Painting with Blood

{2} - Sir Cadogen's Quest

She didn't quite mean to get lost, she really didn't, but wow did she desperately want to see how these art pieces worked. The friendly yet, frankly, boring prefect led them through the dark halls of Hogwarts, speaking of its many magic tricks. Eventually, it all drawled into one – much like the clapping had in the hall, and she again dropped into her dream state. She gets it – the stairs moved, classrooms appeared, armour walked like it was alive and if you smelt roasted turkey don't go towards it. What made her upset, though, is that he not once mentioned the paintings. And so, in her dream like state, she went to look at one of the painting and the rest of the group didn't seem to notice one little girl's departure.

Now, she sat on the floor talking to said painting. Maybe she should have been worried – left alone in the darkness of a giant castle filled with spirits and magical beings – but if anything she seemed to be happier as she finally investigated the framed magic on the walls.

"Child, I must stress again, you should really scurry off to your own house!" the timid servant women spoke as she washed some royal red robes, looking around nervously as if she expected her master to appear at any moment.

"And I must stress again, Angelia, that I don't know where that is!" Cecelia exclaimed again, a smile blooming on her face.

"Now, onto more important matters, do you have a tongue?" Cecilia pondered. She was told that the painting itself was painted before magic was poured in, meaning that at a time the portrait was still. But if the painter painted the women with her mouth closed, how could she have teeth or a tongue? Did it just appear, despite the painter never painting it in the first place? Her questions kept growing the more she talked, and she was filled with relentless childish excitement.

Before Angelia could answer, though, a knight walked into the frame. The servant women yelped, bringing the soapy cloak to her chest as this man on a horse barged through.

"Milady! Why, I have been sent on a ques-" it seemed that once Angelia realised who it was that rudely barged into her frame, she dropped the cloak from her face and stumped her foot. A frown now firmly placed on her usually soft face, she tutted at the armoured man.

"Sir Cadogen, Please take care of how you enter frames! To be most impolite, for shame." She sounded like a scolding mother, quickly picking up the cloak and continuing to wash the non-existent stains.

"Apologizes, milady, but it is urgent matters that bring me here! Why the prefects ask for this young lady here!" Sir Cadogen continued to shout, pointing his sword at Cecilia who smiled at the short man.

"And may you please lead me to my dorms, Sir Cadogen? A fair lady would sure appreciate the help." Cecelia used her poshest voice, standing from her kneeling position to a curtsy. She smiled as the knight puffed out his chest, clearly happy to help on his 'quest'.

"Why yes, of course, I shall do just that! Follow me milady, and quick!" he exclaimed as he rounded his horse, quickly shooting off the way he came.

"Wait, hold up!" Cecelia shouted with a smile as she ran after him, apologizing to every frame he disturbed. Some of them ignored her, still upset, but most smiled a thanks as she ran past trying to keep up.*

And as she ran, lights in the halls seem to follow her – rushing to keep up with her fast-paced foot falls and free giggles.

Soon enough, the two arrived at some rather misplaced barrels beside more paintings – two people (actual people) muttering in front of it. As she slowed to a stop, she recognised the tall prefect that had been leading her group – along with (if she remembered correctly) her head of house. She was short and had greying black hair that seemed to have a life of its own – reaching out from under her large brimmed hat to touch the gently growing leaves on top. Cecelia was never one to really judge someone based on their looks – but she decided quickly that someone who wore such a large, comforting and well-worn coat could never have a mean bone in their bodies.