Braeden was just minding his own business, on his way to the Gryffindor tower after leaving that afternoon's History of Magic lesson, when he heard a voice behind him call out, "What's the big rush, ButterFeet? Be careful, you might slip!" At this, the boy came to an abrupt halt and turned around slowly. He knew that voice too well, and he knew that annoying nickname even better. It all went back to his second year, when he had been running down the corridor at full speed, trying to make it to his Muggle Studies lesson on time. But, being the clumsy boy that he has always been, the then-twelve-year-old Braeden had slipped and fallen flat on his face. The first to witness this incident had been, of course, the portraits on the wall, which didn't take long at all to come up with nicknames for him and tease him.

"Think you're so funny, do you?" muttered an annoyed Braeden as he glared at the portrait of the tall, curly-haired man in his frame, wearing attire appropriate for the eighteenth century, and a large wicked grin on his pale, pink-cheek face.

"I have been ranked as 'funniest and most amusing portrait' for the forty-third year in a row, ButterFeet. That's longer than you've been alive; so yes, I do think I am quite the joke-cracker."

Braeden rolled his eyes at the self-centered man in the painting. "I beg to differ." Oh, it was on. If that stupid portrait thought he could tease him for something that happened three years ago for as long as he continued attending Hogwarts, then it was in for a big surprise!