Weird fic, I'm tired, we've gone over this, here's something new: HEY JUDGE YOU MIGHT WANT TO LOOK AT THIS because I don't want to lose points because one of my characters outlives the human life expectancy by a lot. Guess what, this guy is a wizard and because this character is a wizard, and the average life expectancy for him is 137.5 years and apparently a wizard has lived to be 755 years old (according to one of the harry potter wikipedia pages) so yeah, I can get away with this. And I'm only saying this because I've had judges take away for some really weird stuff.

Prompts:
Potion (Amortentia for me)
A Hogwarts Portrait: Paint a grey castle
No using the letter 'w'
'Green is not a creative color' -DHMIS
'Dream a little harder' - Team Starkid, Twisted

Disclaimer: Now, I don't own nothing, but I do not own Harry Potter

Another Portrait Story

Amortentia.

The bane of my existence.

It's unusual because I invented the fucking potion.

Laverne de Montmorency, it is a pleasure to meet you.

No, I did not used to be this bitter.

Being trapped in a portrait that never got sold made me bitter. I sit, encased in this golden frame, hanged in a paint shop and the idiot that painted me—a frail, old man—continues to paint other portraits. Most of them don't get sold either.

Today, the knave is putting all of his focus on painting a portrait that had actually been preordered—a very rare occurrence. It is a grey castle—the School of Magic, the one that got destroyed during that stupid Pureblood crusade. Oh, bother, I can't remember the name. I'm sure the school I'm talking about is familiar for you—it's the one in Scotland, the one that Harry Potter attended.

See, the castle has been obliterated, so some posh person on the school board commissioned him to paint a portrait of the school as it looked before its annihilation.

If you're ever offered the chance to observe someone as they paint something, refuse. Don't even consider it. Painters are dull; half the time, they stand there, gazing at a blank or half-painted canvas, getting paint on everything except their canvas—especially in their hair. At least this knave plays music as he's painting, so there's some form of entertainment there.

I'm actually quite happy about this music contraption the painter has. As far as I can tell, he's able to listen to any song that's ever been composed—it's as though his radio has access to every song in the history of music.

For example, 'Dream a Little Harder' is currently playing—the song's from a muggle theater company, yet this old Pureblood coot loves it. Personally, I think it's because the lyrics mostly consist of the phrase 'fuck you!'

I'd give anything to actually see a musical production, especially the one that this particular song is from. Alas, I'm stuck in my portrait.

A yapping sound startles me from my train of thought; glancing at the ground underneath me, I can see my fluffy black dog, Fru-Fru, begging for my attention. Naturally, I give it to him—he's the only thing keeping me sane in this dull portrait; the painting's half-assed furniture, dreary color scheme, and paint smell is unbearable in his absence.

Of course, Fru-Fru came into the scene a couple years after I had been painted. I guess that's one benefit of being stuck in the same room as the person that painted you—he can add in stuff later. After years of begging, he finally agreed to add my dog to my portrait, and in return, I stopped nagging him about painting Fru-Fru into my portrait.

Eventually, after a long belly rub, Fru-Fru gets distracted by a squirrel running up a tree in a portrait across the room. He leaps from my arms and runs through every portrait, startling the others, also bored out of their minds, so he can chase the squirrel. This brings a rare smile to my face. The painter truly did capture his personality, even though he never met Fru-Fru alive.

I turn my attention back to the ignoramus. He's muttering to himself, trying to choose one of three colors.

"Should I use blue, purple, or green?" he mumbles, running his paint-covered hands through his hair. "Not green. Green is not a creative color, and blue is quite boring. But I can't paint the lake mostly purple." He ponders for a moment before he picks up all three colors plus black, and begins to paint the lake.

Stupid school. The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic never gets painted—of course, a respectable Englishman never paints a French school. On the other hand, he did paint me, a French Potions Mistress.

'Dream a Little Harder' comes to its end, and a different song begins to play.

My sex change operation got botched…

Ah, yes, 'Angry Inch'. Even though the portrait painter is fairly liberal, hearing a song about a botched sex change operation is a bit too much for his delicate old mind, so he changes the station, and 'Sexyback' by Justin Timberlake begins to play.

"Much better," he mutters.

I'll never understand the thoughts going through the bastard's mind.

Three hours later, and the portrait is done. It's unusual—my painter's paintings of landscapes or inanimate objects seem to be more popular than the portraits of people. I think it's because he is not good at the personality part of the enchantment. For the castle painting, all he has to do is cast a couple of charms so that every so often, a breeze rustles the grass and leaves. It isn't a hard thing to do. Nor is it hard to enchant a painting so that the scene changes as the seasons do, the sky either sunny and cloudy as the occasion calls for it. I'm almost impressed that he's also added the Giant Squid that lived in the lake, and done an enchantment so he makes an appearance sometimes, but only almost.

I think that the dingbat painter is not skilled enough to paint people. I think he painted the bitterness into my soul. I vaguely remember being quite proud of my potion skills during my life; the fact that I feel bitter makes little sense.

Or maybe it's because no one gives a shit about Amortentia. No one's had a good experience using the potion, so of course, no one is going to buy a painting of the lady that invented the fucking potion. Perhaps that's the reason I'm so bitter.

I'm not sure if I'd think and act differently if I'd been painted by another artist, but I do not think I'd resent my biggest accomplishment.

Fucking Amortentia.

Hang on.

Hold on just a minute.

Someone is here looking to… buy a portrait?

I don't think I understand.

Oh, no. Sorry, false alarm.

It's just some little, fat man picking up the just finished portrait.

The painter leads him into the back room, and I turn my attention back to Fru-Fru, calling him back to our portrait. The other portraits are making sure that they look fabulous, because hey, someone could get sold.

Of course, it's not going to be me.

The man looks at the portrait and smiles. He hands the proud painter a bag of galleons and takes a look around the room.

"Nice setup you've got here, Hank," the man remarks.

The painter (and no, I'll never refer to the old idiot as Hank) beams.

"Say," continues the man, as his gaze falls upon my portrait, "That's Laverne de Montmorency, inventor of Amortentia."

The painter nods, but the other man isn't paying attention.

"I think I'll buy her too," the man said, "for my office. Laverne de Montmorency, golly, you don't see many paintings of her. I'll give you nineteen galleons and seven knuts for her."

The painter agrees, and for once, I don't think he's an idiot. Shocking, really. I'm not focusing on that though. The idea that someone is actually buying me makes every other thought insignificant. Never have I ever imagined that I'd be sold to a man (especially for such a small amount) but hey, I can't be picky. I'm finally getting out of this hell hole.

For a moment, the bitterness fades, and I'm almost happy that I invented Amortentia.

So yeah. As always, a big shoutout to my team mates for dealing with my grammar issues and awkward sentences.

Also, just to get it out of my system: wwwww ww how which what who where when white while snowing twisted hogwarts hedwig watch wow ww wwwww wwwwww it' so nice to be able to use that key again

Hey, if you want to say something the way you do it is in a review! So please leave tons of those, because everytime a fanfic gets a review, an angel gets their shoe (haha, see I did something (every time a bell rings and angel gets its wings (or every time a dog farts an angel gets its heart)))

~ Al (littlebluespacemoth)