II.
Phineas Nigellus placed the quill back on his desk. He put his head in his hands. An awful feeling crawled over him, invading him. Something was going to happen. His instincts whispered that the Black family would descend into even more maddness. Gazing out of his portrait, all he could see was decaying walls and a woeful tapestry. The house wouldn't survive, but he would.
Strolling somberly to his other portrait, he noticed with vague surprise that the Sorting Hat was speaking to someone, and the Headmaster wasn't around. It was the Potter boy.
"Er, yes," the boy muttered, "Er- sorry to bother you- I wanted to ask-"
"You've been wondering whether I put you in the right House," -What was he supposed to be, Hufflepuff? The boy was Gryffindor to the bone! The hat continued speaking- "Yes... you were particularly difficult to place. But I stand by what I said before- you would've done well in Slytherin.
Phineas snorted, which was covered up by the gagging of that infernal phoenix, dying again. Everard gave him a reproachful look from his position near the ceiling. The Slytherin-esque ex-Headmaster gave him a glare which that sallow Potions Master would envy. Phineas idly looked at his gloves while Dumbledore came in the room, and spoke to the obnoxious, halfblooded boy. Although he is rather like that poor Riddle child. Halfblood.
Blood held everything together. From the diluted Potter blood to the damned Lestranges. From the maddness of the Longbottoms to the eventual demise of the Blacks. To the blood dripping out of the mouthes of Bellatrix Lestrange's victims to his own, pooling on the floor when he died.
Blood. In Phineas' other portrait, blank ink dripped down his desk.
A/N
Rather random I know. This one takes place, of course, during Harry's second year.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, J.K Rowling does. Excerpts were taken from the book and slightly edited. I do not own them.
R&R