and now, back to our regularly scheduled programming...
The low cabinet where Dumbledore’s Pensieve was kept, along with the odd collection of devices that no longer clicked and whirred and buzzed, sat locked and dusty in a far corner of the Headmaster’s Office: over it hangs the one portrait that never moves or speaks.
Those who had been acquainted with the subject in life declared it to be an eerily flattering depiction of a strong-featured but not unattractive gentleman of stern and swarthy visage, his gleaming black hair tied back with a silver band that matched the trim of his rich green robes, and his black eyes staring expressionlessly into the room.
Severus Snape does not inhabit his official Headmaster’s portrait. Go, rather, to the white marble tomb where the brilliant Albus Dumbledore lies; the cloaked and hooded shadow that guards it is no Dementor. It hovers silently and sullenly; it will not approach the honest mourner. But the thief who would rob the dead will find the embrace of that shadow more chilling than The Kiss.
Or so legend has it. In point of fact, none has attempted to trouble the rest of the great wizard since Harry Potter returned the Wand of Destiny to his withered grasp.
Warning: Potter fanfic...