Igor the Ill is a portrait on the sixth floor corridor. It portrays a young man around his 20's with a handkerchief in hands almost always trying to clear his nose. He mostly lies down on a bed which is portrayed behind him or sits in an old wooden chair at the side of the bed. The scene is not very interesting or fascinating so it goes mostly unseen by the passersby. He's wearing a very thick red jacket and gray woolen flannels. He has no shoes on just a pair of very bright orange socks with a stitched I on the side. Igor doesn't normally talk to people who pass by, he prefers to be alone and he has a very sad expression on his face all the time as though he'd given up.
Hello, my name is Igor. Igor the Ill is what I've become later. I was born in a small seaside village in Spain. It was very cool down there, the weather used to be so warm and everything seemed to be perfect. You know a happy childhood.
It was when I was 14 that I discovered that we were actually hiding in that small village. Our family was followed by the Death Eaters before the First Wizarding War because my father used to be an auror who fled Britain at some point in order to keep his family away from all the danger that was around.
After the Death Eaters managed to localize our house we were forced to move to Russia, not exactly Russia but a very disassociated village in the cold snowy mountains of Russia. From the first day I set foot in that village I was ill, and it never got away. I guess it never will. I'm sad of the fact, yes, but hey I get to be warm and cozy here at least.