Harry sighed irritably as his relatives—Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley—picked up pamphlets at the front desk. They were visiting an art gallery, Dudley having pitched a fit because Piers Polkiss was going as were the other 'cool kids'. Apparently the gallery was having an exhibition of the works of an artist called Guertena.
There were three people in front of Harry and his relatives, a little girl and her parents. The girl, after having a brief conversation with her mother had wandered off into the gallery. Harry looked at his Aunt, phrasing his question as politely as he could.
"Aunt Petunia, may I go farther in to the gallery?" he asked, the words feeling sour in his mouth. The horse-faced woman glanced at him dismissively.
"Go, boy. Be back here by five o'clock though, or we'll leave without you." She dismissed him, and Harry walked quickly away; he was quite glad that she had let him go without a fight. Maybe it was because there were others watching though…
Shaking his dark thoughts from his mind, he headed up the stairs to the second floor of the gallery, somewhat intimidated by the feel of the place. The white walls and classical music gave the gallery a sophisticated, aristocratic air.
He wandered around the second floor, eventually coming to a portrait that sent a shiver of foreboding down his spine. It was a picture of a lady dressed up in red; she looked rather pretty…or, she would've if it weren't for the look on her face. The look on her face was hungry, and her eyes stared viciously out at Harry. He read the nameplate below the portrait.
"Lady in Red…" he muttered, looking at the portrait once again. Something about the portrait, while having a bad vibe to it, drew him in. Unconsciously, Harry grasped his arm just above his elbow—right where the scar from the basilisk's fang having piercing his arm was. Suddenly, the lights flickered above him and he tensed.
"What was that?" he exclaimed, looking around wildly. When he saw nothing apparently amiss, he relaxed. "Huh. Maybe it was nothing…"
Prickles ran wildly down his spine when he heard a wet slap behind him; he spun around, ready to dodge anything coming after him, but saw nothing. Then, he looked at the floor.
Come play Harry
It was written out in blue liquid, in an elegant script. He stared at it, breathing picking up slightly as he read the rest of what was written out.
Come below Harry let's play don't you want to play? We can be friends! Come play Harry!
He stared at the words, his heart pounding inexplicably in his chest. He breathed deeply, trying to calm down.
'It's all right, just a prank, a joke! Maybe someone dreamed this up and I was caught at the wrong place at the wrong time…!' he thought wildly, but somehow, deep in his gut, he didn't believe it. He turned away, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and headed for the entrance. He was just by the stairs when there was another wet slap. He whirled around; heart pounding even faster as he realized that there was more blue text on the wall beside him.
Come Harry! Come to me! We can be friends! Isn't that what you want? A true friend? Come play Harry; we can be friends forever…
Harry's breath caught in his throat. How could this person, whoever they were, know about what had happened with Ron and Hermione?! He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
'No, no. I'm reading too much into this. There's no way anyone could know about that! But how are they doing this…?' he practically ran down the stairs, nearly sprinting for the door. He tried to open it, panic inexplicably growing in his chest when he tried it again and again only to reach one conclusion.
The door was locked.
And he was trapped inside this gallery, with whatever was going on.
He banged on the door, hoping someone would hear him. The panic had built in his chest, forcing out all rational thought. His heart leapt into his throat when he heard a final wet slap behind him. He turned around, emerald eyes wide as he took in the blue text.
CoMe PlAy, HARRY…!
All went black.