herself. In the face of oblivion, she had reached for something, anything, and found a power within herself to carve a path to safety.
They checked their surroundings, Ariana had made a doorway into a stark white frame, eerily empty with nothing painted on. Timothy, still shaking from their narrow escape, began to shiver anew.
“I’ve never been in a portrait like this before,” he murmured nervously.
Ariana approached the edge of their canvas, peering out with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. What she saw made her gasp in surprise and relief.
In front of them was a large room filled with hammocks and sleeping bags on the floor. It was the hidden room where the lost children of Hogwarts had found refuge. The very children they had been so desperate to protect, to save from the clutches of the Death Eaters, were right there, safe and sound, albeit worn and weary.
The children noticed the emergence of the newcomers. Some were pointing and whispering at them.
They found the missing students!
“You created a new portrait in the Room of Requirement!” Timothy exclaimed happily, “You brilliant portrait, Ari! You somehow– you found a way to find them–”
Ariana smiled, shrugging abashedly. Neville, looking better since the first time she saw him, trotted towards their portrait.
“Are you able to leave the castle and send a message of help?” he asked breathlessly.
Ariana shared a glance with Timothy.
Whyever, could she not?
***
Harnessing her newfound abilities, Ariana transformed the blank expanse of their refuge into a vivid replica of her own portrait at the Hog's Head Inn. With a flourish of creativity and a dash of Timothy's ingenuity, they channelled the magic of Hogwarts and the latent power within the Room of Requirement to forge an open passage—a tunnel hidden behind the painted visage of Ariana's frame.
"This isn't entirely new," Timothy mused, recalling the secret passages hidden behind the portraits of Damara and Valeria. "But it's certainly the first of its kind to be created out of necessity and sheer will."
Timothy quickly claimed the portrait as his own, requesting additions to make his surroundings more appealing. With a playful grin, Ariana obliged, adorning his portrait with the luxuries he desired. In a stroke of whimsy, she rechristened him Timothy the Terrifying—a name he wore with an amused, proud smile.
Neville Longbottom was the first to navigate the secret tunnel, his initial hesitance giving way to awe at the ingenuity before him. Aberforth, initially taken aback and confused by how Ariana’s portrait could make a tunnel leading directly to Hogwarts, quickly recognized its value, offering intelligence and support.
Aberforth was reluctant and grumbled throughout, almost denying Harry Potter and his friends any help, but Ariana was proud to show the trio the secret passageway.
The tunnel was crucial during the Battle of Hogwarts to help the younger children escape and help the Orders members enter Hogwarts.
As the conflict raged, a remarkable thing occurred: the portraits were freed from enchantment. Ariana, alongside her fellow painted allies, rallied to defend the castle, helping all they could in the battle.
Many portraits were ruined, but Ariana swiftly saved as many as she could, painting new frames for them.
When it was over, Aberforth returned to Ariana's portrait. She was proud of him. He did what was right in the end. His laughter and songs of victory filled the air, a joyous affirmation of their hard-fought triumph. "It's over at last, Ari," he declared, his voice thick with relief and a hint of disbelief. “And you, sister, mine, are a hero!”
***
Ariana was excited to go to her weekly tea gatherings. Lately, she had been busy aiding the portrait inhabitants in enhancing and adding new elements to their frames. "Why wait for a wizard or witch artist when we have Ari?" they would often remark.
Navigating through myriad frames, Ariana took a moment to admire the view, revelling in the artistic magic surrounding her.
However, there was one frame she yearned to visit before joining the gathering. She traversed under dark skies until she arrived at a particular frame and knocked on its door.
There, Albus sat in a large chair, surrounded by the familiarity of his room from their youth, complete with books, neatly paired socks, and photographs of Ariana, Aberforth, and their parents.
"Hello, Ari," Albus greeted her warmly.
She smiled, a lightness in her heart. "You did something to my portrait, linking it to Hogwarts?"
"I experimented with a special magic, hoping to grant you greater freedom, yes."
"I can now create my own additions within the portraits," Ariana shared. "Did you know that would happen?"
"No, I did not, but how fascinating!" Albus responded with genuine admiration. "Now you can shape your life on your own."
Overwhelmed with happiness, Ariana rushed toward him and, for the first time, embraced Albus.
As she arrived at the tea gathering, still floating on the cloud of her joyous encounter, the atmosphere there was palpably more jubilant. The Fat Lady, now adorned in a modern Muggle dress—a request fulfilled by Ariana—was the centre of attention. Professor Basil, in high spirits, sang heartily alongside Emeritus and Damara. Timothy regaled the Fat Lady with tales of his newly transformed portrait and its secret connection to the Room of Requirement.
Ariana, approaching the purple Hippogriff, gently petted its head, silently hoping Valeria would allow her another flight on the magnificent creature.
Then, Ariana noticed Valeria, hand in hand with a portrait of none other than Severus Snape, his black hair, hooked nose, and rigid frown unmistakable. Ariana caught the look in his eyes; no longer anguished, it was filled with private mirth and resignation.
"Look who's finally joined us!" Valeria announced, her voice brimming with excitement. Arms clinging on to the scowling wizard.
Ariana's heart bloomed with joy, and she couldn't help but toss her head back and laugh.
Alive, with her family.
