There was a portrait of him in the Ministry. Harry crossed his arms, and glared at Kingsley.

"Seriously?" He asked. Kingsley grinned sheepishly.

"Uncanny." He heard someone mutter.

"I'll just show you it, shall I?" Kingsley said, and led the way.

The first thing Harry saw was the golden frame. The second thing he saw was the golden snitch. The third thing he saw was himself, all in his green eyed, messy haired, scrawny, speccy glory. He was standing with his arms crossed, glaring at anyone that dared walk near. Occasionally he kicked a rock. The snitch flew in front of his eyes, and he swatted it away, and resumed his glaring. When he caught sight of his real self, he sneered. Harry sneered back.

"Burn it." He said.

"That's the most intelligent thing we've ever said." His portrait self snarked.

"Were you always this sarcastic?" Kingsley asked, evidently amused. Harry was not. He continued to glare. His portrait glared too. "I rather like your acerbic comments. I think we'll keep it." Kingsley continued. Harry pursed his lips in distaste, and stalked away.

Three days later there was a break in at the ministry. The only thing missing was the much beloved painting of Harry Potter. The culprit was never found.