Post by gmshed on Oct 24, 2009 6:14:02 GMT -5
A/N: I was writing angst when I suddenly thought of this. I hope it makes sense, but I still can't get a handle on Snape's voice. Constructive criticism would be very much welcomed.
“Harry argued most passionately for your portrait to be hung here, Professor.”
“I wish he hadn’t bothered!” the portrait snapped, and subsided into dark mutterings about interfering brats.
***
Answering the new Headmistress’s request for advice, the Chair of the Board of Governors was most surprised to be shown to a scowling portrait that stated “I want to be removed from the Portrait Network.”
***
Damn Potter. Having condemned him to this, he could have at least made sure he had a second portrait. He wouldn’t care if it was hung in Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes, entitled 'Long-dead Greasy Git', and used as a dartboard, as long as it offered an escape.
***
He tried spending all his time away from his portrait – striding around the castle, barging through portraits and landscapes and insulting the students, who, from what he could see, were just as dunder-headed as their ancestors – but eventually the enchantment on his canvas would drag him back, his heels leaving metaphorical grooves, and bind him there until it had strengthened.
“Our chronology is wrong,” Severus told the Headteacher after an acceptable distance of two centuries.
“No, it’s not,” she said.
She’d made a special study of the era and published a paper in a prestigious History of Magic journal, apparently. He told her he'd no idea such a publication existed.
“I wish to be re-hung!”
“Severus, as I’ve said many times before, it’s not possible. Now, you know how much I love our little conversation,” the Headmaster of Hogwarts placed several years of stress upon the last syllable, “but I really must finish this letter.”
Severus Snape, or at least something which thought of itself as Severus Snape, had been surprised to find himself in existence. He was dead. He was dead, and even if he had believed in an afterlife, which he hadn’t, this didn’t look like hell. Then Dumbledore had strolled into his portrait and he’d rapidly revised that opinion.
He’d realised, a few decades later, that the prospect of eternity in a portrait next to a portrait of Albus Dumbledore should have been savoured in comparison to the prospect of eternity in a portrait between those of Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall.
***
“I think it’s sweet.”
“You are not in my position. How would you like interrupted sleep for five hundred years? I assure you it can be arranged.”
“You don’t actually need sleep, though, do you?”
“That’s not the point! There’s little else to do.”
“Why didn’t they have a joint portrait?”
“Because,” he raised his voice so he could be heard in the neighbouring portrait, “they were blind idiots!”
“I wouldn’t have thought you cared.”
Snape curled his lip. “I didn’t. But if I’d done what Rolanda suggested and locked them in a cupboard, I wouldn’t have this trouble.”
"Good morning, Severus."
"Evening, Severus."
"Hello, Severus."
They went back and forth, and forth and back, and the enchantment saw fit to wake him every single time.
"Severus, do you think that Weasley's new discovery could practically mean that potions prepared in transfigured cauldrons would be enhanced?"
The two of them even managed loud silences, when they curled together on either's chair, or played chess, and didn't say everything that had passed into irrelevance. He thought about going insane, but doubted he possessed the depth of mind to do so.
"Rise and shine!" Albus cried.
Severus threw a book at him, missed.
"Ow!" Albus knelt to nurse his kicked shin, looking back up at Minerva with a woebegone expression. "My dear, he would have woken whether or not I spoke. I was merely attempting to inject some cheer into the proceedings this morning."
"Minerva," Severus said. "I do hope you didn't put 'Rest in Peace' on my gravestone. I'd hate to disappoint."
“Harry argued most passionately for your portrait to be hung here, Professor.”
“I wish he hadn’t bothered!” the portrait snapped, and subsided into dark mutterings about interfering brats.
***
Answering the new Headmistress’s request for advice, the Chair of the Board of Governors was most surprised to be shown to a scowling portrait that stated “I want to be removed from the Portrait Network.”
***
Damn Potter. Having condemned him to this, he could have at least made sure he had a second portrait. He wouldn’t care if it was hung in Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes, entitled 'Long-dead Greasy Git', and used as a dartboard, as long as it offered an escape.
***
He tried spending all his time away from his portrait – striding around the castle, barging through portraits and landscapes and insulting the students, who, from what he could see, were just as dunder-headed as their ancestors – but eventually the enchantment on his canvas would drag him back, his heels leaving metaphorical grooves, and bind him there until it had strengthened.
***
“Our chronology is wrong,” Severus told the Headteacher after an acceptable distance of two centuries.
“No, it’s not,” she said.
She’d made a special study of the era and published a paper in a prestigious History of Magic journal, apparently. He told her he'd no idea such a publication existed.
***
“I wish to be re-hung!”
“Severus, as I’ve said many times before, it’s not possible. Now, you know how much I love our little conversation,” the Headmaster of Hogwarts placed several years of stress upon the last syllable, “but I really must finish this letter.”
***
Severus Snape, or at least something which thought of itself as Severus Snape, had been surprised to find himself in existence. He was dead. He was dead, and even if he had believed in an afterlife, which he hadn’t, this didn’t look like hell. Then Dumbledore had strolled into his portrait and he’d rapidly revised that opinion.
He’d realised, a few decades later, that the prospect of eternity in a portrait next to a portrait of Albus Dumbledore should have been savoured in comparison to the prospect of eternity in a portrait between those of Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall.
***
“I think it’s sweet.”
“You are not in my position. How would you like interrupted sleep for five hundred years? I assure you it can be arranged.”
“You don’t actually need sleep, though, do you?”
“That’s not the point! There’s little else to do.”
“Why didn’t they have a joint portrait?”
“Because,” he raised his voice so he could be heard in the neighbouring portrait, “they were blind idiots!”
“I wouldn’t have thought you cared.”
Snape curled his lip. “I didn’t. But if I’d done what Rolanda suggested and locked them in a cupboard, I wouldn’t have this trouble.”
***
"Good morning, Severus."
"Evening, Severus."
"Hello, Severus."
They went back and forth, and forth and back, and the enchantment saw fit to wake him every single time.
"Severus, do you think that Weasley's new discovery could practically mean that potions prepared in transfigured cauldrons would be enhanced?"
The two of them even managed loud silences, when they curled together on either's chair, or played chess, and didn't say everything that had passed into irrelevance. He thought about going insane, but doubted he possessed the depth of mind to do so.
***
"Rise and shine!" Albus cried.
Severus threw a book at him, missed.
"Ow!" Albus knelt to nurse his kicked shin, looking back up at Minerva with a woebegone expression. "My dear, he would have woken whether or not I spoke. I was merely attempting to inject some cheer into the proceedings this morning."
"Minerva," Severus said. "I do hope you didn't put 'Rest in Peace' on my gravestone. I'd hate to disappoint."
- there is quite a lot between the lines ;D
