Photograph Thief

He stole the photograph from Colin Creevey. He hadn't planned to steal it, or even to meet the mouse-haired boy. But Creevey stumbled into the dungeons after dinner, obviously lost, obviosuly terrified, and Draco couldn't let the opportunity escape him.

"Well," said Draco. "Look who's come to join us."

Crabbe and Goyle turned at his voice, forgetting their for the rumored passageway into the Gryffindor common room. Creevey's wide eyes flickered from one to the other, and he started to shake.

"Please, Malfoy," he said. "Let me go, all right? I've never done anything to you. I think you're all right, really, I . . ."

The words died in his throat as Draco stepped closer.

"Tell me, Creevey," he said, laying a paternal hand on the fifth-year's shoulder. "Why are sneaking around the dungeons?"

"I'm not!" Creevey squeaked. A tear slipped from one eye. He wiped it off, puffed his thin chest bravely and stared at Draco with watery eyes. "I'm leaving now," he said.

"Not so quickly," Draco said. "You just got here."

He glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, and jerked his chin towards the cowering Gryffindor."Teach him a lesson," he said, and stepped a safe distance away.

Creevey wept through the beating that followed, but Draco barely managed to keep his mind at it. Petty bullying didn't interest him, not anymore. Let Crabbe and Goyle amuse themselves with such playground thuggery. Draco Malfoy was a hunter, and he preferred his prey with teeth.

So the muffled grunts and meaty sounds passed unnoticed, until Goyle yanked the younger boy's satchel free from its strap, and held it upside down. A ream of photographs spilled onto the stone floor, whispering against each other like falling leaves. One landed against the toe of Draco's boot, and he retrieved it with a frown.

Harry Potter, sleeping in the library.

Draco's lips narrowed, and he grabbed a bunch of pictures from the floor, staring at the many Harry Potters within them. Gryffindor's golden boy smiled, and frowned and chewed on the end of his quill. He spiraled through the air at Quidditch practice, laughed with Granger and Weasley in the Great Hall and flipped pages in the library. Green eyes stared at Draco from a hundred photographed faces, and Draco's heart spasmed at the impact.

He wondered what killed you -- Avada Kedavra or the green flash that accompanied it.

Behind him, Crabbe grunted his name.

Draco shook himself, and threw the photographs into the air. "Potter," he spat.

Harry Potters rained to the ground, and Draco watched them fall. Only when the last smiling face landed did he straighten his shoulders, and motion for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him.

"Come on," he said. "Lets find something worthwhile to do."

They frowned and blinked in confusion, wondering why he was ending their fun so quickly.

"Come on," Draco repeated. Crabbe sighed, and released his hold on Creevey's shirt.

"Later," he warned, and Goyle slammed his fist into younger boy's nose one last time.

Crabbe and Goyle followed Draco around the corner and into the Slytherin common room, and Creevey escaped up the stairs. None of them noticed the photograph hidden in Draco's robes.

* * *

Later that night, long after the Crabbe and Goyle fell asleep, Draco eased the stolen photograph out of his robe pocket. It was wrinkled and dusted with lint, but he straightened it the best he could, staring into it with hungry eyes.

Harry Potter lay curled in the corner of a library sofa, an open book on his chest. Round glasses rested on the very tip of his nose, and those green eyes were closed, veiled by dark lashes. The slender chest lifted and fell as Draco watched, and a tremor ran through the still-sleeping body. Harry's wand lay forgotten in one hand, barely supported by his curling fingers.

Draco bit his lip, and his heart started to beat a little faster. Imagine finding Harry Potter alone like this.

He would strike without mercy, and the golden king would fall. Imagine Draco's fist crunching against that nose, Draco's solid boots connecting with that unprotected side. Glasses would crumble, blood would flow and Harry Potter would wake, lost and confused beneath the storm of Draco's hate.

Or maybe, Draco thought, hardly daring to think it, maybe he needn't strike so quickly.

Maybe, for now, he could touch his tousled hair, and trace the wrinkled lines of Harry's forehead. He could ease the tension from Harry's brow, kiss Harry's eyelids, and whisper Harry's name, his first name, into the tender skin there. Green eyes would flutter open, and Draco could steal a kiss in that moment. Forgotten, the years of hate behind them. Forgotten, the hatred soon to follow. Harry's eyes would focus, and he'd pull away from Draco in disgust. Draco could almost hear his voice.

"What are you doing Malfoy?"

What am I doing? Draco thought.

Even as he watched, a pale, freckled hand appeared in the photographs periphery, and landed on Harry's shoulder, shaking him awake. Harry started, and the book fell fluttering to the floor.

Draco inhaled through clenched teeth, wishing he could stall the photograph, stop it here. Harry Potter smiled, but not at him, and the tenderness in Draco bled away.

"I hate you, Harry Potter," he whispered, and carefully concealed the photo beneath his pillow.

He'd burn it tomorrow.

The End