'As always, questions about your grades may be submitted to me in writing. Further discussion will be obtained, as needed, during my office hours, assuming any of you remember where my office is. And now, onward and upward.' Jackson paced slowly along the line of paintings, gesturing vaguely at them. 'As many of you will recall, in our first class, we had a short discussion, spearheaded by Mr. Walker,' he peered beneath his bushy eyebrows in Zane's direction, 'about the nature of magical art. I explained that the artist's intentions are imbued on the canvas via a magical, psycho-kinetic process, which allows the art to take on a semblance of motion and attitude. The result is a drawing that moves and mimics life at the whim of the artist. Today, we will examine a different kind of art, one that represents life in a wholly different way.'
Quills scratched feverishly as the class struggled to keep up with Jackson's monologue. As usual, Jackson paced as he spoke.
'The art of magical painting comes in two forms. The first one is just a more lavish version of what I illustrated in class, which is the creation of purely fanciful imagery based on the imagination of the artist. This is different from Muggle art only inasmuch as the magical versions may move and emote, based on the intention--and only within the imaginative boundaries--of the artist. Our friend, Mr. Biggles here, is an example.' Jackson gestured at the painting of the clown. 'Mr. Biggles, thankfully, never existed outside the imagination of the artist who painted him.' The clown responded to the attention, bobbing in its frame, waggling the fingers of one white-gloved hand and waving the cane in the other. The tiny clown's head on the end of the cane ran its tongue out and crossed its eyes. Jackson glared at the thing for a moment, and then sighed as he began to pace again.
'The second type of magical painting is much more precise. It depends on advanced spellwork and potion- mixed paints to recreate a living individual or creature. The technomancic name for this type of painting is imago aetaspeculum, which means… can anyone tell me?'
Petra raised her hand and Jackson nodded at her. 'It means, I think, something like a living mirror image, sir?'
Jackson considered her answer. 'Half credit, Miss Morganstern. Five points to Gryffindor for effort. The most accurate definition of the term is 'a magical painting that captures a living imprint of the individual it represents, but confined within the aetas, or timeframe, of the subject's own lifetime'. The result is a portrait that, while not containing the living essence of the subject, mirrors every intellectual and emotional characteristic of that subject. Thus, the portrait does not learn and evolve beyond the subject's death, but retains exactly that subject's personality as strictly defined by his or her lifetime. We have Mr. Cornelius Yarrow here as an example.'
Jackson now indicated the thin, rather nervous man in the portrait. Yarrow flinched slightly at Jackson's gesture. Mr. Biggles capered frantically in his frame, jealous for attention.
'Mr. Yarrow, when did you die?' Jackson asked, passing the portrait on his way around the room again.
The portrait's voice was as thin as the man in it, with a high, nasal tone. 'September twentieth, nineteen forty-nine. I was sixty-seven years and three months old, rounding up, of course.'
'And what--as if I needed to ask--was your occupation?'
'I was Hogwarts school bursar for thirty-two years,' the portrait answered with a sniff.
Jackson turned to look at the painting. 'And what do you do now?'
The portrait blinked nervously. 'Excuse me?'
'With all the time you now have on your hands, I mean. It's been a long time since nineteen fortynine. What do you do with yourself, Mr. Yarrow? Have you developed any hobbies?'
Yarrow seemed to chew his lips, obviously mystified and worried by the question. 'I… hobbies? No hobbies, as such. I… I always just liked numbers. I tend to think about my work. That's what I always did when I wasn't figuring the books. I thought about the budgets, the numbers, and worked them out in my head.'
Jackson maintained eye contact with the painting. 'You still think about the numbers? You spend your time working out the books for the school budget as it stood in nineteen forty-nine?'
Yarrow's eyes darted back and forth over the class. He seemed to feel he was being trapped somehow. 'Er. Yes. Yes, I do. It's just what I do, you understand. What I always did. I see no reason to stop. I'm the bursar, you see. Well, was, of course. The bursar.'
'Thank you very much, Mr. Yarrow. You've illustrated my point precisely,' said Jackson, resuming his circuit of the room.
'Always happy to be of service,' Yarrow said a little stiffly.
Jackson addressed the class again. 'Mr. Yarrow's portrait, as some of you probably know, normally hangs in the corridor just outside the Headmistress' office, along with many other former school staff members and faculty. We have, however, come into possession of a second portrait of Mr. Yarrow, one that normally hangs in his family's home. The second portrait, as you may guess, is here in the center of our display. Mr. Yarrow, if you please?' Jackson gestured at the empty portrait in the center.
Yarrow raised his eyebrows. 'Hm? Oh. Yes, of course.' He shifted, stood, brushed some nonexistent flecks of lint off his natty robes, and then stepped carefully out of the portrait frame. For a few seconds, both portraits stood empty, then Yarrow appeared in the center portrait. He was wearing slightly different clothes in this portrait, and when he sat, he was turned at an angle, showing the prow of his nose in profile.
'Thank you again, Mr. Yarrow,' Jackson said, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms. 'Although there are exceptions, typically, a portrait only becomes active upon the death of the subject. Technomancy cannot explain to us why this should be, except that it seems to respond to the law of Conservation of Personalities. In other words, one Mr. Cornelius Yarrow at any given moment is, cosmically speaking, sufficient.' There was a murmur of suppressed laughter. Yarrow frowned as Jackson continued. 'Another factor that comes into play once the subject is deceased is the interactivity between portraits. If there is more than one portrait of an individual, the portraits become connected, sharing a common subject. The result is one mutual portrait that can maneuver at will between its frames. For instance, Mr. Yarrow can visit us at Hogwarts, and then return to his home portrait as he wishes.'
James struggled to write all of Jackson's comments down, knowing the professor was notorious for creating test questions out of the least detail of a lecture. He was distracted from the task, however, by thoughts of the portrait of Severus Snape. James risked raising his hand.
Jackson spied him and his eyebrows rose slightly. 'A question, Mr. Potter?'
'Yes, sir. Can a portrait ever leave its own frames? Can it, maybe, go over into a different painting?'
Jackson studied James for a moment, his eyebrows still raised. 'Excellent question, Mr. Potter. Let us find out, shall we? Mr. Yarrow, may I beg your service once more?'
Yarrow was trying to maintain the pose of his second portrait, which was studious and thoughtful, looking slightly away. His eyes slid to the side, looking out at Jackson. 'I suppose so. How else may I help?'
'Are you aware of the painting of the rather odious Mr. Biggles in the frame next to you?'
Mr. Biggles responded to the mention of his name by feigning great shock and shyness. He covered his mouth with one hand and batted his eyes. The tiny clown's head on the end of the cane goggled and blew raspberries. Yarrow sighed. 'I am aware of that painting, yes.'
'Would you be so kind as to step into his painting for just a moment, sir?'
Yarrow turned to Jackson, his watery eyes magnified behind his spectacles. 'Even if that were possible, I don't believe I could bring myself to join his company. I'm sorry.'
Jackson nodded, closing his eyes respectfully. 'Thank you, yes, I don't blame you, Mr. Yarrow. No, we can
