"Oh Merlin, he did not. Please, please tell me this is not what I think it is," were Harry's first thoughts upon awakening to the Defense classroom at Hogwarts. From the moment that his dead eyes lit up with intelligence and awareness, they took on a cold glare aimed at the man in front of them.
"Neville," Harry began evenly, through gritted teeth, "What have you done?" The old wizard smiled, his ancient and wizened face cracking into the cherubic grin that Harry knew from his time at Hogwarts.
"It's so good to see you again, Harry. Even like this," Neville said wistfully. "How much do you remember?"
"You know I wouldn't have wanted this, Nev," Harry whispered. "I would've wanted to move on. Be with Ginny, and Dumbledore. And my parents, Neville, my parents."
Neville looked uncomfortable now. "Of course, Harry, I know. And you have. You're… you're gone. Well and truly gone. This is just an… imprint. Your soul is happy, Harry, I promise."
Throughout this exchange, he couldn't seem to look the portrait of Harry in the eye. Harry stayed silent, judging his words. It was true of course, the real Harry Potter was dead and had moved on, the portrait had enough knowledge of himself to know he wouldn't have been a ghost. The problem was that this Harry was now doomed to be eternal. It may be his real self, but immortality was definitely not Harry Potter's style.
"I don't remember dying, if that's what you were asking." Harry muttered to the old man.
Neville looked up, staring at Harry's chin, unable to lift his eyes any further just yet.
"It was two years ago," he whispered. "You went in your sleep, peaceful as anything. I think you deserved something so regular, in the end." Tears started to flow down his cheek, Harry noticed, as he continued, seemingly unable to stop spilling words out now that he had his friend back. "Ron and Hermione had speeches. I led the ceremony of course. People have been turning to me for everything now that you're gone. James gave the closing eulogy, and Luna set your fire." He raised his eyes now, locking them onto Harry's emerald ones. "It was one of the saddest days of my life, Harry."
Harry sighed. Alright then. One last hurdle for Harry Potter. Exist forever as an imprinted consciousness. It sounded like his personal hell, but he'd do it, if only for his friend.
"Alright, Headmaster Longbottom," he grinned forcefully. "I'm here to stay, I suppose."
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As the months went by, Harry learned to like being a portrait. He had Neville commission a few others so he could walk between them and wasn't stuck at Hogwarts because, as it turns out, Hogwarts over the summer was quite boring. Mostly he spent his days in the Auror office, giving advice to Killian Aubrey, the Head Auror that had taken over after he retired; or in the family portrait that hung in the Burrow, now Percy and Audrey's home. Percy always made quite the companion, asking question after question about his limits as sentient paint. Should he impress upon the Minister the importance of portrait rights, Harry? Did portraits get bored without other painted subjects, Harry? If your frame were animated would you be as good as human again, Harry? Honestly, the man was like a well-meaning Voldemort with his fixation of immortality.
Occasionally his sons and daughter would drop by to visit him at the Burrow. He usually saw James in the Office, but Al always liked Percy and tended to stop by for tea quite often. After a while Harry had to have a talk with his younger boy about how he wasn't "really" his father. That was a nightmare. Especially having to repeat the lecture to his grandkids when Lily came to visit.
What was the most odd about his new situation however, was that Neville had commissioned him painted at different stages of his life. It was an odd sensation, walking from portrait to portrait and feeling his body change. At Hogwarts, he was a teenager, 18 and fresh Saviour of the Wizarding World. In his old office, he looked as he did in his prime, late 30's and Auror Sensation. His family portrait pictured him as he was toward the end of his life, but he supposed it had to, as it also featured other people, and a family portrait with his children as teenagers would have been odd, since they were now close to 60.
He spent most of his time at first with the portrait of Ginny, having not seen her for close to four years. She had died in his arms after a Muggle car accident. Reporters had respectfully given him a mourning period of 45 minutes before flooding the gossip rags with rumors that Harry Potter was going to single-handedly declare war on Muggles in retaliation. Or that he was going to wipe automobiles off the face of the Earth, or some other such nonsense.
All in all, Harry was happy with this existence. It was peaceful, and it filled him with happiness to see his late wife again.
Until September.
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School started the same at Hogwarts as it did every year. On September 1st, kids said goodbye to their parents, boarded the Express, and spent 6 hours reuniting with friends and eating candy on their way back to school. Needless to say, this made the following early morning classes always irreparably miserable. The first Defense Against the Dark Arts class met at 8:00 AM, and Professor Pointman, who had taught at the post since Harry's kids were in school, decided to take it upon herself to wake everyone up. Loudly.
"Good morning, fifth years!" Her Sonorus-ed voice bounced off the walls as she growled. "Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts! And I have quite the year planned!" She sounded quite menacing really, to anyone who knew that she meant that as a threat, and not to be exciting. In life, Harry remembered Neville referring to her as Mad-Eye Felicia. The name wasn't catchy enough to stick.
Harry glared at her, though she paid him no mind. This, he thought, was the problem with being a portrait. No one cares if they wake you up.
"Do you mind?" He hissed.
"Class!" Professor Pointman turned, waving her wand about recklessly gesturing at his portrait. "You may have noticed already, but we have a new classroom advisor. The Headmaster thought it would be a good idea to have him in on lessons. Can anyone tell me who this is?"
Harry groaned. His eternal life was to be year after year of hero worship. Maybe he could still tell Neville to burn all copies of himself.
"Is it Godric Gryffindor?" asked a smallish girl in the front.
"No you idiot, it's obviously Professor Longbottom," A large blonde boy argued.
"Is it Pointman's husband?" A voice from the back yelled. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, Harry laughed.
"This," Pointman grumbled, sounding annoyed, "is Harry Potter." The classroom was silent for a second, until-
"No it's not." A girl in the front row scoffed.
"Harry Potter was black, everyone knows that."
"He was not!" Another girl laughed from across the room, "But he did have red hair. He's part of that ginger family!"
"He married into that family, Dany," said the blond boy. "But that can't be him; he's supposed to be like... super buff."
Everyone seemed to agree on that point.
"Yeah, Romilda Vane had that affair with him and talked to Big Wizards Weekly about his chiseled abs." The last part was said in such an adoring tone of voice that if Harry was alive and in possession of a stomach, he would have gagged.
"I am too Harry Potter!" He protested indignantly. "Look!" And, doing something he hadn't done since he was 11 on a train with a stranger, Harry pushed his bangs aside to show off his lightning bolt scar.
The mood in the classroom changed instantly from annoyed and argumentative to complete and utter adoration. Harry mentally punched himself in the face when he realized what he had just done. Maybe he could still escape to the Auror Office…
"Why didn't you marry Hermione Granger?"
"Is it true that you attacked Hogwarts with a giant Basilisk?!"
"I thought he killed the Basilisk?"
"Did you really kill your Professor when you were 11?!"
It was like 1998 all over again. Harry's first press conference had been extremely similar, except there he had been allowed to hex reporters for being rude about Ginny.
"Mr. Potter?! Please, Mr. Potter, could you answer a question for me?!" The same large blonde boy was yelling above all the other voices.
Harry sighed defeatedly. "What's your name, kid?"
The boy blushed. "I'm… I'm Vernon Dursley. You were related to my great-grandma. I… I just wanted to know what the first Vernon Dursley like?"
Harry sighed. "Sorry, Vernon, that's not how portraits work. I only know about things my painter knew, and I have Harry's personality. I was painted by the Headmaster, who was one of my best friends, but I guess Harry never told him much about the Dursley's. I'm sure your great-grandpa was a great guy though." He offered weakly.
Vernon nodded thoughtfully. "Grandpa always said the same thing about you."
A/N: Thanks for reading! One or two of these lines I stole directly from "A Lesson in History" by Cisselah, but it's not really stealing if you cite it, which does not make a lot of sense. You can't just
steal money in the real world and then say, "No, see, I know this isn't my money, but I took it from this guy," and it's suddenly cool. Idk. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.