The Empty Canvas

Written By: Keshia K. Mansell

The places and characters depicted in this story are expressly © J. K. Rowling.

Previously:

Realizing she was no longer in danger, she hugged her friend tightly having a hard time trying to calm down. "It's okay," he promised, patting her on the back as he carefully maneuvered her in the direction of Hogwarts. "Let's get you to the hospital wing-" she cut him off, shaking her head as she tried to regain her breathing. "Okay, to the Headmistress then…" He sighed, and began to lead his friend away.

Unbeknownst to anyone, back in the outskirts of Hogsmeade the insides of the Shrieking Shack began to glow.

Chapter 3:

Something was wrong.

That was the first coherent thought that came to Severus Snape's mind as his eyes suddenly opened and he frowned into the darkness that was enveloping him like a thick winter cloak. He shifted slightly allowing himself to rest more comfortably against the hard, unforgiving wall behind him as the distinct smell of must and wood rot greeted his perhaps well-pronounced nose. A cold chill seemed to run through his veins and he found himself twitching every now and then as an odd tingling sensation seemed to spread throughout his body. He could almost feel the heaviness of the dark bags that no-doubt hung under his tired obsidian eyes. It was almost as if he was waking from a coma or some fitful, unnaturally long sleep.

And yet, for some reason being awake brought him no comfort. Something deep within the weary confines of his mind told him that this phenomenon must be some sort of mistake; some sort of trick.

Alert as always, his face betrayed no emotions as he waited for his eyes to adjust to his dark surroundings. After a few moments, things appeared much clearer around him. His eyes flickered back and forth taking in the splintered floor boards along with the bland wooden walls. A mouse scurried across the floor with something clutched in its tiny paws as it disappeared behind an abandoned chair that lay on its side near the far wall. The odd sensation of residual magic clung heavily in the air mixing with the putrid signs of decay and neglect that oozed from every pore of the shabby dwelling.

The Shrieking Shack. His mind supplied the answer almost automatically and his lip curled in automatic disgust at the thought. But how did he get here?

Deciding that staying on the cold, unwelcoming floor would get him nowhere he attempted to coax his body into movement. This seemed to be easier said than done however as his body felt impossibly heavier than he remembered. Suddenly his impassive face betrayed him as he grimaced and let out a hiss of pain. His hand shot up to his neck and he grimaced feeling a horrible aching there along with something cold and wet. Pulling his hand away from his neck he was shocked to see that not only was it covered with some sort of shimmering silvery substance, but it was completely see through and glowing.

"No…." a feral, raspy voice escaped his dry lips.

He looked out into the room and suddenly found that he was no longer alone. Something akin to his heart-rate began to thump wildly in his chest as he schooled his features to stay neutral as he stared evil right in the eyes. His pain had seemed to trigger some sort of vision before his very eyes. It was the only viable explanation he could concoct for what he saw. Voldemort now stood before him with the hint of a cruel smile shining in his demonic red orbs. Nagini, the large serpent was writhing with an unmistakable look of hunger as she hovered next to her master encased in a foul ball of dark energy. "You have ssserved your purpose well, Sssseverusss." The horrible hissing voice was playing through his mind as he stared at the apparition with impending doom.

"No, this can't be…" he whispered to himself as he looked from his eerily glowing stained hands to the monstrosities before him. He didn't even have time to react as he was suddenly attacked feeling his throat being practically ripped away from him. He could no longer remain passive as a horrified scream echoed through the room and he was forced to relive the torture of it all. He could feel a sickeningly wet trickle flowing down his neck and soaking into his robes. He painfully coughed up spurts of his own blood as he choked and sputtered. His fingernails scratched at his marred skin aggressively as he felt the deathly venom pumping through his body. All the while the room had filled with the gruesome laughter of a madman. It was all so much for his throbbing mind to take in.

Just as quickly as it had come, the maniacal laughter faded suddenly and though he still was still drowning in his own fluids an odd peace fell over him. Beautiful green eyes flooded his vision. Those eyes were the last thing he could remember seeing. They were the last thing he would ever want to see. It was the painfully beautiful reminder of why he'd gone through everything he had in his life. Everything for his Lily. Always.

He blinked a few times as the foggy reenactment his mind had forced him through faded and like everything else, the beautiful green eyes disappeared into nothingness.

"NO!" he repeated again, this time much more forcefully as he wrenched himself up from the floor with a terrible hatred burning in his unnaturally dark eyes. His translucent light blue aura seemed to morph into an alarming bright red as he suddenly lost all control in an explosion of uncontrolled magic. Old chairs and pieces of furniture flung from his surroundings and crashing into the nearby walls with a deafening bang before breaking into tiny pieces littering the floor around him.

This was not how it was supposed to happen! He had already fulfilled his duties as a loyal spy. He had given the Potter boy all of his memories hadn't he? Was it too much to ask for him to die in peace and be done with it? What could possibly have dared to tie him back to this plane of existence? Did he not have any choice in the matter at all?

Lily. He had done everything he was asked to do for Lily. Her jeweled emerald eyes reflected in her son's had made him ready to accept his fate; a fate he knew he'd been most likely doomed from the start. Had he still not given up enough for forgiveness? Was he still so undeserving?

The red energy very slowly faded back to the eerie light blue as he scowled and looked down at himself again in disgust. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been like this… a ghost. It all felt wrong. He knew that given the choice he'd never have chosen this and he was disappointed with the idea that he may have to roam the world forever instead of moving on. His soul was so very tired as it was.

"I won't stand for this," he intoned deeply to no one in particular as he looked over his surroundings again. Something was keeping him anchored here and he would find out exactly what it was. He would start by finding the source of the residual magic. It was much different than the magic that had been in the air when he'd died. There was no doubt in his mind about that. This was much more pure; protecting even. Yes, he would follow this magical presence and when he found whom it belonged to he would demand answers.

Without another word, he turned and headed down through the underground tunnel that would lead him to Hogwarts with his cape billowing menacingly in his wake.

Hermione was gnawing on her lower lip nervously as she waited for Professor McGonagall to return to the office. She had been gone twenty minutes now and it as making Hermione anxious. Neville had gone with her, so she assumed the two were discussing the disheveled state she'd been found in. Meanwhile, Hermione had taken it upon herself to rub her own healing salves along her lacerated arms and legs causing her injuries to begin to fade into nasty yellowing bruises.

She was pleased to note how quickly the headmistress had reacted once she recounted everything she could about what had happened in the Shrieking shack. She'd witnessed as the older woman had sent out several patronus charms to the other teachers informing them of the possible intruder. But there was one underlying factor that bothered her about the whole thing. Though Minerva had tried to hide it well, Hermione could not help but feel betrayed by the small seconds in which she'd seen a trickle of doubt in the other woman's eyes. It had been quick, but there all the same.

Hermione was not accustomed to people doubting her.

She shivered slightly as she pushed the salve away from her and glanced around the room wearily. She'd been here several times of course, but she couldn't help but always feel awkward about it. It all came down to the wall of past Headmasters. They always seemed to be staring at her with such intensity that she felt like they were scrutinizing her every movement. Only three of the great portraits seemed to cut her a break and those were the scowling but witty canvas containing Phineas Black, the all-knowing and always smiling Albus Dumbledore, and of course the mercifully empty canvas of Severus Snape. These were the only three painting that she ever felt comfortable staring at for longer than five seconds.

Trying to recompose herself, Hermione glanced between the three portraits curiously. Phineas Black, it appeared, must be currently visiting his other portrait which was located at the once Black and now Potter residence at Grimmwauld Place. Albus Dumbledore appeared to be sleeping in his portrait. Hermione smiled vaguely as she noticed a couple candies that appeared to be stuck in his beard and a little bubble that seemed to grow under his nose with each snore. Lastly, her eyes traveled to the faithfully empty portrait. She knew it would always be empty of course, but she'd always wondered if Severus Snape could be just as intimidating on canvas as he had been in real life. It was really too bad that no one seemed to know what was wrong with the portrait, though if she had to guess she'd think he most likely just didn't see a reason to come. Professor Snape had always been a loner like that.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the Headmistress returned to the room and sat down at her desk across from her with a sigh. She gave Hermione a careful look that made the younger woman frown as it reminded her greatly of times when she'd been a mere school girl about to receive unpleasant news.

"Professor Granger," Minerva started, then cleared her throat and allowed her eyes to soften as she tried again. "Hermione. I've just finished talking with Professor Longbottom who told me everything he saw from the time he received your patronus message leading up to when he found you. He was unable to confirm seeing an intruder, but does believe that there was definitely something of interest going on." She paused, but when she saw that Hermione looked like she was about to interrupt, she spoke again. "I have warned all of the other professors and so far there have been no other sightings. I also contacted Aberforth to warn the people in Hogsmeade in case anyone sees anything unusual. So far no one has," she said gently as she watched Hermione deflate slightly in her chair.

"But, you do believe me don't you?" Hermione asked with a frown, not liking where this was going.

"I believe you saw something," Minerva responded after a moment of brief silence. "But you have to understand that it is difficult to believe that someone has broken into the grounds. I won't insult your intelligence by describing the wards we have in place. I know you know them all by heart. But you must realize that if someone had truly entered the grounds uninvited, we would have known immediately…" she trailed off.

"I know what I saw," Hermione stated passionately as she sat up straighter in her chair. "I definitely saw a person's eyes in the window and someone tried to curse me near the whomping willow!" she insisted, her voice rising an octave or so.

"Miss Granger, isn't it possible that the eyes you saw might have just been an animal's? Think child," she said, perhaps a bit more sharper than she'd meant, "How would it be possible for someone to travel that fast from the outside of the shack to just beyond that tree without using a passageway? It simply cannot happen," she pursed her lips with finality.

Hermione sighed in disappointment and shook her head. She only looked up when she found a comforting hand placed on her shoulder and looked up to the older woman's now sympathizing face. "I get it, I know what it feels like to constantly check and recheck my work to insure a successful year and I know that you have worked very hard to make it where you are, but maybe you should take it easy before the students arrive. You're probably just overdoing yourself. Take a load off and read a book from the library. I'm sure I can pull some strings and get Madam Pince to allow you to view some from her private stock."

At these words, Hermione's cheeks reddened and she looked away almost embarrassed. Minerva's eyebrow rose in suspicion. "Don't tell me you've already read every book in the library? Even the restricted section?"

Hermione nodded slowly with a strangely proud smile on her tired face. "All of them that would open without screaming anyway," she said with a small snort. "Madam Pince let me view her private selections a few years ago," she admitted and then she watched curiously as Minerva stood and began to pace behind her desk.

Minerva only stopped her pondering motions as a particularly loud snore from Professor Dumbledore's portrait caught her attention. She paused and gazed at the painting suspiciously as the wise old man feigning sleep seemed to be leaning all the way over to the side, his pointy hat turned innocently in the direction of the abandoned canvas beside him like an unnecessarily large arrow. She arched an eyebrow at the less than sneaky approach the rolled her eyes as she approached the wall.

"I think I have a valid solution," she said quietly before looking back at the now very curious younger witch. Then she looked away again and nodded to herself as she gently touched her fingers against the soft oil canvas. The old magic of the castle seemed to ripple in recognition as the frame opened to reveal the cubby hole that was filled with the various belongings she had placed in it long ago. Her hands trailed over a few of the items as she contemplated her choices. It ghosted over the brown journal, but didn't stop. She would not allow anyone to see that journal as she felt it would have been disrespectful to Severus' memory. He wouldn't have wanted anyone to read that. But when her hand hovered over the black journal, she gently grasped it with conviction and removed it from its resting place. As if the castle knew her will, the portrait closed and she turned back to her former student and now colleague with a serious look on her face.

"Miss Granger," she addressed, the more professional tone feeling more natural to her cause, "this journal once belonged to Professor Snape. I found this after the war when I had the dubious task of picking up this very office. I don't not believe he had any intentions of ever letting anyone see this notebook or any of his private notes," she admitted as she took in the other woman's look of surprise. "However, you have proven yourself a loyal student and teacher; a master of your craft. Had he been alive, you most likely would have trained under him in apprenticeship instead of Professor Slughorn. These are his personal notes on various potions and spells he either created or improved. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that I'm trusting you to protect this information and keep it to yourself."

"Yes, of course," Hermione whispered as she took the journal from Professor McGonagall with a look of pure awe. She knew that this was very special. The other woman would not give her something as private as this without a deep trust. Not only would it quench her thirst of knowledge, but in some ways it would give her a direct view into the interworking of the very mysterious man who had written it. She clutched the journal to her chest carefully as she looked into her Headmistress' eyes with a look of renewed purpose. Her previous worries about what she'd encountered had been placed at the back of her mind. For now.

"Go on," Minerva laughed warmly at her, "I know you want to start studying it. Just make sure you don't get too lost in it. The students are due to arrive tomorrow around seven," she warned, dismissing her with a wave of her hand.

Once back in her dungeons, Hermione strode into her office and sat behind her large desk with a thoughtful look on her features. Her mind raced as her mind tried to battle between wanting to figure out what had happened earlier in the Shrieking shack to the wonderful distraction that she still held protectively in her grasp. She closed her eyes a moment and found herself opening the journal as if in a trance. The scent of its weathered pages brought her decision tp clarity. She would study the book now and worry later.

As she opened her eyes, she let out a breath that she didn't even know she was holding and looked down to see the elegant script that she recognized not only from her six years under him as a student, but also from the Prince's old potions book. She would treat the secrets contained here with care and she definitely would not be as careless with this knowledge as Harry had been all those years ago. What was written here would be treated with respect as well as caution.

As she began to pour over the private volume, she barely noticed as the candlelit room began to grow cold. She never bothered looking up as a blue-hued figure entered her office and stopped to observe her.

"So, it was you," the familiar dangerously silky voice reverberated through the room.

Hermione looked up from her readings and gave a startled cry before passing out, still clutching the journal for dear life.

A/N: Boy, I think these are the fastest updates I've done in years. There's something about this story that has just really inspired me to write lol. Thank you for the positive reviews so far. They really feed my writer's mojo so to speak. Let me know what you think!