This is a short Snape one shot that I have had in my mind for a long time now. I will warn you I am very bad at grammar and punctuation so please if it bothers you don't read this I don't want to deal with negative comments and Reviews about it, if you would like to Beta it Send me a message. This is also my first Harry Potter story what inspired me to write it was The Fat Lady and how the pictures and paintings had thoughts and feelings and how maybe saw more than they let on
Just a Picture on a Wall
I watched as he sat down at the long kitchen table and stared at a bowl of soup that Molly had placed in front of him the wind howled outside blowing cold wind and snow around the cozy house
"Voldemort has the Death Eaters Moving Further North I suspect he is hoping to recruit more werewolves he hasn't been very forthcoming with information since his plans fell through at the Triwizard Tournament" he said softly to Dumbledore who sat at the end of the table "He hasn't been in a very good mood lately" he added
"I Suspected as much" Dumbledore replied sighing as he took a sip from a mug of tea you could hear the others laughing in the other room as they played Wizard Chess "Good work Severus, you should eat and rest" he told Severus as he got up from the table and walked into the other room with the others. I watched the mask slowly slide away as he slumped against the back of the chair his hand shook violently as he reached for his wand that lay on the table if you looked closely you can see blood stains on the side of his robes exhaustion written all over his face I couldn't help but stare at him sadly this wasn't the first time I had watched him come in from the frigid cold give his report to Dumbledore and as soon as he left the mask would slide away revealing the pain and exhaustion he was truly feeling and once he was sure everyone was busy in the den he quickly and silently took his wand out and whispered healing charms to cover up the dark ugly bruises that covered his arms and the deep gashes on his chest.
I watched as he slowly got up and slightly limped towards the door leaving the bowl of soup untouched. My heart ached for him as the injuries that no one noticed became worse as time went on, there were nights that I wanted to scream at the others to open there eyes and see the agony he was being put though for them only to be treated like a outsider but what would I know? I'm only a picture on a wall.
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