Disclaimer: I'm just playing. Almost none of this is mine.

Professor Longbottom had been in the Headmaster's office before, as a student and as a teacher. He'd done some daring things, many of which had landed him in this office. But tonight the task seemed a little more daunting.

The Headmaster had requested his presence for a little head to head on a few of Gryffindor's more hard-headed students, and it promised to be enlightening. Neville wondered if there had ever been a Hogwarts Headmaster who wasn't as eccentric as the school itself, because this one gave Dumbledore a run for his money.

Neville took the last stair and knocked softly on the office door, receiving a sharp "Enter" in response. He did so slowly, tentatively stepping through the door, avoiding looking at the portraits on the walls.

"Ah, Neville! Punctual, as always. Come, sit. We'll have a brandy while we chat."

"Oh, no, I don't think –

But he was gone already, whisking away up the stairs. Neville heard bottles being moved, clinging against each other as the Headmaster searched for whatever whiskey he fancied tonight. Neville took a few cautious steps forward, reaching the remarkably comfortable armchair that sat before Headmaster Heltingburg's desk. He glanced up, and Dumbledore gave him a wink, his eyes twinkling down at Neville. He always did that.

"Now I can't remember, did you say you liked the Firewhiskey or was it something smoother, because I know you said…"

"It doesn't matter, really, Headmaster." Neville responded, sinking into the armchair.

The glasses continued to clink together.

Slowly, Neville began his usual perusal of the office, taking in the spindly instruments that had never gone away when Dumbledore had died, the portraits of old headmasters on the walls, the book cases filled to brimming with tomes old and new. Curtains hung heavily on either side of the windows, open to let in a gentle breeze – summer was close, he could tell – and cabinets lined the walls, filled with odds and ends that Heltingburg had collected.

Phineas Nigellus frowned at him, eyebrow creasing as it always did upon remembering that Neville was head of Gryffindor House. Professor Dippet had his eyes closed, and was pretending to be asleep, though not very hard; about every ten seconds one eye would squint halfway open, then shut again quickly once he realized Neville was watching him. A few more smiled at him, one waved a hello, and…there.

Neville forced himself not to flinch. He was twenty-eight, after all, and there was no reason why he should be terrified of a portrait on the wall. He'd faced Voldemort. He could certainly face the man staring at him out of the portrait, eyes dark and intelligent, dour face turned toward him. Certainly he wouldn't flinch away from the man Harry had been trying so hard to defend. Neville himself had fought for this portrait. Neville returned the gaze of Severus Snape, taking in the hooked nose, the pale features, the black eyes that glowered at everything that moved. Neville cleared his throat.

"It's nice to see you up here, Professor," he said, and prided himself in the fact that his voice didn't squeak.

Heltingburg returned holding two bottles and magicked two decanters onto the desk before him. "Who're you talking to, Neville?" He glanced around his office, and, catching sight of Snape, twitched a bit before returning to his whiskey. "Ah, yes, you…you were one of the ones who wanted his portrait here, weren't you?"

Neville caught sight of Snape's quirked eyebrow, and thought for sure he saw a smile ghost across the thin lips.

"Bloody nuisance, if you ask me," Heltingburg continued. "Him and Dumbledore, always wanting their say in how things are done, always with the suggestions – always with the biting remarks." He shot a nasty look behind him at the two of them, Dumbledore grinning somewhat cheekily, Snape, unsmiling next to him, looking the same as ever. "But when the Boy-Who-Lived wants something, you know…he's bound to get his way eventually."

"I think it's safe to say Harry won that right."

Neville shot a glance at Snape and couldn't help the way his mouth twitched into an almost-smile. The glower had deepened, and he looked like he very much wanted to contradict Neville.

He didn't.

They spent the next hour talking about what to do about Teddy Lupin and his friends, earning helpful hints and some not-so-helpful ones from the portraits on the walls, and just as Neville was standing up to leave, feeling a bit warm in the chest from the whiskey, Heltingburg spoke again. "Never seen more troublesome students in my life. Not in my entire life. I don't know how I'll survive the next six years."

Snape snorted from his portrait. "The next six? Pardon me for bursting your bubble, but, as I recall, haven't both the Potter's and the Weasley's procreated recently?" He directed the comment at Neville.

Heltingburg frowned. "Well…yes?"

"You haven't seen trouble until you've seen any Weasley, Potter or Granger at work. Believe me, you'll think Lupin is an angel by the time those children have left Hogwarts."

"Is that true, Neville, or is he hyperbolizing again?"

Neville happened to know that James Sirius Potter was well on his way, at two years old, to giving his namesakes a run for their money, but he didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction of knowing he was right. Yet. "I couldn't say. James is only two."

"What he means is, James Sirius Potter has not yet had time to cause enough havoc to give a proper estimate on his trouble-making abilities. But believe me, I've seen the child, and he's bound to be a monster."

Neville gave a start. Seen him?

But of course. Harry had been the one overlooking the progress of the painting, and had surely been there at the unveiling. It seemed odd to think of Harry having such a candid relationship with a man he had hated for most of his childhood – but then, Harry always seemed to have a strange ability to get past his prejudices, in ways no one else could. And it made sense that after all the hard work Harry had put into restoring Severus' character, he'd want some downtime with the portrait. Neville had a feeling there was something besides Dumbledore that had made Harry so intent on making Snape out as a hero.

"Well you're a bit biased, aren't you?"

Snape frowned at the Headmaster, scowled at a laughing Dumbledore, and then turned out of his frame, disappearing from the office. Neville wondered where else Snape might have a portrait, then sighed. "Well, at least we know that whoever painted him got his personality down."

Dumbledore boomed with laughter, and Neville waved a goodbye, moving down the stairs and out past the gargoyle. A few students passed by at a near-run, hurrying to reach their dorm before curfew, and he caught a flash of bright blue. Teddy just never learned.

As he walked slowly in the direction of his rooms, he couldn't help but ruminate. And, really, good or not, Neville was very, very happy that there were no portraits below the first floor. Because, twenty-eight or not, he was convinced that if he ever stumbled upon Severus Snape in the dungeons, ever again, he would not be able to control himself. And it just wouldn't do to have his students see him running from the dungeons as if Voldemort himself had just risen from the cobblestones.