《[HP]Enemies》Patronous

4、Chapter 3 The Forgotten Times

　　When Dumbledore paused his writing to reach for a sherbet lemon, a hand quickly pinched away the one he had picked.
　　“Very interesting flavor. I used to hate sour.” Gryffindor sat down at the side of the desk. “Oh, wait, something’s popping in my mouth.”
　　“Do you like it?” Dumbledore took another sweet and went back to work on his letter. “I went to a Muggle speciality shop to get them.”
　　“Muggles? That’s amazing!” The young man turned his head towards the parchment and read for a moment before finishing his sweet. Dumbledore didn’t stop him.
　　“Who’s Cornelius?” Gryffindor jumped down from the desk and stood close by.
　　“Cornelius Fudge. He’s the Minister for Magic.”
　　“Minister? Is that similar to a Muggle king?”
　　“Less than that,” Dumbledore smiled. “He will not claim you as one of his subjects.”
　　“I’m sure he isn’t able to either,” Gryffindor wandered around the room. When he was halfway up the stairs, he noticed the Sorting Hat napping on the tall cabinet. “Hey, look who it is!”
　　That old, faded hat was picked up by its tip. It grumbled and shook its body to wake up, stopping all motion when it saw Gryffindor’s face.
　　“Godric?” After a few seconds, the hat asked in a quivering voice.
　　“It’s me!” Gryffindor grinned. As soon as he answered, the Sorting Hat began to sob loudly. It even managed to sniffle, despite not having a nose. The portraits of the past headmasters were woken up one after another, complaining about the sudden noise.
　　The Sorting Hat decided to make up a song for the moment.
　　“In years I waited all alone,” it began, but then came more complaints.
　　“Tens of thousands passed away...”
　　“Shut up, you stupid hat!” the portraits hanging in the highest row finally shouted. They had been there for the longest time and no longer had a strong interest in interacting with the living world.
　　Holding the hat in one hand, Gryffindor turned and waved to them from a distance. The portrait of himself joyfully waved back, while his friends remained quiet for a moment. Aside from Ravenclaw, they were all very old now.
　　“How did you get back here, young and alive, you little bastard?” Hufflepuff greeted him with a curse.
　　“Salazar did it first—I just caught a ride.”
　　“Hey, and what’s the story about that?” Ravenclaw extended an arm outside her canvas to shove Slytherin.
　　“I don’t know!” Slytherin staggered two steps aside and patted his robe. While he was silver-haired like the others, it was a portrait he’d left from his earlier years; none of his friends had been able to find him to paint it just before he died. "I swear to Merlin, I never cared about anything like revival or living forever!"
　　“That’s questionable. When you were painted, you never thought of leaving Hogwarts either!” the first headmaster of Hogwarts shouted from the other side of the wall.
　　“It’s been a thousand years. Can you all stop accusing me of something I didn’t do?—And that look again! Godric!” Slytherin gestured to Gryffindor’s portrait. “You’ve had it since the very day you were hung there!”
　　Gryffindor sighed—both the older one in the picture frame and the younger one on the stairs opposite the wall.
　　“Your descendant...” Gryffindor began.
　　“No,” Slytherin quickly shook his head.
　　“Alright, a wizard related to you by blood.”
　　Slytherin nodded.
　　“And he managed to revive us?”
　　“First, not us. And I wouldn’t call it ‘revive’ either.”
　　“How is it not?”
　　“OK, so answer me this: why are we speaking in this grammar?”
　　“What’s wrong with it?”
　　“Salazar, thus spraecon we thonne we livigende waeron,” Ravenclaw reminded him.
　　Slytherin took a moment to process this. He hadn’t used Old English in quite a while.
　　“Exactly. Slytherin and I have been dead for a thousand years, and on the first day we were here, we spoke in a fluent new language.”
　　“When did you start to call me Slytherin?”
　　“When you decided to use a Killing Curse on me.”
　　Sounds of inhalation echoed across the wall.
　　“It can’t be!” Slytherin seemed ready to leap out of his portrait. “What about the blood pact, then?”
　　More inhalation filled the room. Dumbledore appeared unaffected as he finished his signature at the end of the letter before raising his head.
　　“This is ridiculous,” The portrait of Phineas Black grumbled.
　　“It has done its job more than loyally; it brought me here with you. And that’s the limit before it suffers damage.” Gryffindor answered.
　　“That explains a few things. But why would I want to kill you?”
　　“Are you asking me?” Gryffindor teased, then continued, “Well, that has something to do with the... Albus, what’s the name of that skeleton?”
　　“He referred to himself as Voldemort.”
　　“I think I heard of this fellow a long time ago,” Slytherin murmured. “He did claim to be my descendant.”
　　“Yes, a madman who wants to rule the British wizarding world and purge the Muggle-borns.” Gryffindor snapped his fingers.
　　“That sounds like something I would agree to help with, but it does not include killing you,” Slytherin stated frankly.
　　“Even if I’m in your way?”
　　“Even if you’re in my way, with your wand and sword.”
　　“Well, I suppose people change after they die,” the portrait of Gryffindor shrugged.
　　“Yes, they rot,” Ravenclaw replied with a joke.