Every day I stand there, patiently waiting, granting passage to students. Everyday, they snarl at me, they insult me; they make me want to scream. I want to rip my hair out, bellow at them; for only one day, I would love to switch places with them.
I would love to see them in my position, to stand in a frame all day, and let huffy students into their common room. To stay up all night waiting because no one can keep to their curfew. And to return in the morning to at least one student that had stayed out all night, and yell at me for not being there. They tap their feet impatiently, waiting for me to open for them.
It's not that easy you know! Its not as simple as flicking a switch and me opening up! It has to be verified, I have to prove that a Gryffindor said it, I have to enter a freaking code! They don't understand, they don't want to understand, they just don't care!
Oh and don't get me started on Harry-bloody-Potter and his too-good-friends that believe that it is their given right to wander the corridors at night and expect me to be there when they come back. They wear that god-forsaken-invisible cloak, and think that I don't know it's them. Have they ever thought who sent Filch after them all those times? He didn't figure it out all on his lonesome, did he? No, it was me! The incredibly-annoying-old Fat-Lady, who always knows when they leave the common room after hours.
All I ever want is some time for me! When I go out, they yell, they scream, they curse, they make me want to cry. It's just so depressing, everyday, having these proud Gryffindor's demand things of me, sometimes I would rather be down in Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw; the portraits tell me that they are so much nicer. It's not even very often that I leave my portrait, only once a day, always after their curfew. Shame on me for wanting to visit my friends.
I don't even think my friends understand! They stand there nodding their heads, murmuring their agreements, not saying a single sound! Do they even care? I know Violet pretends to, she at least gives me the sympathy I need, that I want. Sometimes, though, I really think that only my drink knows.
I love the feeling of the silky smooth texture flowing down my throat. The deep redness of its colour and its aromatic smell that I can just not get enough of. I can drown my sorrows in it, I can tell it anything. It makes me happy, it believes in me. Then I go back to my portrait, or my hell hole, and they look at me. They look at me as if I am below them, as if I don't deserve to be in their presence. I thought that only Slytherin's thought like that, but apparently, so do Gryffindor's.
Why do I have to be the opening to the Gryffindor common room? I know it's a 'great honour', but why me? Why not Violet? Why not that can portrait down near the kitchens? Why does it have to be me? I used to love it, I used to delve in the importance, but I just don't want it anymore. I don't want this glamorous job; I just want to be me. I want freedom; I want everything that I don't have.
Hello peoples!
I was bored and I decided, maybe I would write a fic with a completely different point of view…this came out…hopefully you like it! review and let me know…hopefully you do like it!
Mwah
Queen of the Scoubies