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The Image of Him	By : Andreas Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1040 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Image of Him
- 1
Written for The Chocolate Frog Advent Calendar, here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/onechocfrogaday/
WARNING: This is a post-HBP fic!

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The Image of Him
Dumbledore�s portrait still hadn�t awakened, and now he was gone. The painting remained, but Hogwarts�s former headmaster was nowhere to be seen. Although, as Hermione was quick to point out, he was most likely to be seen somewhere else, seeing as it was rather difficult to erase magical paint without leaving a mark on the original painting. So Dumbledore had moved to another painting somewhere, without telling them, and just before Christmas too. It was rather like finding that Santa Claus has stepped out of your holiday cards for a brief vacation in the Bahamas. It just wasn�t on.
�Honestly, if he woke up, couldn�t he at least have said hello and goodbye?� huffed Hermione while rifling through some of Dumbledore�s old documents. �These are no use! Unless, of course, he hung a painting of himself in a candy factory, which wouldn�t surprise me.� She held up a Muggle document. �They�re all order copies and invoices. If my parents saw these, they�d have a synchronised heart attack.�
�But what if he didn�t wake up?� asked Harry, voicing his fear for maybe the fifth time in a row. �What if someone kidnapped him?�
�I told you, Harry, it doesn�t work like that. Portraits aren�t like ordinary paintings. People can�t just waltz in without being specifically � magically � invited. There are linking spells to be performed, and more. Stop worrying so much.�
�From the way you just threw a whole pile of papers across the floor, I�d say you look pretty worried too.�
�I�m just researching. On the floor. You could help by not stepping on the evidence.�
�Evidence? So you think he has been kidnapped?�
She narrowed her eyes at him. �No. But I think there�s something important he hasn�t told us about.� She started throwing documents right and left, muttering to herself. �Wouldn�t be the first time.�
�And it surely won�t be the last,� muttered Phineas Nigellus.
Harry scowled at the former headmasters. �You�re sure you didn�t see anything?�
�Certainly!� exclaimed Fortescue, wobbling and sticking his seasonal nose in the air. �Saw nothing! Heard nothing! Said nothing!�
Hermione�s head snapped up. �To whom?�
�What?� chorused Harry and Fortescue. Phineas Nigellus sighed and rolled his eyes.
Hermione rose and advanced on Fortescue whose paint was starting to run slightly under her glare. �You said nothing to whom?�
�Ehm. No one.�
Harry stepped up next to Hermione and leaned forward to study the curious perspiration of magical paint. �He�s hiding something.�
�Yes.� Hermione took a step back and surveyed the oval room once more. Harry narrowed his eyes at Fortescue who cast worried glances at Phineas Nigellus.
�Dilys Derwent is also missing,� said Hermione.
Harry turned to her. �Well, couldn�t she just be at St Mungo�s?�
�No. Look!�
Harry looked. Dilys�s frame was missing, its absence barely noticeable as the two frames on either side had been shifted sideways. �Someone�s nicked it!� he exclaimed, turning to Hermione who was waving her wand at Dumbledore�s empty painting.
�I�m not so sure,� she murmured and cast a quick reversal spell. Dumbledore�s painting transformed instantly into Dilys�s empty frame. �But they did steal one painting.�
�I knew it!� cried Harry. Fortescue quivered under Phineas Nigellus�s heated glare as Hermione called Dilys Derwent back from St. Mungo�s.
�Where is it? Where is he?�
�I�m sure I don�t know what you�re talking about, girl.�
And that was as much as they got out of any of the former headmasters.
�We know where our duty lies,� was all Phineas Nigellus would say. On the other and not particularly useful hand, he would shout rather a lot, as would Harry. In spite of this problematic work environment, Hermione managed to channel Sherlock Holmes after she had unjustly accused Harry of getting dirt on Dumbledore�s documents.
�Why would the thief have dirty boots?� she mused aloud.
�He came from outside?� said Harry, injecting a moderately safe degree of sarcasm.
Hermione rubbed the greenish dirt between her thumb and forefinger. It turned into dust and coated the documents below. �But there�s a thick layer of snow outside. This is dry lichen. Not from a cave where the moist would have seeped in, but perhaps from an elevated tunnel.� She blinked. �The tunnel to the Shrieking Shack, perhaps. That would explain how they got in undetected.�
�Let�s check it out!�
�It�s only a guess.�
�You can come up with more along the way,� said Harry, already running down the spiral staircase.
Hermione paused at the top of the stairs. �It won�t bring him back, you know.�
Harry halted. �I know,� he sighed. �But it�ll bring back memories, and they�re all that�s left. I can�t lose them too.�
Five minutes later, they were running with their wands out through flickering darkness towards the Shrieking Shack. There were boot marks in the dirt.
That Hermione still, despite the old forewarned is forearmed adage and the fact that she was also unmetaphorically armed as they burst into the Shack, failed to deflect the Stupefy hurled at her probably had quite a lot to do with who did the hurling. And if the other end of the loose board she hit as she thumped to the floor hadn�t pushed Harry�s right foot into action, he too would have been too shocked to avoid the second blast. As it were, he found himself two seconds later pinning a scowling Dumbledore to the floor.
�Get off!� hissed the former headmaster, struggling against Harry�s vicelike grip.
Harry stared. �Who are you?�
Dumbledore stilled. �Don�t you recognise me . . . Harry?� he asked with an odd sort of smile and a distinct lack of twinkle in his eyes.
�You�re not him!� growled Harry, diggings his nails into knobbly old arms.
The old man winced.
�Who are you?�
Harry had never seen Dumbledore�s face so clouded and dark. �Piss off, Potter!�
Harry flinched, blinked, and had to force himself to close his mouth before he could muster a weak �Malfoy?�
�Bunch o� points for Gryffindor. Now, really, piss off!�
�You sick bastard!� roared Harry as he bounced his old mentor�s head against the floorboards. �You sick, sick bastard!�
When he had knocked Malfoy just the painful side of unconscious, he cast a binding spell on the Polyjuiced boy, placed Hermione on a tattered couch in another room and dosed her with a potent sleeping spell, sat down in a corner, next to the still sleeping painting of Dumbledore, and waited.
�Release me!� rasped Malfoy. �Please!� He struggled feebly against invisible restraints. �There�s not much time!�
�Shut up.�
�You don�t understand! There�s � there�s another painting, under there!� He nodded towards an easel covered by a dirty sheet, wincing at the pain even this minute motion caused.
Harry glowered.
�Please! It�s important! It would,� Malfoy hesitated. �It would bring him back.�
Harry gritted his teeth. It was a trick. It had to be. His legs took him to the easel. His hands yanked off the sheet. His mind caught up with events just in time to run off and cower in one of his memory�s back alleys. The painting portrayed Dumbledore�s final moments from the perspective of Draco Malfoy, with Snape in the foreground, his wand raised, and a silent �Please� on Dumbledore�s lips.
Harry turned around and kicked Malfoy in the stomach before he knocked the easel over.
�No!� gasped Malfoy. �It must be activated! Before the � before it wears off!�
Harry squatted, grabbed Malfoy�s frilly collar and hauled him up. �What�re you playing at, Malfoy?� Harry hissed, baring his teeth in a snarl that made Malfoy flinch.
�If that painting is connected to the portrait before Dumbledore wakes up,� Malfoy said, explaining at Hermione speed, �it�ll activate at his moment of death, releasing the copy of his soul still contained in the portrait.�
�You want to kill him again?�
�No, no! This body fits the released soul perfectly. It would stick . . . here. As long as hasn�t woken up, the soul hasn�t yet adapted to being a painting. It�s a perfect copy, a sort of horcrux.�
Harry�s grip tightened but Malfoy would not be deterred.
�Just like this body is a perfect replica.�
�It�s Polyjuiced!�
�But the Polyjuice only stops working because the life energy initiates a reversal. With the right energy in the right body, it would never revert to�� Malfoy stopped and looked away.
�To you,� said Harry, almost dropping Malfoy. �You would � die!�
�Cease to exist,� muttered Malfoy, still not meeting Harry�s shocked gaze. �Which is just as well.�
�No. No!� Harry shook Malfoy, forcing the latter to glower at him. �You may be a . . . a horrible person, but that�s just� No! You couldn�t kill him then, and you can�t kill yourself now!�
�Mistakes are made to be corrected, Potter,� drawled the voice of Dumbledore with a peculiar undercurrent of Draco Malfoy.
�You can�t be a martyr, you horrible little git! You never cared about right or wrong before!�
�Oh, no,� said Malfoy, this time in a much younger voice. �Oh, no!�
And then there was change. Moments later, Harry stared into furious grey eyes. They were glistening.
�Damn you, Potter! DAMN YOU!� Malfoy bucked against his restraints, tears trickling down his reddened cheeks. �He offered to protect me, to help my family! And I let him die! He could have protected my family, and now I can�t bring him back! I can�t,� he gasped and stared straight at Harry. �I can�t save them!�
There was a moment of silence. Harry searched for words. Those he found seemed somehow inadequate. �You would die so that Dumbledore could protect your family?�
Malfoy�s nostrils flared. �Of course I would! Family matters!�
�But you can�t� They�re��
�Evil? Wrong? Nasty? Trust me Potter, I know. But they�re still my family!�
�You,� stuttered Harry, �you know? But you�re a � a Death Eater!�
�I had to be. And yes, I know. They�re prejudiced, hateful people. I was too, until I saw them for what they were.�
�But how�?�
Malfoy sighed. �Potter, you�re not adding anything with your little communication failures. Shut up. I saw my parents for what they were when they started hating me.�
Harry blinked, several times, in a row.
�Not that they knew it, of course. But they hated me for who I was. Who I am. Suddenly, because of you, I knew that my parents hated me, found me as low and despicable as any Muggle. Oh, don�t look so shocked, Potter. It�s always your fault, but it was never about you, not really. You represented a threat to my family, so I hated you. Your green eyes and enticing physique � oh, and clearly your pronounced blush, please-stop-doing-that � revealed the one thing that would make my parents hate me, and so I hated you. My family is all I have, Potter. Even though their love is based on a lie, it�s the only kind I�ll get in this world, because everything else is hate, ambition, and jealousy. So yes, I would die for my family, because then at least I�d die for some kind of love.�
Love, horror, green eyes, grey eyes, enticing physique, and Malfoy�s pouting lips all mixed in Harry�s muddled mind as, once again, he tried to put words to shapeless thoughts. �You did � everything � all those horrible things � just because��
��of my family.� Malfoy nodded.
�But,� exclaimed Harry, pulling Malfoy closer again, �what about everyone else�s families? How can you be so � selfish?�
�You made me selfish, the lot of you!� spat Malfoy. �Throw strong, suspicious individuals into one house and cut them off from everyone else and what do you expect will happen? Why should we care?�
�You�re the ones who insist on people not being equal! You think you�re better than everyone else!�
�That�s rich! You�re the ones who are more equal than others! We�re outcasts from your society because of our history! Do you think you can force us into a subculture and expect us to stay there? You can have your segregation, but don�t expect ancient nobility to accept any state of difference but superiority.�
�Wha�?� said Harry, frowning.
Malfoy sighed. �It�s easier to cope with being outcasts, in the cold, if you decide it�s your choice, because you�re better, stronger than the ones sitting warm and snug on the inside.�
Harry stared at Malfoy, taking in the shocking honesty of his eyes and the sudden softness of his naturally pointy features. He could feel his worldview shifting around him. Close, clear-cut lines between black and white blurred as he looked into the distance and saw a haze of colours turn into a complex painting of a landscape he felt sure he could stare at for eternity. Or perhaps it was really just the old new boy before him, pretty and peculiar enough to last a lifetime.
�What is Hermione?� Harry asked, realising only in retrospect why.
Malfoy frowned. �What?�
�What is she?�
�A harpy?�
Harry sighed, pointedly.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. �Ah, how subtle of you, Potter. You want me to say she�s not a Mudblood.� Harry�s eyes narrowed into thin slits and his nails dug into scrawny teenaged arms. �Well, ow, though luck. She is.�
Harry slammed Malfoy to the ground, straddled him and raised his fist.
�Thing is,� smirked Malfoy, not even flinching as Harry�s fist halted halfway to his face, �I don�t much mind mud anymore. It�s nothing but moist dirt, and we�re all dirty somehow. My blood is different from your pal�s, but no better, or worse.� His smirk vanished. �But her life is better, and for that I despise her.� His glare challenged Harry, but Harry refused to take the bait. Instead, he loosened his fist and caressed Malfoy�s cheek, shocking even himself.
Malfoy paled, blinking rapidly. His mouth moved, but no words, or even breath, escaped.
�Dumbledore wouldn�t want to come back through your sacrifice,� said Harry, �but he would want you to do what you feel is right, regardless of your family. He knew,� and now, suddenly, Harry did too, �that you know. What�s right.�
�Love is what�s right,� breathed Malfoy, �and I can only��
Harry, feeling the need here for a swift and decisive counterargument, and knowing his limitations in the verbalizing department, leaned down and kissed Draco Malfoy, on the mouth, mostly.
It wasn�t a particularly good kiss. Neither boy had much experience, the situation was a weird one, and when Harry�s left hand slipped on the edge of an undead rug, their teeth collided in rather an unpleasant manner. But Malfoy didn�t resist � quite the opposite � and Harry knew without a doubt that he�d get ample opportunity to perfect the procedure later, if only to keep the pretty prat from spouting too much quasi-academic nonsense.
He broke off the kiss and stared into Malfoy�s eyes. �Do what�s right, and then maybe you could live for some kind of respect.� And maybe someday, a hoarse little voice in his head added, for some kind of love. He leaned in for a second kiss. Malfoy moaned. The door creaked.
�Harry James Potter!�
Harry and Malfoy spun around, wide-eyed, to find Hermione staring at them from the doorway. She raised an eyebrow at Harry. �You really have to learn to perform sleeping spells properly!�

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The Image of Him