Chapter 118: The Knight in the Portrait
The door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom clicked shut behind Elian, muffling the first, shrill shrieks of Umbridge's fury. The sound was deeply satisfying, like the fizz of a cold butterbeer on a hot day.
She'll have a new Educational Decree on Fudge's desk by morning, he thought, not without a certain grim amusement. A decree about sick notes, no doubt. The 'Umbridge Leave Verification Act'. Her humiliation would be repaid with more petty tyranny.
The castle corridors were quiet in the late afternoon lull. His steps echoed as he made his way towards the Gryffindor common room, his mind already turning over the implications of the giants' mission and the System's relentless push.
As he rounded a corner near the Fat Lady's portrait, he saw a familiar, willowy figure standing on the staircase, her head tilted as if listening to music only she could hear.
"Luna?"
She turned, her large, silvery eyes focusing on him with their usual dreamy clarity. "Hello, Elian. I was waiting for you. Or Harry. But mostly you."
"Waiting for me?"
"Professor Hagrid asked me to give you a message. And Harry, but I haven't seen him. Do you know where he is?" She spoke as if commenting on the weather, her gaze drifting past his shoulder.
"A message from Hagrid?" That was unexpected. Hagrid usually came to find Harry himself, or sent a note via owl.
"Yes. We had Care of Magical Creatures last," Luna said, her attention now captured by a suit of armour in a portrait across the hall. The painted knight was engaged in a frantic, silent chase from frame to frame, scattering indignant witches and wizards as he went. "He said to tell you and Harry to come see him tonight. 'You know the way.' Those were his exact words."
Elian nodded, understanding. The secret path from the castle to Hagrid's hut. Hagrid was being cautious. This was about the giants.
He didn't rush Luna. He followed her gaze to the knight, who had just tripped over his own sabaton and sprawled comically across a painting of a fruit bowl. It was absurd, pointless, and oddly calming.
"How is your father?" Elian asked after a companionable silence.
Luna's face softened into a gentle smile. "He's well. He says the new house is very similar to the old one, just with fewer Wrackspurts in the pantry. He hopes you'll visit again. He feels he didn't host you properly last time."
"Please send him my thanks," Elian said sincerely.
They lapsed back into silence, both content to watch the knight's futile, endless pursuit. Students passed by, some giving them odd looks, but neither noticed. For a stretch of time, the looming war, the System's demands, Umbridge's decrees—all of it faded away, replaced by the simple, silent comedy of a painted knight.
Eventually, members of the D.A. began to trickle past. A few tried to call out, but were quickly shushed by their friends, who grinned and pointed at the serene pair by the stairs. Rumours about Luna and Elian had been a favourite piece of gossip in the Room of Requirement for weeks.
When Elian finally blinked, coming back to himself, he found Luna was gone, having slipped away as quietly as she'd arrived. In her place was a small crowd of younger Gryffindors, who had gathered to see what was so fascinating. They were now staring, transfixed, at the knight, who was trying to use a banana from the fruit bowl as a sword.
Elian shook his head with a soft laugh. "You're all mad," he declared, then pushed through the portrait hole into the common room, leaving the bewildered students to their new-found entertainment.
It was fully dark when Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally returned to the common room. Elian, who had been waiting in a worn armchair by the fire, looked up in surprise. All three were laden down with towering stacks of books, their faces pale with exhaustion.
"Merlin's beard, just kill me now," Ron groaned, collapsing onto a sofa and letting his books spill onto the floor. "Snape's making us memorise twelve different uses of bicorn horn. Twelve!"
Harry wearily began gathering the fallen tomes. "I'll just get the Cloak," he mumbled, his eyes glazed.
Hermione didn't say a word. She walked straight to the armchair where Elian sat and sank down beside him, then, with a sigh of utter depletion, leaned her head against his shoulder. She smelled of old parchment, ink, and lavender soap.
"I'm so tired," she whispered, her voice muffled by his robes. "I haven't slept properly in a week."
Elian could see it. The dark smudges under her eyes, the usually bushy hair pulled back in a fraying, haphazard bun. The O.W.L.s were consuming her. He said nothing, just shifted slightly to make his shoulder a more comfortable pillow, his arm coming to rest lightly around her.
Ron, from his heap on the sofa, watched this with a sort of exhausted acceptance. A few months ago, he might have made a joke. Now, he just looked vaguely envious of the comfort.
After a moment of blessed stillness, Hermione spoke again, her eyes closed. "Hagrid's looking for you and Harry. Luna told me she passed the message to you."
"I know," Elian said quietly. "We're going tonight."
Hermione nodded against his shoulder, too tired to ask for details or offer warnings. For a few precious minutes, in the warm, quiet common room, with the fire crackling and his friends safe around him, the weight of being the 'Supreme Mage' felt very far away. It was just Elian, a tired Hermione, and the simple, human need for rest before the next task began.
(End of Chapter)
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