Title: Slytherins
Author: Mimine (mimine101@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG
Pairing: None really… Snape/Nigellus if you look really hard.
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
"I thought my Slytherins were made of sterner stuff."
The young man recognised the voice. He had heard it before as a student, in the numerous times he had found himself in Dumbledore's antechamber.
"Chin up, boy. Slytherins don't cry."
Slytherins. The Slytherin in the portrait was everything that Severus had never been. Handsome, suave, rich, famous. Being pure of blood was the one thing they had in common but even there Snape's pedigree was not particularly impressive.
Severus wasn't a boy anymore. He wasn't crying, not even in rage. Although he did wish that there was someone he could point the finger at and blame this time.
"What do you want, portrait?"
Nigellus arched a brow. "Portrait" had failed to phase him as an insult no matter the contempt Severus had injected in the word. He made a small sound of disapproval, looking the young man up and down.
"Indeed, Salazar ought to have included stricter rules on personal grooming. For once I'm glad that being a portrait means letting go of a few senses. Smell does not register in two dimensions. What did you do, my dear boy, crawl through a bog to get here?"
"Yes."
A pause. "I'm sure that our illustrious Headmaster would not keep you waiting were he aware of that."
Severus' lip curled. "Leave me alone!"
"Anger. Better. Much better."
The young wizard could not decide what he hated more, the self-satisfied smile or the smug tone. The smile, had to be the smile. Even five generations later Severus could have sworn this smile belonged to Sirius Black.
He turned to the door willing it to open. Nothing happened. If there was anything surrendering his wand to his Death Eater brothers had taught him it was that he had greatly overrated his ability to perform wandless magic. To hell with opening the door, a simple drying charm on his clothes would have sufficed.
Such trust in his fellow Death Eaters. How they trusted him in turn!
The portrait obviously felt obliged to break the silence.
"Dumbledore senses fear, you know. Even if you're not showing it and trust me you were showing it."
Showing no fear while sitting wandless and covered in mud was a skill that Snape apparently needed to hone.
"I thought you and Dumbledore were rather friendly." he said nastily.
A chuckle. "Oh, you know Dumbledore. The only good Slytherin is a dead Slytherin. Therefore, yes, we are rather friendly. With living and breathing Slytherins, even a scrawny, harmless looking thing like you, it is a whole different business."
Humiliation burned on the young man's cheeks. A tasteless tattoo on his left arm and a mask hadn't succeeded in bringing him the respect he had craved.
Make us a potion, Snape. Stay here, Snape. Yes, I know you're good at Dark Magic but isn't it you I remember getting pantsed at school?
Snivellus the Death Eater.
About to become Snivellus the Traitor. Since when they finally did let him assume a more active role he discovered that he ought to have remained in his laboratory. Simply no stomach for the Death Eater business, our Snivellus.
And here he was, each second that passed settling on his chest, adding on the weight pressing there. Each breath precious and way too short.
"Boy."
Again that infernal portrait!
"What?"
"He lies well for a Gryffindor but you were not put into Salazar's House without a reason. Do not sell yourself cheap."
The door opened. The young man got up and slowly drew himself to his full height.
Has he been waiting long? What brings him back to the school? And all the while Dumbledore's eyes cutting into him like a knife. And right behind Dumbledore, as Nigellus slipped back into his old frame, his slim, black clad form a strangely comforting presence, even confined in a portrait.