"Mister Crenshaw. Name three uses for armadillo bile."
The pudgy Gryffindor fifth-year pursed his lips. "Wit-Sharpening Potions," he said slowly, "and, um, Ennervating Draughts... and... er..."
Severus Snape glowered and the boy fell silent. The professor's sharp eyes roamed over the classroom. "Miss Stuart. The third use for armadillo bile." Snape's voice cracked like a whip. The students exchanged bemused looks. There was no Stuart in the class.
"Um... I'm afraid I don't know, sir," the portrait spoke up at last. Snape strode to her corner, accompanied by snickers from the Slytherins and giggles from the Gryffindors.
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir," he repeated in a cruel mimicry of her voice. "I'll make you proud of me, Professor." Veronica blushed. "Accio textbook." Snape slammed the text open on the desk in front of her and pointed to a passage. "I suggest you be better prepared next time, Miss Stuart." He whirled to face the class, silencing the laughter with a glare. "Twelve inches of parchment on the properties of Armadillo bile," he commanded. "Only five short months until the Ordinary Wizarding Levels. How any of you little cretins intend to pass is beyond me." Turning back to the corner Snape added in a lower voice, "You're not exempt from the essay. Be prepared to recite Wednesday before class."
As the lesson continued Veronica blinked back tears. She kept her eyes on her cauldron, humiliated by the curious stares of the students. She'd never thought Snape would call on her in front of them. He's so spiteful, she thought, incensed. So mean. He's... he's treating me... just like the rest of his students. She nearly laughed out loud. It's really happening, she thought. I'm finally going to take the O.W.L.s.
From then on, Veronica made sure she was prepared. More books were slammed open on her desk, not only fifth-year texts, but sixth and seventh-year as well. Snape had magicked them so the pages would turn at her command. She never knew when he might call on her. He did so frequently during fifth-year Double Potions with Gryffindor, of course. He might also snap a question at her during the seventh-year Advanced Potions class. That never failed to fluster her. Or Snape might call on her when the first or second-years had failed to answer to his satisfaction. Veronica got used to the insults and sarcasm when her responses were wrong. She'd learned her lesson the first time, and never again let Snape hear her say 'I don't know.' As the weeks went by, thankfully, the number of wrong answers diminished.
Finally, Snape announced that he was ready to begin the complex potion that would restore her to life. "I will begin tomorrow night, at midnight on the full moon. Your participation will not be required until the next full moon," he told her curtly. Veronica had dozens of questions for the potions master, but he ignored them, turning away dismissively. She waited eagerly for the next night to arrive, but to her surprise and great disappointment, the potions master never returned to the dungeon after dinner. It seemed that not only would she not participate, she wouldn't be permitted to watch, either. Sometime after one o'clock Veronica dozed off in her frame, wondering sleepily if she would feel any different in the morning.
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Author's notes: Veronica, meaning 'true image'. Stuart, from Gilbert Stuart, dubbed the 'Father of American Portraiture'.