A/n: This was originally written for the Biathlon Competition. I ended up missing the deadline, but since I had already used most of the prompts, I just decided to finish it. This was also written for the Disney Lyric Prompts Competition. Prompts are at the bottom.

Circa 1976

"What is this—I think there's a—"

She peeked out from behind her Juniper tree at the sound of a female voice, awaiting her latest visitor with anticipation. A ginger-haired girl sidled into the alcove, wide, emerald eyes looking around with interest from the very moment she stepped in through the gap.

"What is this place?" she whispered, the awe clear in her voice as she turned around in a slow circle, taking in the various piles of miscellaneous objects scattered about and the haphazard stacks of books pushed to one corner—Ginevra made it a habit to get each of her unannounced visitors to do a bit of cleaning since she could not do it herself.

The girl examined a candelabra that lay by her feet, beside a bag of shattered marbles, prodding the dusty, melted candle with her shoe. She made a face as she picked up one of the four rag dolls lying beside it, which were perhaps modelled after the four founders, going by the emblems on them, and held it out by the tips of her fingers.

The girl finally turned and looked up, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, mouth hanging open, hands gripping the gold and crimson scarf draped around her neck tightly. "This must be it…" she murmured, as though she had been looking for the alcove all along.

Ginevra eyed her with curiosity. This had to be the first time that a student who had found her abode seemed like they had wanted to find it. Usually they just chanced upon it for various reasons; because they were curious for adventure, or they were exploring the mysteries of the castle, or even, in one instance, by pure accident while sleepwalking. Although the others had wanted a secret place that was hidden away from prying eyes, none of them had seemed like they had been looking specifically for the alcove—unlike the girl before her, who had finally spotted Ginevra and was now watching her with wide, shining eyes.

"Hullo," she said, smiling sweetly. "What an odd place for such a beautiful portrait."

Ginevra stepped out from behind the tree and decided almost immediately that she liked this girl. It was not often that a compliment was the very first thing someone said upon catching sight of her. "What is your name, child?"

"Lily Evans, Ma'am. And you are?" She even did a little curtsy. What a good girl.

"I am the Lady Ginevra de' Benci of Florentia."

The girl's eyes widened as though in recognition of her name. "I've heard of you," said she. "Weren't you one of the very first paintings to adorn the walls of Hogwarts?"

"You seem to be rather well informed," Ginevra commented as she came to sit by the barrier of her portrait.

"I've read Hogwarts, A History more times than I can remember," the girl, Lily, replied with a smile.

Ginevra eyed the traditional colours of Gryffindor that adorned the girl's scarf. "It is odd that someone as seemingly bright and capable as you was Sorted into the House of the raucous and fool-hardy."

Lily's eyebrows shot up at that and she laughed. "Well, I suppose I wasn't good enough for Ravenclaw, then."

Ginevra sniffed. "I highly doubt that. That ratty old hat must be losing its touch. As one whose subject belonged to the House of the wise and intellectual, I would daresay you seem rather suited to be in Ravenclaw."

The girl's smile widened and she stepped closer. "That's interesting," she said as she tucked a strand of her fiery hair behind an ear. "Is this the rumoured place where all the treasures of the magical world of literature are hidden?"

Ginevra raised her eyebrows and chuckled. "There was such a rumour going around?" Catching sight of the fire blazing in Lily's eyes, she said, "I cannot say for certain that it is. As you can see, there are more than enough objects that have been abandoned here for centuries. Perhaps you may find what you seek if you were to look."

Lily eyed said objects, the curiosity burning in her jade eyes and her need to gain more knowledge almost palpable. Deciding that she would help this child since she had taken a liking to her, she said, "Tell me, what is it that you wish to find?"

The redhead seemed to hesitate briefly as she considered answering the question. After a moment's deliberation, she said, "Have you any knowledge about werewolves?"

Ginevra frowned. "Werewolves? Why in the world would I know anything about those hideous creatures?"

Lily winced, a saddened look crossing her deep, green eyes as she replied, "I think—I think—you can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you." When Ginevra scoffed at that, the girl only pursed her lips and continued to eye her with a beseeching expression.

"Whom shall I tell, when I am stuck in here?" She swept her arms in a wide arc, motioning to the alcove before her, and that seemed to placate the girl.

"Well, this is mostly conjecture on my part, but I think—I think someone I am very close to might be one."

"A werewolf?"

Lily nodded, and Ginevra reared back, brows creased in a worried frown. "Child, if this is true, you must tell the headmaster at once!"

She shook her head, a panicked expression adorning her gentle features. "I might just be making hasty conclusions at this point, but I have a feeling Professor Dumbledore already knows."

"Preposterous," Ginevra huffed, folding her arms and raising her chin. "How dare you make such blind accusations."

"I wish they were just blind accusations, I really do," Lily muttered, staring at the ground with a frown. "But because I had to make sure, I approached him directly…"

She trailed off, her frown deepening, and Ginevra reckoned that the conversation had not gone as she had intended it to. Albus Dumbledore was well known for never giving a to-the-point answer to anything and choosing to leave the other party guessing.

Taking a deep breath, she decided that helping this girl resolve a seemingly deluded mystery might just become her new way of whiling away the time. "What evidence have you found for you to reach such a conclusion?" she asked, watching as Lily raised her eyes full of determination and fixed them on Ginevra.

"Well, to start with, I spend a lot of time with him. We're both Prefects and have similar tastes—besides, his best friend is rather smitten with me, so he acts as a sort of messenger between us—" she broke off, waving one hand as she placed the other one to her temples, her agitation evident.

"This boy, what is his name?"

When Lily looked up, amidst the myriad of emotions that swum in her emerald eyes, Ginevra was able to identify the most prominent ones: sorrow, helplessness, and heartache, possibly born from unrequited affection.

"Remus," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Remus Lupin."

(It was not much later that the girl had raced back to inform Ginevra that her suspicions had been confirmed; that there was, indeed, a student within Hogwarts who was a werewolf. Although Ginevra had tried to convince her to do something about it, the redhead had firmly refused, saying that he was barely any threat to anyone. But, a few years after the girl had left Hogwarts, and Ginevra had sighed with relief that the monster within the castle was gone, terrible news reached her of one Lily Potter who had been murdered in cold blood by a raging lunatic of a Dark Lord. Thus, the peace and monotony of her days as a forgotten portrait, isolated from the rest of the world, were shattered, leaving her to deal with a future that promised its fair share of disquiet and turmoil.)

Circa 1980

"—just like everything else. Can't say for sure, but it was rather a surprise. Of course, Grandmother would be pleased. Ah, maybe it is her trying to warn me from the grave of great dangers to come—oh my, hello."

She eyed the outlandishly dressed witch that had tumbled into the alcove, a bottle of what looked like old sherry dangling from her fingertips. The woman's appearance was that of someone who was barely able to scrape by, who had sewn together an outfit from ratty old drapes and sheets. The sheer number of beads around her neck plus the freakishly large spectacles that magnified her bug-like eyes disgruntled Ginevra, to say the least.

The witch staggered to the side and hiccoughed, grinning lopsidedly as she shuffled closer to Ginevra's portrait, an idiotic expression on her flushed face. "Why, G'morning," she slurred, waving her free arm wildly and making the bangles and bracelets on her thin wrist jangle together. "What're you doing cooped up in this dusty ol' hovel on such a fine mornin'?"

Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms and looked away defiantly. She was not about to engage in a pointless conversation with a disgraceful woman such as the one barely managing stay upright before her, who was quite obviously intoxicated in the middle of the day, and had the appearance of a battered old nomad who would rather lay wasted beside the road than do anything of consequence.

And, like any other intoxicated fool, the woman seemed undeterred by the fact that she was being blatantly ignored and went about introducing herself. "Sybill Patricia Trelawney at your service, milady. That's Professor Sybill Patricia Trelawney to you—and everybody else, of course. Newly appointed, too. Marvellous, no?"

Ginevra scowled down at the woman, unimpressed, but she only waved her arms about, splashing the drink onto her clothes and getting them soaked, and continued speaking. "Nice, homely place you have here. Perhaps you and I can go out to tea some time? Is the grass in your portrait soft? Perhaps a picnic would suffice. We can get one of those netted baskets and everything."

"I implore you to leave," Ginevra said in a clipped voice when the witch walked up to the portrait and pressed her nose to it.

"Oh no, I can't leave. Oh no, no, no." Sybill tutted and wagged a finger, as though reprimanding Ginevra for suggesting something so utterly foolish. Then she raised the bottle in her hand, and with a crooked smile, asked, "Sherry?"

Ginevra sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat as she realised she would not be able to return to the peace and solitude of her monotonous existence at that moment. "No, thank you," she snapped, turning away from the other woman. If Sybill would not leave, then Ginevra would not acknowledge her presence.

Being ignored seemed to be something the ratty witch was used to, because she simply went about her business in her drunkenness, muttering about her grandmother and her job and how cold the other professors were—"They refuse to accept that divination is a proper subject, the boors!"—and whatnot, as Ginevra kept one eye on her all the while to make sure she did not break something, especially her bones.

After a time, Sybill settled down in a dusty corner, polished off the rest of the sherry, and stuffed the bottle under her robes. She sat staring into space with her mouth hanging open, her big, round, glassy eyes disconcerting to look at. She then began to mutter about something or the other, her expressions changing every now and again as her voice rose in anger or dropped in despair.

All in all, she was a rather amusing specimen, and Ginevra felt as though she was watching some sort of performance as she continued to observe the witch's many shenanigans. Once she grew bored, she turned back to her hand-crafter journal and began to carefully pen down her day's activities—or lack thereof—and was startled when an animal-like wail emanated from the farthest corner of the small alcove. She peered at Sybill curiously, wondering what she was up to now, but the woman was still talking to herself, her voice loud enough for Ginevra to catch the words.

"—out of pity, I daresay. Doesn't think I have a shred of talent, does he? Insult to my grandmother! Insult to my ancestors! Real shame, too. But if only I could remember… remember… remember… what's that, now? Ah, right, remember… but I simply don't understand. I'm quite sure he refused, but what made him change his mind? Tad soft in the head, perhaps… my missing memory isn't a problem, is it? Oh, no, of course it isn't. Silly me. Where is this place anyway? Don't I have an afternoon class?" She struggled to rise to her feet, teetering to the side and almost collapsing onto the towering pile of books beside her as she steadied herself and declared, "I know that this may seem like a game to you, but it is damn serious to me!"

What is? Ginevra wanted to ask, but she dared not, lest the witch lose her focus in trying to coordinate her limbs and go sprawling down onto the dusty cobble-stoned floor. She would break more than a tooth or two, if that were to happen. Ginevra watched as Sybill scrambled about, arms held out in front of her, as though her vision had failed her, odd little sounds escaping her chapped lips. She seemed as though she was doing some ritual that Ginevra had never witnessed before. Sybill began to move her hands in slow circles and curving patterns, her glassy eyes staring off into space, as though she was in a trance—or trying to be, at least.

"I'm doing it right!" she suddenly yelled, throwing her hands up in the air. "Don't you dare tell me you hate something you don't understand! Unfounded hate, I tell you, that's what it is!"

She twirled about, arms raised over her head, screaming "Hate, hate, hate!" and then she jerked to a stop, doubled over, and vomited all over the floor.

Ginevra groaned and took her head in her hands. Who is going to clean that mess, now?

"Sorry," Sybill said, looking squeamish. "I'll just—" she waved her wand and Scoured the floor. Ginevra was just glad that she could not smell anything beyond the confines of her painting, because she doubted that the alcove smelled very pleasant just then.

"Time for some training," the witch muttered as she stumbled to the gap. And with a final, "Prophecies, shmofecies. No one believes them anyway," she exited the alcove, leaving Ginevra to exhale a sigh of relief and return to writing in her book.

(She never heard of Sybill Trelawney again for about a decade and a half later, when there were rumours of her being forced to abdicate her position as Professor of Divination because she possessed absolutely no remarkable skills or talent. What happened after that, or whether it was even true or false, Ginevra never found out.)

Circa 1992

She stirred from slumber as soft whimpers and sobs reached her ear. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she peered around her tree and squinted into the darkness. Luckily for her, the moon was shining bright that night, so it did not take very long for her to spot the rather small bundle huddled in the corner, the girl's bright red mane of hair bobbing up and down as she cried into her knees.

Crawling over to the boundary of her painting, she peered down at the young girl. She seemed to be a first year, a rather small and frail-looking one at that, and it reminded Ginevra of a certain other sleepwalking eleven-year-old who had happened to find her alcove in the middle of the night.

After a time, the girl simmered down, and Ginevra reckoned that she must have fallen asleep, her head resting against the bookshelf and her pale face looking ghostly in the moonlight. She was clutching something tight against her chest, something that looked like a black book, but it was too dark to be sure. Ginevra watched her sleep for a moment longer till a yawn escaped her lips and she crawled back to her tree. Hopefully when she awoke in a few hours, the child would be gone.

Unfortunately for her, none of her wishes ever came true, so when she came around her Juniper tree in the morning, the girl was there, except now she was dressed in her uniform, so perhaps she had left and returned. She was standing at one end of the alcove and staring at the other end of it. Curious, Ginevra tried to find what it was the girl was looking at, but there was nothing there.

"Are you alright, child?" she finally asked the redhead, who, to Ginevra's delight, shrieked and jumped back, her brown eyes wide with fear and her lower lip trembling. It had been a while since someone had reacted in that way after catching sight of her.

"Who—what—how—" she stammered, looking from side to side as though she expected someone or something to jump out at her.

"Worry not, it is only I who resides in this place." When the child only turned to eye her fearfully as she pressed back against the bookshelf, Ginevra said, "You were here last night, were you not?"

The girl nodded. Ginevra hummed in thought. "Did you perchance forget something here while in your woe begotten state?"

The child shook her head and dropped her gaze to the floor. Ginevra tutted. "Can you speak?"

The redhead nodded, realised her mistake, and then said, "Sorry," in a tiny, squeaky voice.

Biting back a sigh, Ginevra asked, "What is your name?"

The girl fidgeted, playing with her hands, looking unsure, and Ginevra could not help but roll her eyes. "Alright, then. I am known as the Lady Ginevra de' Benci of Florentia. What are you called?"

For some reason, hearing Ginevra's name seemed to have sparked the life in the little red-haired girl, because she looked up, eyes wide with curiosity, and said, "Ginevra?"

"That is correct."

"That's my name, too."

Ginevra frowned. "Pardon me?"

A small smile graced the young girl's pale features. "I'm Ginny. Ginny Weasley."

Raising her eyebrows, Ginevra nodded once in acknowledgement. "Well, hello, Ginny Weasley."

"Hello."

They continued to stare at each other for several moments longer, and Ginevra could not help but feel a tad disappointed that even though she had finally found her namesake after so many centuries of being isolated and forgotten by the rest of the world, the girl seemed far too timid and jittery for her liking.

"Um," the child said, finally having found the nerve to walk closer to Ginevra. "Last night, you said you saw me?"

She nodded once. The girl bowed her head and fiddled with her fingers. "Um, did you, maybe, also happen to see a black diary?"

Ginevra pursed her lips in thought. "I may or may not have. Why? I thought you said you did not forget anything."

"Oh, I didn't forget it." The girl seemed to grow even paler, if that was possible. "I left it here."

Ginevra nodded. "Of course you did."

"But," the child continued, her gaze returning to the spot she was staring at earlier. "It's not here anymore."

"Well, perhaps you took it back with you."

Ginevra II—she liked the sound of that—shook her head. "No. I'm quite sure I left it here. I checked multiple times."

"Then it has to still be here," she replied. "I'm afraid nothing ever leaves this alcove unless manually extracted. You can take my word for it." Her bitterness for having been abandoned for centuries in that dusty old hovel was something she would never stop resenting, even if ever she was returned to her original location.

"I believe you," the girl whispered, tears now streaming down her cheeks.

Alarmed, Ginevra said, "I'm sure you will find your diary, child. There isn't any need to cry over it."

"Oh, I'm quite sure I'll find it as well," the redhead sobbed, rubbing her eyes with her hands. "But I don't want to find it! I simply can't get rid of it! I've tried everything!"

Ginevra frowned. It had to be the first time she had encountered a situation of this sort. What an odd predicament to be in, she thought before asking, "Tell me, child, is this diary cursed?"

The girl shrugged and then nodded, and Ginevra heaved a sigh. "How did you come to possess it?"

"—t'was with my school books," she hiccoughed as she looked up at Ginevra with a pitiful expression, eyes red from crying.

"Have you written in it?"

When the redhead nodded, she felt her heart sink. "Please tell me you did not pour all your heart's woes and worries into it."

The girl hung her head in dismay, and Ginevra pinched the bridge of her nose. "Have you not been taught to never trust anything that isn't supposed to speak when it talks back to you? What sort of witch are you?"

Ginny began to cry again, and Ginevra felt her irritation slowly ebb away and turn into pity. "Really," she finally said, deciding that she could at least try to help this girl. At least because they shared the same name, if not for anything else. "It's always you Gryffindors who get yourself into endless trouble. Why can't you simply… not?"

"I didn't know," the girl wailed, and Ginevra winced from the shrillness of her voice.

"If you want my help, then I demand that you stop your incessant bawling at once," she chastised, watching with arms crossed as the girl sniffled and rubbed the tears from her cheeks.

"Can you really help me?" Ginny asked in a small voice, to which Ginevra shrugged a shoulder.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Have you told anyone else of this diary?"

The child shook her head, and Ginevra sighed. "Right. Now, I presume that this is not the first time you have tried to get rid of that book?" The girl nodded. "What else did you do?"

"I—I accidentally dropped it from the Astronomy Tower the first time, but then when I went back to my dorm room, it was by my bedside table. Then I threw it into the fire, and it was sitting in my suitcase when I opened it to look for something later that evening," she answered, counting off on her fingers. "A—And then I found this place by accident last night and thought that maybe if I left it here with all this other stuff, it would work, but—" she broke off with a sob, and Ginevra sighed.

"Why don't you just tell a professor about this?" she asked. "They would know how to help you."

"I—I can't," Ginny whispered, looking stricken.

"Why not?"

"I think—I think I've done some terrible things."

Ginevra frowned. "How do you mean?"

The child looked up to fix fearful eyes on her. She shook her head slowly and whispered, "I don't know."

A shiver ran down Ginevra's spine, and she had half a mind to tell the girl to get away from her and never return, but she felt compelled to help this child because she felt as though they were connected, even if it was just by name, and even if that was just her wishful thinking, it still felt good to feel like she belonged after being alone for so many, many years.

"Elaborate," she finally instructed, waving her hand for Ginny to come closer.

The girl then narrated the entire tale of how the diary came into her possession before the school year began, and how she had been thrilled to find that she finally had someone to confide all of her deepest darkest secrets to. Being the youngest and only girl of her seven siblings, she had always felt lonely because she hadn't any female friends to confide in, and the diary came to her when she most needed it. But of late, she claimed to be feeling ill a lot, and there seemed to be lapses in her memory. She could not remember where she had been or what she had been doing on certain nights, and then something terrible would happen, like cats getting petrified or her waking up with rooster feathers on her night robes. After she woke up unable to remember where she had been the night a classmate of hers had disappeared, she realised that all these things had started only after she had found the diary, leading to her multiple attempts at trying to rid herself of it.

"I came straight here after breakfast to see if the diary was still here," she said as she wrung her hands, "but since it's not, I'm guessing it's back in my room somewhere. Oh," she moaned, "what do I do?"

Ginevra had not expected her situation to be as grave as it was, and now she understood why the girl refused to go to a teacher about it. If she were to tell them that she conveniently had no recollection of where she was or what she had been doing on the nights of these tragedies, then she would most definitely be the main suspect. The worst case scenario would be that she would be expelled, and in all her years, Ginevra had never heard of a first year student being expelled a mere few months after having entered Hogwarts.

"Alright," she conceded. "I will help you, but on one condition."

The girl looked up at her with beseeching eyes, and Ginevra sighed. "I will tell you of a place where you can get rid of the diary, but only if you give me your word that you will go to a teacher soon after."

"But why?" the redhead questioned. "If I no longer have the diary, I don't need to tell anybody about it, do I?"

"Child, cursed objects are not as simple to deal with as that. Dark Magic is very dangerous, and you have most definitely been exposed to it for a prolonged period of time. It could take a severe toll on you if countermeasures are not taken. So, do I have your word?"

Ginny looked unsure, but Ginevra knew that her need to rid herself of the vile object overpowered her need to stay away from trouble. And as she had anticipated, the girl nodded. "I promise."

Nodding, Ginevra decided that although she was not convinced, she would just have to believe that the child would stay true to her word. "I have heard rumours of the girls' lavatory on the first floor having been abandoned because it has been claimed as the territory of a certain ghost."

Ginny's eyes went round as saucers, and Ginevra waved her hand. "I doubt she can harm you. Anyway, nobody uses that lavatory, so I would say that it is a reasonable place to dispose of the diary, would you not agree? Of course, it might not work, but I reckon it is worth a try, since you're so desperate."

"The first floor girls' lavatory?" the redhead asked.

"Yes."

"Thank you," Ginny breathed, looking immensely relieved. "Thank you so much!"

She spun around and dashed to the gap, and just as she began to sidle out, Ginevra called, "Don't forget your promise, child!" but she was long gone.

Ginevra placed her palms against her cheeks and wondered if she had made a terrible mistake. Unfortunately for her, she did not have a diary to spill all her woes to and have it console her.

(As it turned out, without Ginevra's knowledge, her act of kindness had facilitated the shifting of the gears, leading to the start of a terribly great saga, one we are all too familiar with.)

A/n: Yes, I hinted at Rily here because why not? And I've always wanted to write drunk!Trelawney, so that worked out to my advantage. And, if you're wondering, yes, the reason I chose Ginevra's portrait was because of Ginny. That was my reason lol.

One more chapter to go!

The Disney Lyric Prompts Competition:

#5: "If she doesn't scare you, no evil thing will."

The Biathlon Competition Prompts:

20 km Individual

The athletes start in intervals of 30 seconds. Four shootings have to be completed (2 in a prone position, 2 standing), thereby 20 targets are to be hit. 1 minute penalty time for every target missed is added to their race time.

2000 words minimum

20 prompts

100 words extra for penalty. 6 penalties: 2,600 minimum

Prompts:

Marvelous

"I know that this may seem like a game to you, but it is damn serious to me!"

Tree

soaked

net

idiot

egg (not used)

sedative (not used)

ceiling

marble

morning

(Choose one): Harry/Draco; Angelina/Oliver; Luna/Neville; Hermione/Blaise; Ariana/Gellert (not used)

vanilla (not used)

crimson

candle

dolls

I'm the jury, I'm the judge and I committed all the crimes. (Delain - Not Enough) (not used)

mask ball (not used)

hate

training