A Range Of Faces

// symbolizes direct thought





"I'm going to go outside, I think," Harry said, interrupting Hermione's words mid-sentence. The brunette stared at him in surprise.

"In *this* weather, Harry? Is it really wise?" she asked. Harry let out a slow breath, and sighed. As much as he loved his friend, her nagging was increasingly growing annoying. He wasn't a piece of glass that would shatter at any second, needing constant supervision.

"I'll be fine," he told her gently, and placed a hand onto her shoulder. He gave her a small grin, "You can join me. The winter weather is amazing at this time of the year."

Hermione smiled, but declined the offer. "Thanks, but no thanks. I promised Ron I'd help him with his Charms, which," she added disapprovingly, "you should be studying, too."

Harry made a face, and then grinned. "Not me, 'Mione! I'll leave the studying to you and Ron."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the suggestion, "Work? Ron and work go together as well as Malfoy and nice do."

Harry nodded in response. It was true, he decided. Draco Malfoy, their Slytherin nemesis, was about as nice as Voldemort, the dark lord, was. Which wasn't saying much. Both were the bane of Harry's very existence at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hermione cast her light brown eyes to the window, gazing worriedly out at the pure white snowflakes that were beginning to fall. "At least take an extra cloak," she said, voice firm and just daring him to argue. Harry suppressed a sigh. She sounded very much like Molly Weasley at that moment.

"Alright, 'mum,'" he grinned. Hermione tried to look stern, but couldn't help but grin in response. Harry always did have that ability. Harry gave her a quick, lop-sided smile, and promised he'd wear the cloak, then left. Harry stretched his legs as he deftly began to make his way up to the 7th year dorm room. Pleasing Hermione was usually the smart thing to do; at least it always got her off his back.

"Hullo, Harry," Neville Longbottom lifted a hand in greeting as the Gryffindor threw open the door. Harry nodded a reply, ignoring him for the most part as he headed straight for his side of the room, lifting the cloak that dangled on the knob of his bed. Tucking it around his shoulders, he noticed the leather bound book on the floor next to his half opened trunk. The brown leather was fading, although it hid its real value inside. His photo album, the one Hagrid had given to him of his mum and dad.

"I wonder how that got out of its trunk," Harry murmured. Neville squeaked when he said that, and Harry turned to look at him. "Neville?"

"I dropped my quill," he stammered, "then I stepped on it, and then... I asked Ron if I could borrow a quill, but he said just to take one from your trunk, and--"

"Its alright," Harry interrupted the weak ramble. "Just put my book away next time, okay?"

Neville nodded, blushing and glancing back down to his parchment. "Right, sorry."

Harry shook his head and picked the album up. Giving him a last glance, he quickly disappeared in a flash of red robe.

---

Outside, Harry felt alive. There was nothing like standing in a middle of a patch of white snow as more snowflakes fell around him. He pulled the cloak tighter around his arms, suddenly grateful for Hermione's suggestion. He walked down the path, carefully treading over sticks and snow that was covering up footprints. Looked like someone else had come down here recently. //Someone else in this school is as stupid as me?// he wondered briefly, before continuing down the path, coming closer to the frozen, sparkling lake.

"Well, well, if it isn't Potter," a low voice drawled, freezing Harry in his tracks. "I didn't think you had it in you. Going to jump into the lake?"

Harry glanced up into the dead gray eyes of Draco Malfoy, "I guess you would know, wouldn't you?"

"My, what a pitiful comeback," he drawled. Malfoy's eyes gleamed, "But I wouldn't expect anything less from Pitiful Potter. You are, after all, minus your shadows."

Harry pointedly ignored him, turning his back to the Slytherin. His eyes lazily drifted across the grounds, looking for something to sit on. His eyes settled on a rock a few paces in front of him, and he dried the snow with a whispered word with his wand.

He could feel Malfoy's eyes burning into the back of his head, but he said nothing, instead opting to remove the photo album from beneath his cloak. Gently, he set it onto his lap and opened it. The pages were full of happy and smiling people. His mum in her wedding dress, standing next to his dad, with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew's smiling faces surrounding them. His heart contracted as he studied Pettigrew's smiling face. How could someone so happy betray everyone for power?

"Potter," Malfoy's voice was closer, and Harry started, realizing the Slytherin had slithered up next to him. Too engrossed in the photos, he hadn't even heard him move. "What do you want, Malfoy?!"

"I just want to know what makes you tick," he responded easily, dainty fingers plucking the book from Harry's lap. Harry started to say something but stopped, uneasily watching his enemy handle the album.

"Hmm," he said, glancing through the pages of pictures. "Sad, Potter, very sad."

"Yes, I know," Harry sighed, "now I have ferret finger prints on them."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything, just continued to look at the pictures. Slowly, Malfoy began to smirk. "Finger prints aren't all that bad," he finally drawled, "they cover up the mudblood's face."

"Better to be a mudblood, than a pureblood, if you're any indication," Harry threw back.

Malfoy shrugged, "Thanks. That's a lot coming from you. I wouldn't want my reputation being tainted by the Golden Boy liking me for that reason." Malfoy's fingers caressed the edges of the photo album. "Since, you know, you said being a pureblood is worthless, what do you think of your father?" Harry's heart contracted at those words, but he didn't comment. "Would you get upset if I, say, destroyed his picture?"

Harry's eyes widened, "Malfoy -- don't!" Malfoy laughed gleefully at Harry's expression, and proceeded to take out a picture of his father, with his arms around his mum. When they saw Harry, they waved happily, his mum blowing him a kiss.

With a whispered word of 'ignis[1],' the tip of Malfoy's wand burst into fiery light. Harry could only stare in detached horror as the tip of the wand touched the corner. The flame greedily jumped from the wand to the colorful image of his parents. It slowly crept along the edge and Harry reached out to grasp it, but when his fingers brushed the corner, it began to fall into pieces of charred black. It floated to the ground like the snowflakes that fell from the heavens.

"You-you...." Harry couldn't say anything, still staring at the ground with wide, green eyes. The color darkened as the words sank into his hazy thoughts and he launched himself at the Slytherin. "I... I hate you," he said, struggling to grab his album from Malfoy's hands. When Malfoy didn't let go, Harry brought up his fist and attacked his jaw, shocking the blond long enough for Harry to get it back. Harry gave a small smile as Malfoy toppled to the ground.

"Tut, tut, Potter," Malfoy sneered, staggering to his feet. He wiped a hand across his jaw. "You pack quite the punch."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry said, icily.

"Big words for you, Potter," Malfoy remarked, sarcastically. "I'm quite surprised. I see the mudblood has been rubbing off on you."

Harry took one last glance at Malfoy, eyes radiating in anger. With a snarl that was extremely out of character for Harry, he turned to leave.

"Potter," Malfoy called after him. Harry stopped and turned to look at him. "Accio, photo album!" Before Harry could stop it, it soared from his hands and landed gracefully at the Slytherin's feet. "I want you to take one last look," he spoke slowly, seriously, "for this is the last time you will ever see your mudblood mum smiling at you."

It took Harry only a second to realize what Malfoy planned to do, and launched himself at the blond, but it was too late.

"Ignis annihilare [2]," Malfoy whispered, and the flame engulfed the leather, the red and oranges lighting up the darkness around them. The smell of burning reached Harry's nose before Malfoy's words reached his ears. "Remember who watches you," Malfoy said, drawing out each word. Grinning maliciously, he left with a swish of black robes, his laughter ringing in the silent air.

"Finis [3]!" Harry cried, pointing his wand at the book. Instantly the flames stopped, and smoke lingered in the air, melding with the still falling snowflakes. Dropping to his knees in front of it, he tentatively reached out a hand to touch it. The cover fell into pieces at his contact. He brushed the ashes away, and felt the next page, but it was burned and scarred in a hideous black, and it, too, crumbled beneath his fingertips. Harry sucked in his breath. And hurriedly flipped through the remaining pages. They all crumbled under his urgent fingers. Everything was gone. It was gone. Gone. All gone.

It was at that moment when Harry realized something, while tears began to trickle down his cheeks. Nothing held any meaning, not even a photo. Those, as easily with people, could disappear with the flick of a wand.

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