The Unauthorized Harry Potter Side Stories: Vignette Number Three: “The Secret Life of Philippa Trunchbull, the Fat Lady in the Portrait” by H. Granger

Prologue

“The portrait of the Fat Lady is the door to Gryffindor Tower, which is hidden behind her painting. She will open it (sometimes grudgingly) when the correct password is uttered. She is often upset after being awoken, and is often seen drunk with her best friend, Violet. The Fat Lady has no other known name, and it is unknown whether she is supposed to represent a real person. In Philosopher's Stone, she leaves her portrait in the middle of the night, locking Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville out of Gryffindor Tower, forcing them to run across the school. Luckily for them, when they return, she has returned to her portrait, allowing them to escape into Gryffindor Tower. In Prisoner of Azkaban, Sirius Black slashes the Fat Lady’s portrait when she won't let him in without a password and it is some time before she dares to guard Gryffindor Tower again. After her portrait was restored, she requested protection in case someone tried to attack her portrait again. Thus, two security trolls were hired. In Half Blood Prince, she gets so annoyed with Harry's late return that she pretends the password has changed and tries to call him back when he heads off to talk to Dumbledore. When Harry later confirms Dumbledore's death, she lets out a sob and for the first and only time in the series, she opens without the password for Harry in her grief.” [harry.wiki.com/jkrowling-characters]

*****

“Lumos!” whispered a girl’s voice in the dark.

“Merlin’s beard! She’s done it again, Molly,” blurted a second voice, “Left her portrait in the middle of the night.”

“How dare you sneak up on Philippa! Put your lights out, you filthy varmints!” cried Violet from the adjacent portrait of the lady and the child.

“You don’t talk to a Gryffindor like that, Vi. And you might also want to tell us where in the world the Fat Lady is,” said Molly, a lovely fifth year, indignantly.

“So, it is you, isn’t it?  Lady Molly Prewett and Sir Arthur Weasley,” Vi said snidely, “the noble lady and knight of the House of Gryffindor, up to no good, I must say.”

“You’re drunk again, Vi. Here, we’re not going to hold you up. We only want to get inside the common room, so please tell us where she is,” pleaded Arthur, an auburn-haired fifth year from Gryffindor.

“And where have you two been at this unholy hour of the night? Fancied taking a walk?” asked Violet, her voice thick with malice.

“None of your business,” blurted Molly angrily, “and for the last time, Violet, where is the Fat Lady? I can use this wand on you, you know.”

“Threats! How indecent!” shrieked Violet, enraged.

“Hush, Violet. You’re waking the entire school,” whispered Arthur.

“Then teach your lady some manners, sir,” demanded Vi, “You could’ve asked me nicely and I would’ve told you straightaway she is in Octavius Agrippa’s portrait inside the Room of Requirement…Oh my Lord! Dear God. I just spilt my best friend’s secret! Oh, shame on me!”

“What in Merlin’s name is she doing in the Room of Requirement? And who is Octavius Agrippa, anyway?” asked Molly, flabbergasted.

“Oh it’s none of your business! So silly of me! I just betrayed my best friend’s trust!” wailed Vi.

Molly and Arthur exchanged knowing looks and seemed to have arrived at some silently orchestrated plan.

“Listen, Vi. There’s no use crying over spilt milk. Here’s what you can do—you can go fetch the Fat Lady and we’ll stay mum about it, or we could ask her personally who Octavius Agrippa is,” said Molly.

“I would, if I could. But, as it is, I can’t,” lamented Vi.

“What do you mean you can’t?” asked Arthur.

“Well, let me put it this way: no one can enter the Room of Requirement, unless he’s in dire need of the room!  And at the moment, Philippa needs the room all to herself,” Violet explained quite hysterically. “Oh, dear heavens! There I go again. You’re making me talk too much!”

“And why would she need the room all to herself?” asked Molly, her voice now rife with excitement.

“Enough already, you nosy brats. I have already spilt the beans, haven’t I?” retorted Vi.

“Well, that is just too bad, Vi. We’re all in hot water now, so we might as well indulge each other’s wishes, and we wish to know the truth about those two. Or we could ask her ourselves,” Molly said.

“You blackmailing imps! Alright, alright. Suffice it to say that my best friend, Philippa, and Octavius Agrippa believed themselves to be soul mates when they were alive—or at least Philippa did,” Violet began grudgingly.

“ But Philippa was not cut out for a fairy-tale romance, for Octavius, being a Muggle living in the Muggle world, had wandering eyes and a notorious penchant for skinny, curvaceous Muggle women and the Dark Arts. They both went to school here at Hogwarts, both Gryffindors, inseparable, like you two. But, Octavius dropped out of Hogwarts in their fifth year. It was during the Yule break and, cruelly, he did not tell Philippa he was not coming back. It shattered her to pieces. She kind of lost her wits. Lost her sanity, more like.

She was Head Girl back then, and she would prowl the hallway to the Gryffindor tower and guarded the entrance to the common room, with the fierceness of Argus Filch, hopefully anticipating her lover’s return. Every night for the rest of her years here, she would sneak out of her bed, stand by the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, and gaze dreamily for hours at the portrait that used to hide the portrait-hole entrance—a painting of Venus and Adonis. Back then, I was inhabiting the portrait next to it and I witnessed her pain and befriended her.

Years passed and Philippa went on to become a successful winemaker and connoisseur, owning the vastest vineyard south of Normandy. She opted to live in the Muggle world, although she is of pure-blood descent, apparently in the hope of crossing paths with her beloved Octavius. Meanwhile, Octavius, who dabbled in alchemy and the occult, was then a celebrated writer in the Muggle world, publishing books that Muggles deem heretic and blasphemous. His arrest and eventual imprisonment was so sensationalized that Philippa heard of it. She came to his rescue and orchestrated his escape from prison with the use of magic.

They were happy for a while, living in a cozy English cottage in Surrey. But Octavius’ eyes wandered once more. Poor Philippa woke up alone one day, her lover having eloped with a pretty married Muggle neighbour. Utterly wretched, Philippa retreated into the wizarding world and lived in seclusion at the outskirts of Hogsmeade. She was never heard of again.

A decade passed, and the Muggle world was baffled by Octavius Agrippa’s mysterious disappearance. Even his Muggle wife and mistresses were confounded. He just vanished like smoke in thin air. Around the time of his disappearance, Philippa drank herself to death. She was found lifeless in her Hogsmeade home, among empty bottles of her invention and contribution to the wizarding world, firewhisky.

Professor Dumbledore , the new headmaster, learned about the tragic story of this former Gryffindor Head Girl and, to honour her memory, had a portrait of her done and mounted at the common room entrance. Almost as soon as she was installed, she came to life and began performing her duty of fiercely guarding the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, demanding a password and changing it constantly.

As for Octavius Agrippa, Philippa imprisoned him in an enchanted portrait which she hides, to this day, inside the Room of Requirement. Forever in an unmoving state, a still- life painting, he is forever young, forever hers. And tonight, as in many moons ago, she paid him a visit…”

“Blimey, Molly. What a story, “ Arthur said in awe.

“What story?” inquired a voice from the now inhabited portrait of the Fat Lady. In their dazed state, neither Arthur nor Molly noticed that the Fat Lady had just slid back into her portrait.

“So, you’re back Philippa. How wonderful. I must run now, dear. The drinking monks are expecting me at their portrait downstairs,” Violet muttered nervously and dashed out of the nearby portrait.

“Password,” the Fat Lady demanded, looking spent but content, not minding Violet’s rush.

“ Periwinkle,” replied Arthur and Molly in unison.

“Ah, yes. The color of his eyes…” the Fat Lady uttered dreamily, as she swung open to let Arthur and Molly in.