Moving On: The Story of... (Oneshot)
Title: Moving On: The Story of A Boy, A Girl, and What Happens When a Dead Professor Just Wants Some Peace and Quiet
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Death was supposed to be peaceful and quiet, a time to reflect on your ended life and look forward to blissful nothingness. It was not supposed to be filled with two whining Eighth Years and their angst-filled apologies. Severus Snape has had enough. It’s time to take matters into his own painted hands.
Notes: Thanks to inadaze22 for checking this over for me and being my head cheerleader. This was written for pphpficexchange for ayane_tsurugi. Her entire prompt can be found here.
Moving On: The Story of A Boy, A Girl, and What Happens When a Dead Professor Just Wants Some Peace and Quiet
PART ONE
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Harry Potter sat crossed-legged on the dungeon floor, the cold seeping first through his robes, into his trousers, past his skivvies and to his hindquarters. He could feel his skin tingling, prickling from the cold telling him his legs would be numb momentarily. It was a sign, he knew, that it was time to leave; he had been sitting here far too long already.
But Harry didn’t move.
Just as he had since the beginning of term, Harry continued to sit on the freezing, dirty dungeon floor and reflect on the events of the year before, the year that should have been his last at Hogwarts. Not one where he and his friends had to hide away in a tent all over the European countryside just trying to find the right opportunity to...
Harry shuddered. There had been so much hurt, so much death, and even with the ending euphoric result, there had been so much pain, pain that still hadn’t left.
Harry had been wallowing in his self-pity and heartache for too long, but he couldn’t stop himself. He may have saved the Wizarding world, but he hadn’t saved everyone.
Colin.
Tonks.
Remus.
Fred.
Harry shook his head and nearly moaned aloud, the pain taking over his body and settling into his bones, chilling him even further. Why had they all had to die?
One hundred feet to his left he heard laughter erupt when the Slytherin common room portrait opened and three small First Years exited. Harry merely glanced at them, unseeing, and they pretended he wasn’t even there. Harry was glad.
When he had first started coming to this place, the Slytherins had taken to his presence like a cat to water. They would throw things at him, bump into him, and generally taunt him, trying to cause a stir. To them, it didn’t matter that he had risked his life and the lives of so many people he loved, to save their way of life. To them - maybe not all, but some - he was just some nuisance who had taken away their lord. They took his silence and lack of retaliation as an opportunity to kick him while he was down.
And Harry let them. It was no more than he deserved.
But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, they eventually adjusted to his constant presence among them and finally left him alone. Occasionally, an older Seventh Year, pissed on Firewhiskey or something a bit harder, would come along and try to take a jab at him. Normally during those times Harry would just get up and head back to the Gryffindor common room, followed by the taunts of the drunken individual. Harry didn’t feel it was necessary to turn anyone into McGonagall. What was the point? He was done with confrontation and hurt and pain. Done with it.
But other than those occasional issues, the hallway outside the Slytherin common room was quiet and calm. Harry had become just as much of a permanent fixture in the hallway as the reason he was sitting there in the first place: the portrait of Severus Snape.
The Ministry and Hogwarts Board of Directors thought having Snape’s portrait hang with the others in the headmaster’s office was nothing short of a terrible idea. Though it had come out after the war - Harry had made sure of it - that Snape had been working tirelessly as a double agent for the Order and was instrumental in the demise of Voldemort, those two groups felt Snape - after killing Dumbledore, even if it was something Dumbledore had requested of him - wasn’t quite worthy of spending eternity hanging from the wall in Hogwarts School.
Harry - and many of his cohorts - disagreed.
It had taken Harry a full three months after the end of the war to convince the board to hang the portrait and, even then, they wouldn’t hang it the headmaster’s office. However, Harry was just glad Snape was finally hanging somewhere in the castle. He was the only one Harry could talk to anymore.
Harry ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed, the weight of the world still sitting on his thin shoulders. “I know I’ve said it before, Professor, but I am truly sorry.” He brought his eyes up from their fixed point on the floor and guilt shot through his body as he, once again, looked into the face of his former Potions professor. “I should have been able to save you. I should have been able to save everyone.”
Harry’s gaze dropped back to the floor, so he missed the exaggerated roll of Snape’s eyes. “Oy, shut it, Potter,” he said, his nose pointed into the air in disgust and his voice dripping with pure exasperation. “I can feel myself turning into a sniveling Nancy-boy just listening to your whining. You’re bothering me. Get to class already.”
PART TWO
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Severus Snape had had just about enough of this nonsense. This portrait business was proving to be shoddy at best, and he desperately wanted to go somewhere, anywhere but here.
He didn’t realize it at the time, as he wasn’t exactly coherent of the afterlife he was “living”, but he rather enjoyed not being a portrait. It was quiet and peaceful, something Severus had not been able to enjoy for far too long. Actually, Severus didn’t know if he had ever lived in peace and quiet until his death.
Damn that Potter! What made him and all his little followers feel it was necessary to make a big to-do about his portrait being unavailable in the castle? One moment Severus had been blissfully unaware of the pleasantness of death and then the next he woke up, so to speak, and found himself staring at the opposite wall in a dank part of the dungeons. It had taken him nearly two weeks to understand that he was near the Slytherin common room entrance, and even that could not cheer him.
As if Severus could actually be cheered. It wouldn’t have been so bad - after all, he had a space to himself and it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable - had he not been dealing with two particular students on a regular basis (and by regular he meant constantly) one of which was actually sitting on the floor in front of him now.
Potter.
Severus hadn’t been able to stand him when he was alive, so much like his father that one, and now he had to deal with him in death as well. To make matters worse, Severus could not move from portrait to portrait like the others in the castle. It was explained to him, by Potter of course, that it was one of the requirements the Ministry and Board of Directors had insisted upon. Apparently, they felt he may try to harm the other portraits. The thought made Severus roll his eyes into the back of his head and curse the raven-haired wizard in front of him.
And just when Severus was hitting his daily boiling point with the boy sitting on the floor, and as if on cue, those words slipped out of the boy’s mouth again: “I’m so sorry...”
Severus grit his teeth together and thought he could almost taste the paint. The intensity of his teeth rubbing against each other caused a gloppy, painted pulse in his temple to begin popping out in rapid succession. There was only so much he could take of the Boy-Who-Lived (To-Annoy).
“Oy, shut it, Potter!” Severus finally growled out. If he were alive - and fleshy - Severus may have done something much more drastic than yell. An idea consisting of fish flavoring and the Giant Squid instantly came to mind. Instead, he finished with, “I can feel myself turning into a sniveling Nancy-boy just listening to your whining. You’re bothering me. Get to class already.”
Sweet Merlin, he was losing his touch.
Potter didn’t flinch when Severus’ words bit out of the canvas, but instead he picked himself up off the floor and brushed off his robes. “You’re right, Professor,” he sighed. “I do need to get to class.”
Severus watched Potter throw his ratted rucksack over his thin shoulder and then turn away. After only a step, Potter turned to look at Severus again, a pained look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Professor.” The only thing that stopped the vehement response from slipping through his lips was the pathetic tone of Potter’s voice.
“Good bye, Potter,” Severus responded, his voice lacking its usual annoyance. Harry raised his hand in farewell and turned away to walk down the hall.
Severus groaned. Now only was he losing his touch, but he was getting soft in death, as well.
PART THREE
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Pansy wanted to collapse. Who knew NEWT-level classes would be so draining… even after she had taken some of them during the previous year? She shrugged her bag off her shoulder and it fell with a resounding thud on her bedspread, before she turned right back around and left the dormitories.
Pansy shook her head as she walked with a purpose she didn’t really feel deep down in her bones.
All those quills.
Pansy’s shoulders slumped and that feeling of desperation seeped into her body once more.
All those books.
She felt the dull ache of her near-constant headache flair up again and she groaned.
All those teachers’ dirty looks.
Pansy shuddered before righting her shoulders to walk into the Slytherin common room. Even if she felt miserable, she didn’t need to look miserable in front of - Pansy scanned the room and sighed again - no one. Her shoulders fell forward once more and she pushed out through the portrait.
Luckily for her there was no one in the hallway either. She wasn’t really surprised, though, was she? After all, everyone else was down at dinner - or should be. Pansy had found that since the end of the Second War she couldn’t eat. Every time she tried, she either couldn’t force herself to take more than a couple of bites, or all of it would come back up again. Just the thought made Pansy cringe.
She knew it was probably a combination of the stress she dealt with after being made Mistress of the Manor since her parents had both been chucked into Azkaban the minute Aurors found them hiding out (which hadn’t taken long - Pansy knew her parents weren’t always the smartest people in the world. For Merlin’s sake, they were Death Eaters! Of course they weren’t smart!), the demanding class schedule she had put upon herself the minute she had become Mistress of the Manor, and the full weight of the Ministry leaning heavily on the backs of those who were indirectly affected by the bad mistakes of their forbearers (for example, her worthless parents) because - didn’t you know? - everyone related to a Death Eater must, of course, be bad as well.
Sheesh. And people wondered why she had an ulcer the size of a melon!
Oh, and Pansy mustn’t forget her biggest mistake of all - the doozey that had her up late each night torturing herself because she had only made her already bad situation worse: trying to turn Potter over to You-Know-Who.
Pansy rolled her eyes at herself. What had she been thinking? Quite obviously, she hadn’t been.
She shook her head. No, she definitely had been thinking.
She had been thinking about how she could save her own life and the lives of her not-so-deserving parents. Pansy could admit to herself - but not to anyone else - that she had been terrified. Who could have expected that Harry “I’m Not Very Experienced But I Can Take Out a Dark Wizard” Potter would come out wielding a bunch of ancient magical mumbo-jumbo and defeat the greatest dark wizard of all time?
Not Pansy, that’s for sure.
No, Pansy was going to go for the sure win, the ace, the hole-in-one… so to speak. She wanted to make sure that she would be A-Okay in life because she had taken to the winning side.
Yeah, well, look where that thinking had gotten her: taking care of a house that was far too large for only her and a few house elves, drowning in classes she should never have had to take again, losing money as the days went on, not sleeping because she was overwrought with guilt, and dealing with a massive hole in her stomach!
Pansy was in front of his portrait now. And thank Merlin for that, because her legs could no longer help carry her and all the weight of her problems any longer.
“Oh, Professor,” Pansy cried and then quickly checking to make sure there was no one else around. “Why did I do that to Potter? It’s not like I even hate him. I just wanted to survive.” She dropped her head into her hands and continued in a muffled voice, “Why did you have to die? I need you so much! You were the only one who understood!”
Pansy was slipping so far into despair that she missed the snort that came from Snape’s highly agitated portrait.
PART FOUR
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Severus watched Parkinson retreat back to the Slytherin common room before the rest of the students came back from dinner, shoulders slumped, and head hanging in self-pity and defeat. At least she hadn’t stayed as long as Potter had. He couldn’t have taken much more today.
He rubbed his painted hands against his painted face and felt, not so surprisingly, paint seem to scrub away. His peaceful solitude of death had been disturbed and destroyed because of those two whiny, should-be adult, Eighth Years. He had thought it before and he was thinking it again: those two needed someone besides themselves and him to keep them company. Parkinson, apparently, didn’t have any friends left after most of them had been chucked into Azkaban with her parents and Potter didn’t feel it was necessary to spend time with those twits Granger and Weasley anymore because he felt so guilty all the time.
Well, Severus had had enough. It was time to end this debacle. He wanted some solitude in death and he was going to get it!
“Flopsy! Mopsy!” Severus felt the ridiculous urge to shout out Cottontail as well, but didn’t have the chance as the two house elves appeared before his portrait with a loud crack.
“Y-y-you called, P-p-professor,” Mopsy stuttered. Severus couldn’t tell them apart when they were standing next to each other quietly; they were twin house elves, after all - a rarity in their breed. But the minute they started talking, he knew. Mopsy had a terrible stuttering problem and Flopsy had a lisp - each of those traits were also a rarity in their breed.
Severus straightened his spine and looked down his hooked nose at the two beasts in front of him. “Yes, I did,” his voice took on the stern, dull and dry aspect that it had had in life and Severus was feeling better already. If it were his nature, he’d smile. “Have you gathered the students for me as I asked you to do at the beginning of the week?”
The house elves bowed deeply, their noses touching the floor causing Severus to cringe. “We have, Professsssor,” Flopsy answered, “just as you asked: four firssst yearsss, two boysss and two girlsss, one of each from Gryffindor and Slytherin.”
Severus nodded. “Good,” he clipped. “Bring them here this evening at nine o’clock. I want to explain to them everything that needs to happen. My sanity depends on it.”
Flopsy and Mopsy bowed again and then disappeared once more with a crack.
Severus - being simply made of paint and nowhere near human - never got tired of standing, but he wanted nothing more at that moment than to slide into his old easy chair and relax. He wondered quite selfishly if he could convince that sniveling Potter to request his painting to be redone to include his easy chair. It would make sleeping a bit less awkward.
Besides, Potter would owe him even more after his plan was put into action and completed to his utmost satisfaction. And he knew it would work out perfectly because, after all, it had been his idea. He may not be alive, but his brain still worked just as well, if not better, as it had in life. This was going to be a cinch. Severus was only saddened that he wouldn’t be there doing the dirty work himself, but relying on a bunch of pathetic First Years.
No matter, Severus waved off his mounting annoyance. There was nothing more than this that he could do, without looking like a total and complete sap that is.
And no one would ever know Severus Snape as a sap.
Severus paced the small frame of his portrait - one step to the left, then back to the right - and went over the plan one more time in his head. It was foolproof, he decided.
Besides, how hard could it be to get two people - two whiney, annoying, and desperately lonely teenagers - together?
PART FIVE
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One Week Later
Harry looked around in complete surprise. He had been coming to this unused classroom to think - and wallow in self-pity - since the school year had started, just over five months ago. It was his place to get away from Hermione and Ron, when they wanted to just talk about his lack of motivation and angst-filled behavior. It was his place to come to when he wanted to shout and scream and cry for all the injustices done to him, his family, and friends. It was his place of tranquility when he just wanted to shut his mind off to everyone else around him and sleep, because he couldn’t seem to sleep in his dorm room where happy memories swam all around him. This classroom was his. And now…
What had once been his small, dusty and unused classroom he frequented was now spic and span and home to one small table and two chairs sitting opposite each other at the table. The table was covered with red and white checked linens, two silver serving dishes across from each other, place settings, water glasses and a wax-covered bottle in the center of the table, with one lit candle inside its opening.
Harry thought it looked strangely like the scene in Lady and the Tramp when Lady and Tramp have dinner in the back alley behind that Italian restaurant. He couldn’t remember all the details, but he remembered one long piece of spaghetti being shared by the two dogs and them eventually touching snouts in a surprised kiss.
Harry’s eyes narrowed.
Four young students, probably First Years, stood at the back of the classroom, each wearing a white apron and a smile, watched as Harry stood dumbfounded just inside the door. He didn’t know what to do. He was dangerously teetering between the emotions of anger, confusion, and disbelief. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.
As if they had read his mind, two of the students - the girls - came forward and each grabbed one of Harry’s arms, pulling him inside, the door clicking shut behind him. “Please, come in, Mr. Potter,” the short, blond one said. “My name is Celia and this is Marta,” Celia gestured to the taller, brunette at his other arm. “We’re going to be your waitresses this evening, along with your waiters, Walter and Marc.” Harry looked at the two boys standing across the room and then each nodded at him. Harry, unsure of what else he could do, simply nodded back, while Celia and Marta led him to the table and pushed him gently into one of the seats.
“We have water available for you,” Marta said, her voice slightly squeaky like a mouse, causing Harry to lift a brow at her. She ignored him and continued on, “Or, if you’d prefer, some champagne.”
When Harry didn’t respond, Marta rolled her eyes and then grabbed the chilled bottle of champagne from the bucket beside the table. Harry hadn’t even noticed it until he heard the ice and water inside the pristine container slosh around. “You should try the champagne,” Celia said once Marta had handed her the bottle and poured it into his glass. He didn’t miss the look they exchanged above his head, though he wasn’t surprised. They were First Years after all - definitely not playing with a full deck, so to speak.
Sitting back, letting his thoughts turn over in his head a few hundred times, a very mute Harry watched the whole act play out in front of him and wondered what in the bloody hell could possibly be going on.
And just like it had been happening since the end of the war, Harry’s resolve burst and his fell off that teetering edge into anger and fell deep down into fury.
“What in the bloody hell is this?” he demanded, his face turning red. When no one answered him and didn’t even acknowledge the fact that he had spoken out in rage, Harry slammed his hand down on the table, causing the silverware to jump. “I demand you answer me.”
Instead, Celia and Marta both patted him gently on the shoulder and Marta replied, “Just try the champagne.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Celia added.
Harry didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he wasn’t having any of it. “No!” he clipped in as sarcastic a tone as he had ever heard himself use. “I will not just sit here and let you little First Years tell me to just wait and see. I want to know what the hell is going on here! So someone had better start explaining or you won’t see the light of day for months because your sorry asses will be in detention!”
Harry knew he could be menacing when upset; everyone had told him so. However, those damn kids just looked at him like he was nothing more than a raving lunatic who needed sympathy, rather than he was someone to fear. It didn’t make Harry feel very good, for one. And two, he wanted to wipe those little smirks right off their faces.
Just as he was pulling his wand out to bind all those self-absorbed prats together and haul their asses to McGonagall’s office, the door to his infiltrated and destroyed sanctuary opened slightly. He turned his head as Pansy Parkinson, of all people, walked into the room, her eyes showing confusion just as he knew his had when he had first seen the debacle in front of him.
When her eyes landed on Harry she gasped. And just as Harry was about to blow a gasket and hex everyone in sight, Pansy fell to the floor in dead faint.
Harry “Hero Complex” Potter - who had actually wanted to talk to Pansy since he’d heard her testimony after the war -was by her side in less than ten seconds.
This was turning into a very interesting evening.
PART SIX
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Pansy sipped the water slowly and carefully, her eyes unable to look up at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t quite sure how she got to where she was at this very moment, nor did she really care to know either. She just knew that she should do something besides sip her water and wring her hands together like a worry-wart.
She knew that Harry, who was sitting quietly across from her, was watching her every move. It had been alarming when she had walked into the room - not even sure why she was there in the first place; she had just had this overwhelming urge to go for a walk and then come into this classro-wait a minute! - to see a romantic table set for two and Harry “I Save Anything on Two Legs and Sometimes More” Potter standing there with a look that could only be shock mixed with a bit a of viciousness. She didn’t really remember much after that… well, until she woke up with the previously mentioned champion hovering above her and pressing a cool washcloth against her forehead. He had looked panicked - a look she had seen on his face a few other times during the Final Battle but never directed at her - and she was quite certain that if he looked at her like that for much longer, she would actually start to think he might like her.
She nearly laughed out loud at the just the thought. Pansy knew that was ridiculous. Harry “I Was Almost Turned Over to Voldemort by Pansy Parkinson” Potter could never have anything but feelings of loathing and hatred towards her. She shouldn’t even think that way. Apparently, raised stress levels, lack of food, and a frightening near-death experience (What?! Fainting is scary!) had brought on delusions and fantasies. Pansy made a mental note to see Madam Pomfrey early the next morning.
“Are you feeling alright, then?” His words broke into her reverie and she was shocked that his voice actually still sounded quite worried.
Pansy couldn’t respond, however, because her throat had seemed to close up on her. Instead, she nodded her head.
The intense silence between them was awkward and… well, intense. It seemed to drag on for ages and it made Pansy genuinely uncomfortable. Add in the fact that those bloody, nosey First Years hadn’t left, but were hovering annoyingly just on the other side of the room, and Pansy was in a right state of discomfort.
Finally, Harry cleared his throat, startling her slightly, before saying, “Look, I wanted to tell you that… It’s just, I was at your testimony after the war and… You see, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time now… Well, what I’m trying to say is… I forgive you.”
Pansy’s head shot up so far she thought she’d end up with whiplash. Did he just say what she thought he did? “I’m sorry?” she managed to croak out, instantly disgusted with her lack of composure and cracking voice.
She watched as Harry shifted in his seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I know what you were going through during the war,” he said. “We were all scared.” Some more than others, Pansy thought as she watched his face contort in pain and his eyes tear up slightly. “So, I understand why you wanted to turn me over to Voldemort.” He paused and lifted his eyes to hers. Pansy’s heart jumped up into her throat and she almost choked on the intense feelings bursting inside of her. What in the world was going on?! “I understand,” he said quietly, “and I forgive you.”
Pansy stared at him for a long time, looking into his eyes and seeing all of her own hurt and fears and bad decisions mirrored back at her. Finally, as if the words had wanted to come out of her mouth for the longest time, she said, “I really was scared. I’m so sorry.”
Harry nodded and she watched the corners of his mouth turn slightly into a half-smile. She was sure that, even in the very limited interaction they had had since the end of the war, Harry hadn’t smiled even slightly at anyone since they had started school in the fall. It was a nice look for him, even if he looked like it was slightly rusty. She felt herself smiling back at him, for the first time in a long time.
Pansy thought and hoped that maybe the rest of Eighth Year might not be so bad.
PART SEVEN
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Three Months Later
Severus walked across the expanse of his new, larger painting and eased down into his familiar, yet newly painted, easy chair. Ah, now this was the life. He favorites parts of his living years - his sleeping quarters from Hogwarts, his books, his easy chair - all had been added to his new portrait and he couldn’t be happier, or as happy as Severus could be. Sure, he still wasn’t allowed to move into other paintings, but at least now he had things to do!
Especially since it seemed that he would have a lot more time of his hands from now on. Potter and Parkinson hadn’t been to his portrait more than a couple of times since his brilliant plan was born and executed. The peace and quiet he had been longing for since the beginning of the school year had finally made itself known. It was a beautiful thing.
Severus kicked back his chair and let the footrest come up. This was the life. His eyes had started to drift shut when he heard a clearing of the throat and a chipper, “Professor?”
He tried his hardest, but Severus could not keep the groan from escaping his lips. They really did have excellent timing, didn’t they? And by excellent, he meant absolutely horrific.
His eyes opened slowly and he turned his head to look out. Potter and Parkinson were standing together, each with a smile on their face. “What do you two want?” Severus snapped… he had appearances to keep up.
“We had a chat with those First Years you sent after us,” Potter said, his smile turning into a smirk. “I think I may have underestimated you, Professor. You seem to be a bit of a sap.”
Severus jumped from the comfort of his easy chair and marched straight to the front of his painting. “I beg your pardon, Potter,” he sputtered. “Do not forget that I am still your Professor.”
Parkinson chuckled. “In a manner of speaking, Severus.”
The outrage! Severus could feel his insides boiling. Those little ingrates; after everything he had done for them, they show such little respect? Why if he were fleshy he’d show them all about respect!
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Professor,” Potter said with a laugh, which only caused Severus to get even more upset. “We only came for one thing.”
Knowing he needed to keep his anger in check - he didn’t want to lose his brand new home! - Severus narrowed his eyes and asked through gritted teeth, “And what might that be?”
He watched as Parkinson pressed two fingers to her lips, kissed them and then brought them forward to his portrait. They landed, or he assumed they did, on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
All of Severus’ annoyance seemed to dissipate as he watched the two walk off, hand in hand. He shook his head and walked back over to his easy chair. Slipping down into its comfort again, he sighed.
Maybe those two weren’t that bad afterall.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Death was supposed to be peaceful and quiet, a time to reflect on your ended life and look forward to blissful nothingness. It was not supposed to be filled with two whining Eighth Years and their angst-filled apologies. Severus Snape has had enough. It’s time to take matters into his own painted hands.
Notes: Thanks to inadaze22 for checking this over for me and being my head cheerleader. This was written for pphpficexchange for ayane_tsurugi. Her entire prompt can be found here.
Moving On: The Story of A Boy, A Girl, and What Happens When a Dead Professor Just Wants Some Peace and Quiet
PART ONE
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Harry Potter sat crossed-legged on the dungeon floor, the cold seeping first through his robes, into his trousers, past his skivvies and to his hindquarters. He could feel his skin tingling, prickling from the cold telling him his legs would be numb momentarily. It was a sign, he knew, that it was time to leave; he had been sitting here far too long already.
But Harry didn’t move.
Just as he had since the beginning of term, Harry continued to sit on the freezing, dirty dungeon floor and reflect on the events of the year before, the year that should have been his last at Hogwarts. Not one where he and his friends had to hide away in a tent all over the European countryside just trying to find the right opportunity to...
Harry shuddered. There had been so much hurt, so much death, and even with the ending euphoric result, there had been so much pain, pain that still hadn’t left.
Harry had been wallowing in his self-pity and heartache for too long, but he couldn’t stop himself. He may have saved the Wizarding world, but he hadn’t saved everyone.
Colin.
Tonks.
Remus.
Fred.
Harry shook his head and nearly moaned aloud, the pain taking over his body and settling into his bones, chilling him even further. Why had they all had to die?
One hundred feet to his left he heard laughter erupt when the Slytherin common room portrait opened and three small First Years exited. Harry merely glanced at them, unseeing, and they pretended he wasn’t even there. Harry was glad.
When he had first started coming to this place, the Slytherins had taken to his presence like a cat to water. They would throw things at him, bump into him, and generally taunt him, trying to cause a stir. To them, it didn’t matter that he had risked his life and the lives of so many people he loved, to save their way of life. To them - maybe not all, but some - he was just some nuisance who had taken away their lord. They took his silence and lack of retaliation as an opportunity to kick him while he was down.
And Harry let them. It was no more than he deserved.
But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, they eventually adjusted to his constant presence among them and finally left him alone. Occasionally, an older Seventh Year, pissed on Firewhiskey or something a bit harder, would come along and try to take a jab at him. Normally during those times Harry would just get up and head back to the Gryffindor common room, followed by the taunts of the drunken individual. Harry didn’t feel it was necessary to turn anyone into McGonagall. What was the point? He was done with confrontation and hurt and pain. Done with it.
But other than those occasional issues, the hallway outside the Slytherin common room was quiet and calm. Harry had become just as much of a permanent fixture in the hallway as the reason he was sitting there in the first place: the portrait of Severus Snape.
The Ministry and Hogwarts Board of Directors thought having Snape’s portrait hang with the others in the headmaster’s office was nothing short of a terrible idea. Though it had come out after the war - Harry had made sure of it - that Snape had been working tirelessly as a double agent for the Order and was instrumental in the demise of Voldemort, those two groups felt Snape - after killing Dumbledore, even if it was something Dumbledore had requested of him - wasn’t quite worthy of spending eternity hanging from the wall in Hogwarts School.
Harry - and many of his cohorts - disagreed.
It had taken Harry a full three months after the end of the war to convince the board to hang the portrait and, even then, they wouldn’t hang it the headmaster’s office. However, Harry was just glad Snape was finally hanging somewhere in the castle. He was the only one Harry could talk to anymore.
Harry ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed, the weight of the world still sitting on his thin shoulders. “I know I’ve said it before, Professor, but I am truly sorry.” He brought his eyes up from their fixed point on the floor and guilt shot through his body as he, once again, looked into the face of his former Potions professor. “I should have been able to save you. I should have been able to save everyone.”
Harry’s gaze dropped back to the floor, so he missed the exaggerated roll of Snape’s eyes. “Oy, shut it, Potter,” he said, his nose pointed into the air in disgust and his voice dripping with pure exasperation. “I can feel myself turning into a sniveling Nancy-boy just listening to your whining. You’re bothering me. Get to class already.”
PART TWO
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Severus Snape had had just about enough of this nonsense. This portrait business was proving to be shoddy at best, and he desperately wanted to go somewhere, anywhere but here.
He didn’t realize it at the time, as he wasn’t exactly coherent of the afterlife he was “living”, but he rather enjoyed not being a portrait. It was quiet and peaceful, something Severus had not been able to enjoy for far too long. Actually, Severus didn’t know if he had ever lived in peace and quiet until his death.
Damn that Potter! What made him and all his little followers feel it was necessary to make a big to-do about his portrait being unavailable in the castle? One moment Severus had been blissfully unaware of the pleasantness of death and then the next he woke up, so to speak, and found himself staring at the opposite wall in a dank part of the dungeons. It had taken him nearly two weeks to understand that he was near the Slytherin common room entrance, and even that could not cheer him.
As if Severus could actually be cheered. It wouldn’t have been so bad - after all, he had a space to himself and it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable - had he not been dealing with two particular students on a regular basis (and by regular he meant constantly) one of which was actually sitting on the floor in front of him now.
Potter.
Severus hadn’t been able to stand him when he was alive, so much like his father that one, and now he had to deal with him in death as well. To make matters worse, Severus could not move from portrait to portrait like the others in the castle. It was explained to him, by Potter of course, that it was one of the requirements the Ministry and Board of Directors had insisted upon. Apparently, they felt he may try to harm the other portraits. The thought made Severus roll his eyes into the back of his head and curse the raven-haired wizard in front of him.
And just when Severus was hitting his daily boiling point with the boy sitting on the floor, and as if on cue, those words slipped out of the boy’s mouth again: “I’m so sorry...”
Severus grit his teeth together and thought he could almost taste the paint. The intensity of his teeth rubbing against each other caused a gloppy, painted pulse in his temple to begin popping out in rapid succession. There was only so much he could take of the Boy-Who-Lived (To-Annoy).
“Oy, shut it, Potter!” Severus finally growled out. If he were alive - and fleshy - Severus may have done something much more drastic than yell. An idea consisting of fish flavoring and the Giant Squid instantly came to mind. Instead, he finished with, “I can feel myself turning into a sniveling Nancy-boy just listening to your whining. You’re bothering me. Get to class already.”
Sweet Merlin, he was losing his touch.
Potter didn’t flinch when Severus’ words bit out of the canvas, but instead he picked himself up off the floor and brushed off his robes. “You’re right, Professor,” he sighed. “I do need to get to class.”
Severus watched Potter throw his ratted rucksack over his thin shoulder and then turn away. After only a step, Potter turned to look at Severus again, a pained look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Professor.” The only thing that stopped the vehement response from slipping through his lips was the pathetic tone of Potter’s voice.
“Good bye, Potter,” Severus responded, his voice lacking its usual annoyance. Harry raised his hand in farewell and turned away to walk down the hall.
Severus groaned. Now only was he losing his touch, but he was getting soft in death, as well.
PART THREE
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Pansy wanted to collapse. Who knew NEWT-level classes would be so draining… even after she had taken some of them during the previous year? She shrugged her bag off her shoulder and it fell with a resounding thud on her bedspread, before she turned right back around and left the dormitories.
Pansy shook her head as she walked with a purpose she didn’t really feel deep down in her bones.
All those quills.
Pansy’s shoulders slumped and that feeling of desperation seeped into her body once more.
All those books.
She felt the dull ache of her near-constant headache flair up again and she groaned.
All those teachers’ dirty looks.
Pansy shuddered before righting her shoulders to walk into the Slytherin common room. Even if she felt miserable, she didn’t need to look miserable in front of - Pansy scanned the room and sighed again - no one. Her shoulders fell forward once more and she pushed out through the portrait.
Luckily for her there was no one in the hallway either. She wasn’t really surprised, though, was she? After all, everyone else was down at dinner - or should be. Pansy had found that since the end of the Second War she couldn’t eat. Every time she tried, she either couldn’t force herself to take more than a couple of bites, or all of it would come back up again. Just the thought made Pansy cringe.
She knew it was probably a combination of the stress she dealt with after being made Mistress of the Manor since her parents had both been chucked into Azkaban the minute Aurors found them hiding out (which hadn’t taken long - Pansy knew her parents weren’t always the smartest people in the world. For Merlin’s sake, they were Death Eaters! Of course they weren’t smart!), the demanding class schedule she had put upon herself the minute she had become Mistress of the Manor, and the full weight of the Ministry leaning heavily on the backs of those who were indirectly affected by the bad mistakes of their forbearers (for example, her worthless parents) because - didn’t you know? - everyone related to a Death Eater must, of course, be bad as well.
Sheesh. And people wondered why she had an ulcer the size of a melon!
Oh, and Pansy mustn’t forget her biggest mistake of all - the doozey that had her up late each night torturing herself because she had only made her already bad situation worse: trying to turn Potter over to You-Know-Who.
Pansy rolled her eyes at herself. What had she been thinking? Quite obviously, she hadn’t been.
She shook her head. No, she definitely had been thinking.
She had been thinking about how she could save her own life and the lives of her not-so-deserving parents. Pansy could admit to herself - but not to anyone else - that she had been terrified. Who could have expected that Harry “I’m Not Very Experienced But I Can Take Out a Dark Wizard” Potter would come out wielding a bunch of ancient magical mumbo-jumbo and defeat the greatest dark wizard of all time?
Not Pansy, that’s for sure.
No, Pansy was going to go for the sure win, the ace, the hole-in-one… so to speak. She wanted to make sure that she would be A-Okay in life because she had taken to the winning side.
Yeah, well, look where that thinking had gotten her: taking care of a house that was far too large for only her and a few house elves, drowning in classes she should never have had to take again, losing money as the days went on, not sleeping because she was overwrought with guilt, and dealing with a massive hole in her stomach!
Pansy was in front of his portrait now. And thank Merlin for that, because her legs could no longer help carry her and all the weight of her problems any longer.
“Oh, Professor,” Pansy cried and then quickly checking to make sure there was no one else around. “Why did I do that to Potter? It’s not like I even hate him. I just wanted to survive.” She dropped her head into her hands and continued in a muffled voice, “Why did you have to die? I need you so much! You were the only one who understood!”
Pansy was slipping so far into despair that she missed the snort that came from Snape’s highly agitated portrait.
PART FOUR
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Severus watched Parkinson retreat back to the Slytherin common room before the rest of the students came back from dinner, shoulders slumped, and head hanging in self-pity and defeat. At least she hadn’t stayed as long as Potter had. He couldn’t have taken much more today.
He rubbed his painted hands against his painted face and felt, not so surprisingly, paint seem to scrub away. His peaceful solitude of death had been disturbed and destroyed because of those two whiny, should-be adult, Eighth Years. He had thought it before and he was thinking it again: those two needed someone besides themselves and him to keep them company. Parkinson, apparently, didn’t have any friends left after most of them had been chucked into Azkaban with her parents and Potter didn’t feel it was necessary to spend time with those twits Granger and Weasley anymore because he felt so guilty all the time.
Well, Severus had had enough. It was time to end this debacle. He wanted some solitude in death and he was going to get it!
“Flopsy! Mopsy!” Severus felt the ridiculous urge to shout out Cottontail as well, but didn’t have the chance as the two house elves appeared before his portrait with a loud crack.
“Y-y-you called, P-p-professor,” Mopsy stuttered. Severus couldn’t tell them apart when they were standing next to each other quietly; they were twin house elves, after all - a rarity in their breed. But the minute they started talking, he knew. Mopsy had a terrible stuttering problem and Flopsy had a lisp - each of those traits were also a rarity in their breed.
Severus straightened his spine and looked down his hooked nose at the two beasts in front of him. “Yes, I did,” his voice took on the stern, dull and dry aspect that it had had in life and Severus was feeling better already. If it were his nature, he’d smile. “Have you gathered the students for me as I asked you to do at the beginning of the week?”
The house elves bowed deeply, their noses touching the floor causing Severus to cringe. “We have, Professsssor,” Flopsy answered, “just as you asked: four firssst yearsss, two boysss and two girlsss, one of each from Gryffindor and Slytherin.”
Severus nodded. “Good,” he clipped. “Bring them here this evening at nine o’clock. I want to explain to them everything that needs to happen. My sanity depends on it.”
Flopsy and Mopsy bowed again and then disappeared once more with a crack.
Severus - being simply made of paint and nowhere near human - never got tired of standing, but he wanted nothing more at that moment than to slide into his old easy chair and relax. He wondered quite selfishly if he could convince that sniveling Potter to request his painting to be redone to include his easy chair. It would make sleeping a bit less awkward.
Besides, Potter would owe him even more after his plan was put into action and completed to his utmost satisfaction. And he knew it would work out perfectly because, after all, it had been his idea. He may not be alive, but his brain still worked just as well, if not better, as it had in life. This was going to be a cinch. Severus was only saddened that he wouldn’t be there doing the dirty work himself, but relying on a bunch of pathetic First Years.
No matter, Severus waved off his mounting annoyance. There was nothing more than this that he could do, without looking like a total and complete sap that is.
And no one would ever know Severus Snape as a sap.
Severus paced the small frame of his portrait - one step to the left, then back to the right - and went over the plan one more time in his head. It was foolproof, he decided.
Besides, how hard could it be to get two people - two whiney, annoying, and desperately lonely teenagers - together?
PART FIVE
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One Week Later
Harry looked around in complete surprise. He had been coming to this unused classroom to think - and wallow in self-pity - since the school year had started, just over five months ago. It was his place to get away from Hermione and Ron, when they wanted to just talk about his lack of motivation and angst-filled behavior. It was his place to come to when he wanted to shout and scream and cry for all the injustices done to him, his family, and friends. It was his place of tranquility when he just wanted to shut his mind off to everyone else around him and sleep, because he couldn’t seem to sleep in his dorm room where happy memories swam all around him. This classroom was his. And now…
What had once been his small, dusty and unused classroom he frequented was now spic and span and home to one small table and two chairs sitting opposite each other at the table. The table was covered with red and white checked linens, two silver serving dishes across from each other, place settings, water glasses and a wax-covered bottle in the center of the table, with one lit candle inside its opening.
Harry thought it looked strangely like the scene in Lady and the Tramp when Lady and Tramp have dinner in the back alley behind that Italian restaurant. He couldn’t remember all the details, but he remembered one long piece of spaghetti being shared by the two dogs and them eventually touching snouts in a surprised kiss.
Harry’s eyes narrowed.
Four young students, probably First Years, stood at the back of the classroom, each wearing a white apron and a smile, watched as Harry stood dumbfounded just inside the door. He didn’t know what to do. He was dangerously teetering between the emotions of anger, confusion, and disbelief. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.
As if they had read his mind, two of the students - the girls - came forward and each grabbed one of Harry’s arms, pulling him inside, the door clicking shut behind him. “Please, come in, Mr. Potter,” the short, blond one said. “My name is Celia and this is Marta,” Celia gestured to the taller, brunette at his other arm. “We’re going to be your waitresses this evening, along with your waiters, Walter and Marc.” Harry looked at the two boys standing across the room and then each nodded at him. Harry, unsure of what else he could do, simply nodded back, while Celia and Marta led him to the table and pushed him gently into one of the seats.
“We have water available for you,” Marta said, her voice slightly squeaky like a mouse, causing Harry to lift a brow at her. She ignored him and continued on, “Or, if you’d prefer, some champagne.”
When Harry didn’t respond, Marta rolled her eyes and then grabbed the chilled bottle of champagne from the bucket beside the table. Harry hadn’t even noticed it until he heard the ice and water inside the pristine container slosh around. “You should try the champagne,” Celia said once Marta had handed her the bottle and poured it into his glass. He didn’t miss the look they exchanged above his head, though he wasn’t surprised. They were First Years after all - definitely not playing with a full deck, so to speak.
Sitting back, letting his thoughts turn over in his head a few hundred times, a very mute Harry watched the whole act play out in front of him and wondered what in the bloody hell could possibly be going on.
And just like it had been happening since the end of the war, Harry’s resolve burst and his fell off that teetering edge into anger and fell deep down into fury.
“What in the bloody hell is this?” he demanded, his face turning red. When no one answered him and didn’t even acknowledge the fact that he had spoken out in rage, Harry slammed his hand down on the table, causing the silverware to jump. “I demand you answer me.”
Instead, Celia and Marta both patted him gently on the shoulder and Marta replied, “Just try the champagne.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Celia added.
Harry didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he wasn’t having any of it. “No!” he clipped in as sarcastic a tone as he had ever heard himself use. “I will not just sit here and let you little First Years tell me to just wait and see. I want to know what the hell is going on here! So someone had better start explaining or you won’t see the light of day for months because your sorry asses will be in detention!”
Harry knew he could be menacing when upset; everyone had told him so. However, those damn kids just looked at him like he was nothing more than a raving lunatic who needed sympathy, rather than he was someone to fear. It didn’t make Harry feel very good, for one. And two, he wanted to wipe those little smirks right off their faces.
Just as he was pulling his wand out to bind all those self-absorbed prats together and haul their asses to McGonagall’s office, the door to his infiltrated and destroyed sanctuary opened slightly. He turned his head as Pansy Parkinson, of all people, walked into the room, her eyes showing confusion just as he knew his had when he had first seen the debacle in front of him.
When her eyes landed on Harry she gasped. And just as Harry was about to blow a gasket and hex everyone in sight, Pansy fell to the floor in dead faint.
Harry “Hero Complex” Potter - who had actually wanted to talk to Pansy since he’d heard her testimony after the war -was by her side in less than ten seconds.
This was turning into a very interesting evening.
PART SIX
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Pansy sipped the water slowly and carefully, her eyes unable to look up at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t quite sure how she got to where she was at this very moment, nor did she really care to know either. She just knew that she should do something besides sip her water and wring her hands together like a worry-wart.
She knew that Harry, who was sitting quietly across from her, was watching her every move. It had been alarming when she had walked into the room - not even sure why she was there in the first place; she had just had this overwhelming urge to go for a walk and then come into this classro-wait a minute! - to see a romantic table set for two and Harry “I Save Anything on Two Legs and Sometimes More” Potter standing there with a look that could only be shock mixed with a bit a of viciousness. She didn’t really remember much after that… well, until she woke up with the previously mentioned champion hovering above her and pressing a cool washcloth against her forehead. He had looked panicked - a look she had seen on his face a few other times during the Final Battle but never directed at her - and she was quite certain that if he looked at her like that for much longer, she would actually start to think he might like her.
She nearly laughed out loud at the just the thought. Pansy knew that was ridiculous. Harry “I Was Almost Turned Over to Voldemort by Pansy Parkinson” Potter could never have anything but feelings of loathing and hatred towards her. She shouldn’t even think that way. Apparently, raised stress levels, lack of food, and a frightening near-death experience (What?! Fainting is scary!) had brought on delusions and fantasies. Pansy made a mental note to see Madam Pomfrey early the next morning.
“Are you feeling alright, then?” His words broke into her reverie and she was shocked that his voice actually still sounded quite worried.
Pansy couldn’t respond, however, because her throat had seemed to close up on her. Instead, she nodded her head.
The intense silence between them was awkward and… well, intense. It seemed to drag on for ages and it made Pansy genuinely uncomfortable. Add in the fact that those bloody, nosey First Years hadn’t left, but were hovering annoyingly just on the other side of the room, and Pansy was in a right state of discomfort.
Finally, Harry cleared his throat, startling her slightly, before saying, “Look, I wanted to tell you that… It’s just, I was at your testimony after the war and… You see, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time now… Well, what I’m trying to say is… I forgive you.”
Pansy’s head shot up so far she thought she’d end up with whiplash. Did he just say what she thought he did? “I’m sorry?” she managed to croak out, instantly disgusted with her lack of composure and cracking voice.
She watched as Harry shifted in his seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I know what you were going through during the war,” he said. “We were all scared.” Some more than others, Pansy thought as she watched his face contort in pain and his eyes tear up slightly. “So, I understand why you wanted to turn me over to Voldemort.” He paused and lifted his eyes to hers. Pansy’s heart jumped up into her throat and she almost choked on the intense feelings bursting inside of her. What in the world was going on?! “I understand,” he said quietly, “and I forgive you.”
Pansy stared at him for a long time, looking into his eyes and seeing all of her own hurt and fears and bad decisions mirrored back at her. Finally, as if the words had wanted to come out of her mouth for the longest time, she said, “I really was scared. I’m so sorry.”
Harry nodded and she watched the corners of his mouth turn slightly into a half-smile. She was sure that, even in the very limited interaction they had had since the end of the war, Harry hadn’t smiled even slightly at anyone since they had started school in the fall. It was a nice look for him, even if he looked like it was slightly rusty. She felt herself smiling back at him, for the first time in a long time.
Pansy thought and hoped that maybe the rest of Eighth Year might not be so bad.
PART SEVEN
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Three Months Later
Severus walked across the expanse of his new, larger painting and eased down into his familiar, yet newly painted, easy chair. Ah, now this was the life. He favorites parts of his living years - his sleeping quarters from Hogwarts, his books, his easy chair - all had been added to his new portrait and he couldn’t be happier, or as happy as Severus could be. Sure, he still wasn’t allowed to move into other paintings, but at least now he had things to do!
Especially since it seemed that he would have a lot more time of his hands from now on. Potter and Parkinson hadn’t been to his portrait more than a couple of times since his brilliant plan was born and executed. The peace and quiet he had been longing for since the beginning of the school year had finally made itself known. It was a beautiful thing.
Severus kicked back his chair and let the footrest come up. This was the life. His eyes had started to drift shut when he heard a clearing of the throat and a chipper, “Professor?”
He tried his hardest, but Severus could not keep the groan from escaping his lips. They really did have excellent timing, didn’t they? And by excellent, he meant absolutely horrific.
His eyes opened slowly and he turned his head to look out. Potter and Parkinson were standing together, each with a smile on their face. “What do you two want?” Severus snapped… he had appearances to keep up.
“We had a chat with those First Years you sent after us,” Potter said, his smile turning into a smirk. “I think I may have underestimated you, Professor. You seem to be a bit of a sap.”
Severus jumped from the comfort of his easy chair and marched straight to the front of his painting. “I beg your pardon, Potter,” he sputtered. “Do not forget that I am still your Professor.”
Parkinson chuckled. “In a manner of speaking, Severus.”
The outrage! Severus could feel his insides boiling. Those little ingrates; after everything he had done for them, they show such little respect? Why if he were fleshy he’d show them all about respect!
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Professor,” Potter said with a laugh, which only caused Severus to get even more upset. “We only came for one thing.”
Knowing he needed to keep his anger in check - he didn’t want to lose his brand new home! - Severus narrowed his eyes and asked through gritted teeth, “And what might that be?”
He watched as Parkinson pressed two fingers to her lips, kissed them and then brought them forward to his portrait. They landed, or he assumed they did, on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
All of Severus’ annoyance seemed to dissipate as he watched the two walk off, hand in hand. He shook his head and walked back over to his easy chair. Slipping down into its comfort again, he sighed.
Maybe those two weren’t that bad afterall.