Picture Perfect

I was a paranoid mother. I constantly was worrying about my children; wondering what mess they could be getting into, what article of furniture would get overturned in their romping about, what new obstacle they would have to face down and by which they would eventually be overcome.

I was a poor mother, you could say. I never let my children come to me crying, never gave them a comforting hug to assuage their fears, never patted their little heads tenderly. Perhaps a younger version of me would have done that. But when you go through the things I've gone through, you find it hard to be anything but cold and unfeeling to the world.

I was an efficient wife. I did what my husband told me, exactly when he told me to do it, with no complaints. I learned early on in our marriage that my standing was just above that of the House-Elves.

I had few friends. The ones I'd made in my Hogwarts days were either killed, in hiding, or would refuse to speak to me. I'd like to think I had friends in my children, but I know better. I remember well each of their glares, the angry words festering in their minds that they knew better than to release. I had a friend in Kreacher, one of our House-Elves, however. He became my personal servant, and we shared many secrets.

It was Kreacher who convinced me of putting my portrait up to keep an eye on the children, and later, possible intruders. He also insisted he put a Charm of his on the portrait to keep it there forever. Nobody would know how to undo Elf magic, I thought, so I agreed. I saw the wisdom in it then, but I wish I had known the consequences of his Elf magic.

In order to keep that portrait there, Kreacher had to ensure that a little piece of me would always inhabit it. A bit of my soul, if you will. To keep my story short and to not go into the complications of Elf magic, it bonded me to this plane forever. I could not, and cannot leave, until my portrait is removed.

So, as the years passed and my body eventually withered away, my spirit remained tied to this portrait. I at first cursed Kreacher vilely with every hateful word I could dish out. Eventually it angered him enough that he burned part of my canvas. He was so shocked --- or perhaps the word is disgusted --- with himself that he locked himself away in his own little cubyhole I gave to him for weeks. When he passed by me again, I hadn't the courage to spit vipers at him. He had changed. He had been driven to madness by the horrible consequence of attacking his Mistress, even though I no longer truly lived.

Most of the other incidents in this prolonged wall-life of mine have no real value, although I could tell you story upon story and never tire. Some, however, are important to understanding histories, and one such incident took place the summer after the Potter boy had came and inhabited the house. Albus Dumbledore had walked in and glided towards me in his ethereal way. I swear the man is more intimidating with each second he ages.

"Mrs. Black. I can't say that it's a pleasure to see your lovely face again, especially on this grievious terms," Albus began.

I scoffed and turned the haughtiest look I had upon him.

"And I see you've gotten even less sane since the last time I saw you, old man. Tell me what you want and be to the point. You always want something when you dish out compliments," I retorted with a sneer.

Albus sighed.

"I have terrible news for you. Sirius..."

I had to interrupt.

"Is a lazy, worthless brat who I'm ashamed to call my son---"

"Went to the Ministry with the rest of the Order---"

"Has no brains and eyes only for that worthless motorbike---"

"To fight against Voldemort. Although he fought bravely---"

"Which I told him wouldn't do him any good, and neither would those stupid friends of his---"

"He was hit by a Stunning Spell fired by Bellatrix and fell through the Veil."

I stopped in the middle of my tirade.

"He...he what?"

"I'm sorry. Sirius is dead," Albus reiterated, eyes glittering, as usual, except this time with a saltier substance than adventure.

I just sat in my portrait, gaping open-mouthed like a fish. Eventually Albus rose and said some things that I'm sure would have been comforting had my brain told my ears to listen. The only thing I could focus on was that my baby was dead.

My son had died.

My favorite was gone forever.

I know that must come as a surprise to you, but Sirius was everything I'd wanted in a child. He was as sharp as a tack, and his tongue was just as witty. He had excellent taste in clothing and always dressed to impress others. Sirius was a brave boy and I knew he would have made a fantastic ally to the Dark Lord.

But, I suppose everybody knows that Sirius never did get a chance to follow in such glorious footsteps. Hogwarts got to him first. Once he met James Potter, all hope of Sirius joining the rightful cause vanished for me. I knew that Sirius would never betray a Potter. He was brighter than that.

Speaking of Potters, the next incident refers to a chat I had with the youngest Potter at the time. I must say, he was quite a sight when he passed by me. Angry emerald eyes glaring at anyone who came within striking distance, a moody teenage posture heightened by the constant fondling of his wand in his back pocket, stinging words to anyone who dared try and cheer him up. The boy was reveling in rage, and I thought it the perfect time to strike.

I couldn't have my boy go to the right side, but I was going to be sure I made his godson sway to the correct winds.

He came down later that night, probably too restless to sleep, plagued by nightmares. I never did find out what prompted him to come to me, but nonetheless, there he sat in front of me on a cold wooden chair that must have been frighteningly uncomfortable. I remarked just as much, and got no response.

"You know...Harry," I began, my tongue tripping awkwardly over his first name, "the Veil isn't the end for a soul. There's ways that Sirius can come back."

I wanted to strike hard and fast, get my hooks into him and inject my venom before he had a chance to realize what was going on. Unfortunately, I had forgotten the resilience of teenagers. I had cast my bait expertly and the fish just were not biting. I tried my next card.

"One of them, in particular, is really quite simple. It's a potion. I know Severus teaches Potions at Hogwarts. He must be a very good teacher," I supplied conversationally, hoping to get a rise out of him. I, personally, hated Severus. He was a two-faced coward that got his kicks by punishing those below him. That, to me, was a sickening reminder of my husband.

Again, nothing came from the raven-haired boy. I continued to pull out all the stops to ensnare the stubborn child.

"I suppose not. But the potion is so easy to brew. It's in the library if you're at all interested in restoring my son to life. Because I hear you've got this hero complex that you just can't shake, Harry."

Finally. A slight bristling, but then a return to his former state. I was on to something.

"Ah, finally the hero reacts. I suppose you're not as invincible as you think you are, Harry. You know, even heroes have their low points. Merlin was obsessed with toads, I'll have you know. He constantly suffered from warts."

No laughing resounded from that mouth. It figures. I always was rubbish at telling jokes.

"And...well, if they've still got that idiot Binns teaching History, you wouldn't know of any other heroes."

I paused for effect, and then forged ahead.

"Except for Albus Dumbledore, of course," I added casually. That got a response from the boy, all right. His nostrils flared and the green eyes adapted from a spacy look to an evil, angry fire. His hands balled into fists and I knew I had the right track of conversation to attract the boy.

"That meddling fool Dumbledore. He's responsible for Sirius' death, you know. Yes, Albus encouraged Sirius to go with the Order. He said it would 'do Sirius some good' and give him some 'needed practice'. And, why, my poor little boy jumped at the chance. Albus had kept him prisoner in here for ages, as I'm sure you've found out. You waggle a biscuit in front of a Crup and he'll take it every time, even if he's full to bursting."

I could tell the boy was listening. A small, devilish grin was beginning to tug at his mouth. No doubt he was planning horrible things to do to Albus. I could barely hold back by excitement as I continued.

"Albus knew he had to distract Bellatrix somehow when he got to the Ministry. That's why he sent Sirius after her. He knew Sirius couldn't take her, but he was a good enough distraction. That's all my little boy was to Albus, just a distraction."

I had him. I could taste it. Now it was time to plant the seeds and watch them burgeon.

"Is that all you want to be, Harry? A little pawn in Albus' games? I'm sure you don't. You seem like a bright lad, after all. I bet you want revenge on Albus. And what better way could there to be but to dabble in the Dark Arts, Harry? You've definitely got the skill for it. All you'd have to do is even read just one of those books and it would strike fear into the so-called hero's heart. So what do you say, Harry? Do you want to learn how to harm the murderer of my son, the person who killed your godfather?"

I smiled in satisfaction and closed my eyes, awaiting the affirmative reply.

I never received it.

"You know, you really are a vindictive old hag," the boy said. Then he got up off his chair and returned to his room.

The next day, he was all smiles. The anger was gone from his voice and demeanor. He was no longer the troubled hero, but the dashing paladin ready to accept the awed faces of his fans with open arms.

It was enough to make me vomit. If only I'd still had a body to do it in.

So, up until around five minutes ago, I continued my duty as the saucy portrait that everyone had to avoid making noise around because of my insatiable temper.

Note that I said until around five minutes ago.

The Potter boy ended up doing me in, in the end. I must applaud him. It was a marvelous act of revenge. He came back to the house, exactly ten years after that failed talk I'd had with him. He came to thank me, believe it or not.

"Thank you," the boy said. I suppose I cannot call him a boy anymore, not with that baritone voice he'd acquired.

"You helped me get over Sirius, even if you don't know it," he admitted with a small chuckle. "You were so terrible at trying to get me to get back at Albus. You went about it all the wrong way. You instead helped me to realize that Sirius was a wonderful man who triumphed despite his terrible upbringing in this hole," Potter said sarcastically.

"I'm terribly wounded, Potter. Now, do you have any more words for me, or are you done?"

He chuckled again. Oh, how I long for hands to pluck out those vocal cords!

"Not in the slightest, dearie. Dobby!" he called, clapping his hands together.

A rather odd-looking House-Elf appeared in a shrunken poncho and mismatched socks.

"Yes, Harry Potter?" the elf asked.

"Do me a favor and dethrone Mrs. Black. I don't want her in this house any longer."

"Yes, Harry Potter!" the elf energetically replied, and set to work on my portrait.

I was silent as the elf worked, reveling in the fact that I would finally get to leave this terrible nightmare at long last. The last words I heard on that plane were these, spoken by Potter.

"And so, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black finally falls to a Potter. Revenge is mine, just like you wanted, Mrs. Black. Except this time, the joke's on you. Adieu, dear," he finished with a wave and a jaunty wink. The elf abruptly finished and my portrait came crashing to the floor.

So where am I now, you ask? You should know.

You can still hear them, the voices just beyond the Veil, telling their stories to anyone who stops to listen.