Ah, yes, I was bored. To my Hate Is Such a Strong Word readers that are patiently awaiting chapter five: it's in the makings, I'm experiencing some writing difficulties... I'm trying to keep it canon, but there are some things I'm not sure about.

Anyway, this is a fic I wrote after school because I had the idea in my head, like, right before I went to sleep last night. I hope you like it!

SUMMARY: Dumbledore was the only reason I stayed at Hogwarts. Well, and the fact that I'm magically bound to it. But that's not the point. The Fat Lady's (slightly bitter) tale of Hogwarts. HBP spoilers, you are warned!

Do these stupid students think portraits have no feelings or something? My name is not, contrary to popular belief (and those damned History books), the Fat Lady. It is Rosette Annabelle Nicolette, and you'd do well to remember that.

I used to ask Dumbledore to tell the students that my name isn't the Fat Lady, but I gave up somewhere around the fifties. There wasn't really a point when the teachers call you the Fat Lady.

I attended Hogwarts myself, you know, in the mid 1800's. I was a portly child, but nobody ever called me the Fat Lady! Well, yes, they did make oinking noises around me, but never the Fat Lady!

I saw many generations of Gryffindor students pass through my door - well, portrait. I remember the first Potter I admitted through my entrance - William Potter, I believe his name was, in 1912. Brat. I used to make him sleep outside when he'd show up at all hours of the night and morning until Dippet made me stop.

Of course, I witnessed something I'd never thought I'd see in my entire sorry lifetime - a Black! Passing through my portrait! I had half a mind just to leave him outside, but for some silly reason I trusted the Sorting Hat.

Did you know the real name of the Sorting Hat is Maximus? People don't bother to learn his name either. Is that some form of abuse to hats or something? Maybe I should report it to the Ministry.

Anyway, I remember the first day I saw Sirius Black. He was a quiet, polite boy with no friends. Another of the Potter brats came along the same year and treated the poor dear like dirt. I remember I once made that James boy sleep outside when he snuck out in that silly Invisibility Cloak that William Potter was prone to use. Stupid brat reported me to Dumbledore.

Then Black made friends with that hooligan and two other characters, and they named themselves "The Marauders". I didn't have another wink of sleep for the next seven years. When they graduated, I stole some wine from the monks two floors down and celebrated with Violet.

After Black made friends with "them", he wasn't the same again. Wasn't the delightfully QUIET, polite boy that would always say please and thank you when I let him inside. No, he became a boisterous preteen, then a boisterous teenager, and then a criminal! Honestly, he slashed my poor canvas to bits!

You know, I heard some students talking last year (and distrupting my afternoon nap, I might add) about Sirius Black and that he was innocent! I actually fainted and scared the poor first years.

After about, what, fourteen years of bliss, along comes another Potter! I've said it many times and I'll say it again, those Potters are like damn rabbits or something! Every ten or twenty years, just when I think one of them might have turned out to be a Squib, along comes another one!

How did you know that he was a Potter, you ask? That bush of hair is practically a siren screaming, "I'm a Potter! I'm going to make Rosette's life hell!"

But this Potter was different. He didn't cause trouble... well, not intentionally, anway. By Christmas, I thought I might've gotten a Potter with some sense when suddenly, he has THAT DAMNED INVISIBILITY CLOAK!

I went to Dumbledore's office once. I like to listen in on the conversations he has with the other portraits. I just hide behind Jasper Slughorn, he's huge, bigger than me. Anway, I heard him talking to Dippet about how he gave Potter that cloak because his father would've wanted him to have it! I swear, if I wasn't an animated painting, I would have throttled that man. Honestly.

Of course, there have been the good times at that school. Such as when Snape nearly got fired from the teaching staff his second year for leaving one of his more toxic potions in a corridor. Some idiotic first year drank it and went to St. Mungo's. Too bad Snape remained at the school. I'm sure all of my Gryffindors would've been beyond pleased to see him go.

Of course, that would've meant that they would have thrown a loud, rambunctious party and kept me up until three in the morning when McGonagall FINALLY decided to shut them up. Every good thing has a bad side.

Damn whoever came up with that philosophy.

There have been the depressing times... like the end of last year, for instance. Dumbledore's dead! It's hard to believe! I knew Snape should've been fired in 1981, how DARE he kill Dumbledore? Dumbledore was the only reason I stayed at Hogwarts! Well, and the fact that I'm magically bound to it. But that's not the point.

The point is, I'm standing (well, sitting) here, looking at all of my new Gryffindors, and I do not see that annoyingly messy black head of hair. Harry Potter hasn't come back to Hogwarts. I should be pleased, but I'm not. I don't even realize that annoying Prefect (Creevy?) is saying the password, trying to get me to open up.

"Canis Minor. CANIS MINOR! Open up already!"

I have half a mind to make him sleep outside today.

In fact, I think I will.

It'll make me feel better.

So, reader, if you ever get a parchment envelope saying to come to Hogwarts and you get sorted into Gryffindor, remember my name is Rosette Annabelle Nicolette. If you forget that, I'll make you sleep in the corridor. Period.

So, how'd you like it? Review, review!

Getting off my lazy bum to try to write my other story (argh!),

PotterScar