To Make Much of Time

Snape hadn't realized that he had spoken his pleasure at the Headmistress's coup loudly enough to be heard. However, the Headmistress's gaze snapped to the portraits on her walls. She walked up to them and examined them, Black, Dippett, Fortescue, Everard, and finally Derwent.

McGonagall peered closely at the glowering figure in the back of Dilys Derwent's portrait. "Severus, is that you?"

"Yes, Minerva, it's me. I'm stuck here, no thanks to your prize pupil."

"Nancing Kneazles!" she crowed. "She's hiding them in the paintings! What a master stroke!"

"It's the height of folly," growled Snape. "There's peril in every portrait, and it's all the more so for being unpredictable. I never had less respect for the visual arts than I have right now. Present company excluded," he added hastily at Dilys's frown.

"If it's so dangerous, why would Miss Granger take the students there?"

Snape pretended to think about this. "Recklessness and an inflated sense of her own abilities?"

"I suspect she's found a safe haven somewhere," said the Headmistress thoughtfully. "Perhaps in the seventh floor corridor where all the songs are coming from."

Snape stared at her. "You've heard the songs?"

"The Falcon!" called out Dilys, helpfully.

"I think a cuckoo would be far more appropriate," commented Phineas Nigellus, encapsulating Snape's sentiments perfectly.

Minerva flapped her hand dismissively. "We're straying from the point. How did they get in, Severus?"

"Through a painting of some fool in the Library performing a flashy spell. Miss Granger appears to have put Filius's Poem Charm assignment to practical use."

"That 'fool' is Balfour Blane," said the Headmistress with amusement. "Founder of the Committee on Experimental Charms, and one of Gryffindor's most distinguished alumni."

Snape snorted. "Apparently, the fact that he's a dangerous lunatic didn't make it into the Annals of Gryffindor History."

Minerva chose to ignore this comment in lieu of smirking. "One might ask, if one were so inclined, why you are still in the portraits when it's very nearly time for your Potions class."

Snape felt his face darken. "I have been detained. There seems to be a dragon between me and Blane's portrait."

"Oh, that's easy enough to get around," boomed Fortescue. "Approach from the other side. My portrait connects to the Library, and I can see Blane clearly from where I am. Damned pink light makes it difficult to sleep sometimes."

"Excellent!" said the Headmistress briskly. "I'll cover your classes until lunchtime, Severus. If you're not back by then, I'll send Sir Cadogan to find you."

Snape glared at her and clambered over to Fortescue's portrait.

"Library," he said shortly, by way of greeting.

The fat old wizard frowned at the Headmistress. "It was a sad day when Hogwarts dropped deportment classes," he said disapprovingly. "Dropped it for Muggle Studies or some such nonsense. Dashed Ministry-enforced political correctness."

"Oh yes, Fortescue," commented Everard in plummy tones. "Knowing how to blow one's nose daintily is much more important than communicating with ninety-five percent of the world's population."

"If communication with the vast majority of life forms was of value, we'd all be learning how to talk to insects," countered Fortescue. "Now," he said to Snape. "Just walk back into the portrait, where the parchment color fades into darkness, then bear left. You'll find yourself at the end of an aisle in the Astronomy section."

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement and disappeared into the darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Snape groaned when he got his bearings. While it was true that he could clearly see Blane's portrait, it was on the other side of the Library. He would have to traverse at least half its impressive perimeter through at least ten paintings. Further complicating matters was the fact that there were already students bent over their studies at the tables, so he would have to be very careful not to call attention to himself.

The first portrait was empty, to Snape's relief. It was probably visiting friends. He continued on his way though a lovely pastoral scene, where he was completely ignored by a passionate shepherd and his reluctant ladylove. Several of the academic portraits barely raised their eyes from their studies as he passed through their paintings. Snape nearly began to enjoy hopping from world to world. He felt that it was only sensible to have well-behaved portraits in the Library, and he smirked at his good fortune at finding a shortcut back to Blane.

However, as he stepped lightly into the next portrait, he realized how wrong he was. He let out a shout of surprise that produced no sound whatsoever.

A terrible battle raged before him. Men and goblins hacked at one another with swords, warhorses reared and struck with their hooves, and flaming arrows fell from the sky. Goblins with torches were setting fire to barns and shacks, and panicked livestock were stampeding. The confusion was terrible, the violence unspeakable, and it was completely silent.

Severus braced himself, recognizing the scene. He'd managed to step into the worst part of the Goblin Rebellion, when marauding Goblins destroyed a dozen Muggle villages, leaving no survivors. Muggle history attributed it to the Black Plague, but the reality was far more gruesome.

Snape was immediately thrown to the ground as a large man in leather armor fell into him. His Goblin assailant loomed overhead hissing silently in triumph as he raised his sword aloft. The thrust went all the way through the man, and Snape felt the man's body go slack. However, after lying still for a moment, the man rose to his feet, sword raised, and rejoined the fray.

Snape stared, astonished. Nobody was actually dying. Under his gaze, sword wounds closed, severed heads rejoined their bodies, and there was absolutely no blood - none but his, of course. The Goblin had managed to nick his side, and a small scarlet stain had appeared on his tattered shirt.

The swords were real, the fighters' bloodlust was real, and he was in danger for his life.
He had to get across the painting. He edged his way into the periphery of the battle and raised his sword.

He frowned. The damned thing was glowing. Snape promised never again to take a sword from a dragon's hoard. A goblin ran at him, shrieking silently with his sword raised. He realized that he had a great height advantage and swung the blade with all his strength. It connected with the goblin's side, and it died almost immediately. When he withdrew his weapon, the blade shimmered as brightly as blue flame.

He was buffeted right and left, jostled with elbows, knees, and heads, and he jostled right back, even managing to land a few well-placed kicks on goblins who were drawn to the light of his sword. Arrows whizzed past his face, and the mass of struggling bodies around him was disorienting. He fixed his gaze on the far frame and kept pushing through the melee, blocking the occasional blow with his sword.

When he was about fifteen feet from the portrait's edge, a sharp blow between his shoulder blades sent him sprawling. He rolled over quickly and found himself face to face with a leering goblin, whose teeth were red with blood. Snape swung his sword at the grim rictus in front of him, but the goblin parried his blow easily. Snape scrambled to his feet and began inching backwards toward the safety of the next portrait, but his assailant was having none of that. He lashed out with his leg and swept Snape's feet out from under him. With lightning speed, the goblin's sword was striking downward in what would have been a killing blow if the blow had connected with Snape.

However, the goblin's sword struck steel. Snape looked up and was shocked to see a swordsman in a highly polished suit of armor. The goblin was as surprised as Snape but immediately attacked again, attempting to bind the knight's blade to the ground. The knight quickly disengaged the blade and lunged, forcing the goblin to spring backwards with lightning speed to avoid the knight's attack. Another goblin noticed that his comrade was in peril, and he too charged the knight. This goblin was much less skilled than the other, and the knight quickly ran him through and seized the goblin's sword in his off hand. He fell into a lower stance and pointed both weapons at the first goblin.

The first goblin paused, perhaps realizing that he was outclassed. However, when two other goblins appeared at his side, he was significantly heartened. All three leaped at the knight, swords outstretched and mouths wide open in a silent battle cry. When they were in range, the knight swiveled gracefully and swept his longer blade forward, binding two of the goblin swords on one side while parrying the third goblin with the shorter blade and riposting into the goblin's throat. Snape was relieved that there was no sound. The knight drove the blade into the ground, pinning the goblin there.

The knight released the other two goblins, who began attacking with great ferocity. The knight parried every blow and managed to return a number of attacks, but he was losing ground.

Suddenly, Snape realized that the knight was deliberately giving up ground to get closer to the edge of the portrait. He stood and aimed his sword at any goblins who attempted to attack the knight from behind. Unfortunately, more and more goblins were drawn to Snape's glowing sword, and he and the knight were soon surrounded and unable to move any closer to the picture's frame.

The knight gestured for Snape to duck. He didn't need to be told twice.

When Snape was behind him, the knight threw a mighty blow at the goblins between them and the frame. It was so quick that the blade appeared to be a shining crescent in the air. Three goblins fell to the ground, headless. The knight grabbed Snape's arm, and they both leaped into the next painting.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Snape landed on a warm stone floor, sweaty, bleeding, but alive. The knight lay on his back, also breathing hard.

"Oh!" cried a trilling voice. "What have we here?"

Snape looked up and was astonished to find himself at the feet of a beautiful lady. She held a torch in one hand and her face was a picture of concern. Her cornflower eyes were wide and surrounded by thick lashes, and copious tresses of shining gold fell down her back. Had he not already been out of breath, the lady's loveliness would have taken it away.

The lady, however, only had eyes for his companion.

"Good sir knight," she said in dulcet tones, as she helped him to his feet. "You were so quick to pass through our humble castle just now. Pray assure me that you have returned this time with intent to rest and take advantage of our hospitality?"

A decidedly unchivalrous snort came from the knight's helm. "Sorry, but you're not my type."

The knight's voice was hoarse, but unmistakably female. As if to emphasize this, the knight removed her helm and released a cascade of brown curls.

Granger. Snape managed to keep his jaw from dropping, but only just. The lady was not as self-controlled.

"A woman?" she cried. "How can this be?"

"Two X chromosomes," said Granger, detaching the gorget from her neck.

The lady stared at her horrified. "In this castle, no girl would be allowed to go about with hair so wild, with complexion so oily, or to stand before any man without the benefit of cosmetics and exciting underwear."

"Oh for pity's sake," said Granger, red-faced. "We just came from fighting in the Goblin Rebellion. What do you expect me too look like?"

"I apologize for my uncouth companion," said Snape to the lady. She dimpled at him.

"No apology is needed, good sir," she said. "Any girl who runs about dressed as a boy cannot be held to the standards of behavior and breeding that we expect from the young ladies in this castle. I am only grateful that you were there to save her from her folly."

Granger sputtered indignantly. "He was there to save me? Of all the- Oh, bugger it. I'm leaving. I'll be next door when you're finished here, Professor."

"You will watch your language," said Snape, voice soft and dangerous. "And you will address me with due respect."

"If I addressed you with due respect, I'd be in even more trouble than I am now," she retorted. She thrust her sword into its scabbard, seized her helm and gorget, and stalked noisily into the next painting. Snape stared after her, highly surprised. Where was the polite and focused student he'd come to tolerate this school year, and who was this frizzy-haired harpy? His mind was quickly occupied with other thoughts.

"Come," said the lady with a soft smile. "You are tired. Rest here for a while. Shall I call the doctors to tend to your wounds?"

"With great regret, I must decline. My charge requires my attention."

"She ought to be punished, that one," said the lady, a small line marring the skin between her golden eyebrows. "She's not too old for a spanking, you know."

Many years of practice allowed Snape to force that thought from his head. "I'll bear it in mind," he lied.

He bowed to the lady and followed Hermione into the next painting.