Take a Picture of Me, Harry
By: Aria DC al Fine
Disclaimer: Not mine
Chapter 1
Harry smiled blankly at the flashing cameras, annoyance fleeting through his no-longer-bespectacled green eyes. How bright, he thought bitterly at the blitz, how white. But this whiteness was different from a certain someone's whiteness. No, it was very different, Harry mused as a reporter approached him.
"So, Mr Evans," the brown-haired young woman said enthusiastically, "we've heard that your photograph, which is entitled 'Broken Angel', wins the annual award, making you the most famous new-comer in the photography world. What are your feelings? And what do you think about that photo?"
"Hmm," Harry furrowed his eyebrows, "I was shocked, really," he answered honestly, still annoyed at the blinding blitz, "I didn't think that many people will like it that much. About that photo…I don't quite know what to say…" he paused again, "I'm proud of it…but yet, at the same time, I feel…a little sad. It was a personal photo, you see, a secret moment between me and my model…I'm not 100 percentwilling to let everyone see it, but beauty has to be shared, so here it is…"
The reported nodded and jolted something down in her notes. Harry eyed the little book warily, silently praying that her accuracy was better than Rita Skeeter's Quick Quill's Notes. He smiled again as soon as she looked back up, of course. "Another question, Mr Evans: why is that photo entitled 'Broken Angel'?"
Harry shook his head mentally. Those hopeless people, he sighed in his heart, before he leaned to her, making the reporter blush. "Let me ask you something too, miss reporter," his fake smile brightened, "have you and all these photographers here seen the photo?"
Her cheeks turned even redder, but the cause of it was embarrassment now. "No…" she replied to the gorgeous young but talented photographer in a small voice.
"Then," Harry turned and gestured to the Gallery, "shall we see it?"
He walked to the building and entered it without looking back, assuming that the reporter and all those other people would follow him. He was right. They walked passed other photographers' photos in that joint exhibition until they reached the last room. Harry went to the door and opened it for them. "Come, and enjoy the beauty," he stated and smiled softly.
The reporter and her fellow colleagues entered the room and gasped as they laid their eyes on the big photo on the wall.
It was a photo of a handsome blonde boy, who was in his late teen age. His slim but toned body was wrapped in white shirt and slacks. His shirt was opened, showing a stretch of lightly muscled chest and stark gashes that seemed so red on his soft-looking pale white skin. His silky hair, which was so blonde it almost looked silver under the moonlight, was sprawled on the white pillow, while his arms, which were full of cuts, were lying tensely on the white bed, one hand clutching the sheets desperately. His injuries were swathed in loose bandages that were trailing around him, blood seeping through the material. The most impressing thing were his grey eyes, though, which, on first glance, may look indifferent, but after looking into those orbs a bit longer, one would find that they were laden with not only immense fear, sadness, pain, helplessness and weariness but also a sense of resignation, fascinating every onlooker, making it impossible for them to look away.
The blonde looked extremely heartbreaking, but acquiescent and tired; the total whiteness surrounding him, which made him radiate purity off his form like waves, the bandages, his blood, the uncovered wounds and the stray white feathers scattered around him made him look like-
"An angel-" the reporter whispered, agape, the breath caught in her throat, "a Broken Angel."
All other spectators nodded quietly and stood still, as if they were afraid to further break the vulnerable angel. It hurt their hearts to look at the photo, but they couldn't take their eyes away…
"Beautiful, isn't he?" Harry sighed, snapping everyone out of their trance when the air of sorrow was too thick. It was hard not to be affected. Until now, even Harry's heart still ached when he looked at the photo.
The reporter turned to him meekly. "Mr Evans," she breathed, still very much touched by the brokenness of the angel, "May I know…who this person is…?"
Harry smiled at her, a true sincere smile, and started, "he's the person I loved."
The reporter's brown eyes widened. "Oh?" she responded.
The green-eyed man's smile became larger. "I'm kidding. He was my schoolyard archrival, actually. We hated each other's guts. But then…" the smile disappeared from his face, "something happened. I began to feel this new feeling around him, and before I had the chance to realise what the feeling was we were separated. I hadn't seen him again ever since…" he ended wistfully and bowed his head.
The reporter took sympathy at this compassionate young photographer and touched his hand. "W-what's his name?" she asked again.
Harry looked at her and blinked. "Why do you want to know?"
Her facial expression was firm when she returned, "we'll help you look for this person. Right, guys?" she turned to her coworkers. All of them nodded to her and she turned back to Harry, her lips set to a wide grin. "So?"
Harry continued to look at her before he smiled and chuckled softly. "His name is Draco Malfoy," he confessed to the young woman.
"Draco Malfoy. Peculiar name, huh? The dragon with a bad faith? Nevertheless, we'll surely find him, Mr Potter," the reporter smiled again, "now, if you excuse me, I should proceed with the filming…"
As the young brunette turned to leave, Harry called her. "Err…miss reporter?"
She turned her head to look at the twenty-two-year-old man.
Harry smiled to her, the most sincere smile he could ever give her. "Thank you."
The reporter only said, "You're welcome," before she walked out through the door and talked to the cameraman.
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"…filled with many photographs, but as you have already guessed, the best photo in the exhibition…"
Draco turned the volume of the television down before he continued to clean the place with a rag. The blonde did not want to admit it, but all his detentions with Filch, where he had to polish the trophies in the Trophy Room, were proving to be useful after all.
After he was exiled to the Muggle World, Draco walked around the city for days, feeling cold and extremely hungry. When he finally collapsed, he was found by a big-sized Muggle who owned an antique shop. The man took him home, and when he found out about the blonde's situation, had complied to give the exiled wizard a job. Now, Draco was working as a janitor in the antique shop. Sometimes, because he had good eyes, Draco helped with the antiques too. There were a lot of work, and the money was not that good, but the ex-Slytherin didn't complain. He got along well with the Muggle and that was all he could ask for. Draco didn't know what he would do if he were to have an abusive boss or if he were to resort to prostitution.
The grey-eyed man who was much thinner than he used to be was polishing the glass shelves, one roughened with labour hand wiping the sweat off his temple, brushing his long hair aside, when his boss exclaimed, "Draco, come here and look!"
The blonde put his rag down into the water in the pail before joining his boss, Andre, who was watching the television, its volume turned back up, with large hazel eyes. When Draco approached him, he pulled the small skinny young man to his side and pointed at the machine. "Look, Draco!"
Draco looked at the Muggle contraception and gasped.
For he was looking at himself on the screen of the television. Or rather, his seventeen-year-old self, who was lying on the infirmary bed, bandages wrapped loosely around his wounds, looking exquisite…and almost broken…
"This photography, entitled 'Broken Angel,' is the one that wins the most honourable annual photography award. And if I may as well commend, I'd say, this photo truly deserves the award!" The reporter, a young woman with long brown hair and warm hazel eyes, said and smiled, "I was so lucky to get to see it straight in front of my eyes!" She blushed slightly at her enthusiasm before she continued, "This photograph is produced by a talented, and gorgeous (in a softer voice), newcomer, Mr Harry Evans." Potter's picture was showed on the screen, looking more handsome than ever now that his boyish fats were gone and his eyes were no longer bespectacled.
Draco's grey eyes widened in surprise. "…Potter?" he whispered unbelievingly.
Andre peered at his employee with large eyes. "Draco, is that…angel…over there really you?"
Cold fear gripped Draco's heart like ice. Ever since he had reached this unfamiliar world, he had made himself look as unattractive as possible, his body unbearably scrawny, his cheeks gaunt and his body always matted in dirt, so that no one would ever rape him, or make him into a whore. And now Andre knew how good-looking Draco could be. 'Oh God,' Draco breathed mentally, 'please don't make him sell me to prostitution…'
"Mr Evans had also claimed that he is looking for his model. His name is Draco Malfoy, aged twenty-two," the reporter said again, and Draco stopped dead, his breath caught in his throat as Andre's unsure stare changed to a firm gaze. The blonde was hyperventilating when the reporter stated, "anyone who can find him please call the TV station. There will be a reward waiting for you."
But the ex-Death Eater didn't hear the last statement. No, he was far too gone in his fear already. He screamed and struggled when Andre gripped his right arm. "Let me go!"
"Draco," Andre called the smaller male in an even voice, "calm down."
But Draco only struggled even further. "No!" he cried, "you're going to sell me to prostitution, aren't you? I'm not going to give in!"
Andre looked astonished for a long time before he actually laughed, a good-humoured laugh, before loosening his grip. "You've mistaken me, Draco," the big-sized man said kindly.
Draco stopped struggling and in turn blinked at his employer's confusedly. "Then…?" he asked in a meek voice.
The brown-eyed man put his massive hand on the blonde's head and messed his dirty hair. "Put on a set of clean clothes, won't you?" he grinned to him, "I'll bring you to Mr Evans," he said before moving to the phone.
Draco eyed the big man critically, still not moving to change his filthy shirt.
Andre sighed at the blonde. "You should give me more credit, Draco," he said in a really gentle voice. The two stared at each other for a while before someone at TV station answered the call. "Yes, STM TV station here, how may I help you?"
Andre turned his attention to the phone. "Hey. I am Andre Eton, and I claimed to have found the person Mr Evans is looking for, Draco Malfoy. Yes. Yes. I'll bring him to the office. Thank you." He hung up on the phone and said to the blonde. "So? What are you waiting for?"
Draco blushed and scuffled his feet on the floor. "I'm sorry…" he bowed his head in shame.
The muggle only laughed and clapped the paler man's shoulder in a friendly manner. "Apology accepted. Now, shoo! And don't go out of the shower until you are completely clean!"
"Yes!" Draco grinned before he leapt to get his toiletries.
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Harry took the phone off his handle and yawned before answering the call. "Yes, Harry Evans here," he said almost irately, annoyed for being awaken at eight in the morning.
"Mr Evans!" the enthusiastic reporter that had interviewed him last night replied, "someone had called us and claimed that he had found Draco Malfoy and he would bring him to the office later at nine!"
Harry became completely awake then. "What?" he asked, his other hand flying up to clutch the handle of his phone as well.
The reporter laughed. "You heard me, Mr Evans."
The photographer looked dumbstruck. "That is…fast…"
"Yes, it is. It can also be a fake call, though. Well, we'll just have to see him later, right? Be in STM TV Station by nine, Mr Evans!"
"Okay," Harry replied before he put down the phone again. He stood there silently for a long time before turning to look at the 'Broken Angel' on his apartment wall. "Malfoy…" he sighed.
The photo only returned his gaze with the same sad, scared and tired stare.
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Draco fidgeted with the ends of his meticulously clean shoulder-length hair and sighed. He caught his reflection on the metal table top and looked away. It was true he might have lost a lot of weight, but when he was clean, anyone could see that he was still good looking, and it was making him feel very uneasy. Especially now, when that Potter bastard had publicised his stupid, stupid photograph…an angel? Draco? Has the Saviour of the Wizarding World turned mental? And what is he doing in the Muggle World?
Draco had a really bad feeling about this…
Andre caught the blonde's nervous looks and squeezed his small hand in his own big one. "Calm down, Draco, nothing's going to happen."
The ex-Death Eater only smiled queasily back at his employer.
"It's really you!" someone gasped, and Draco looked up to find the young woman who had broadcasted the news that morning running to him and hugged him with all her might. "You're much thinner than the one in the photo, but you're definitely Draco Malfoy!"
The blonde 'oof'ed before throwing the reporter off. "Of course I'm Draco Malfoy! Can't you see it?"
The woman backed away. "Touchy, touchy…" she muttered, "Not like an angel at all, are you?" she eyed him critically.
"An angel, I've never been this insulted," Draco huffed and crossed his arms across his chest, "Potter is crazy." Andre looked mildly surprised at the blonde's new side.
Meanwhile, someone opened the door and bent down to regain his breath. "I'm sorry I'm late," the black-haired man looked up –
Only to stare eye to eye with the model of his photo.
Harry's green eyes widened. "Malfoy…" he breathed in surprise.
Draco stopped huffing and began to look surprised too. "Potter…?" his grey eyes widened as well.
They looked like each other for a while, both reminiscing over their last meeting at the courtroom before Draco stood up and frowned, "What do you mean by publicising that photo, Potter?" He looked angry, "I didn't recall that I allowed you to do so when you took it back then!"
When the ex-Gryffindor walked to him, he raised his arms to defend himself, only to find Potter holding his arm gently and whispered to him, the taller man's breaths teasing his ear. "I should tell you that I am known by the name Harry Evans here, Malfoy."
Po-Evans let go of him. Flustered and confused, Draco attempted to protest again, "Still, I didn't give you a permission to do so!"
The green-eyed man stared back at him with an even stare. "But you let me took it."
"I…" the blonde blushed even further, "I thought…you were just carried away by the moment…and…I-I thought…we were never going to see each other again…that it was our goodbye…so I let you took it…" he said weakly.
The people in the room stayed in silence for a while before Evans put his hand under Draco's chin and lifted his head up. "But we do meet again, don't we?" he said and smiled softly. "Besides, it was too beautiful to be kept a secret. Beauty must be shared, and appreciated, Malfoy."
Draco's face turned even redder, but he smiled back at Evans, nevertheless.
"Gods," the ex-Boy-Who-Lived sighed and cup the paler man's cheek, "you're much thinner than you used to be, aren't you, Malfoy? And your skin…it's rough now…"
The blonde nodded and leaned unconsciously to the touch. "But I'm fine."
Green eyes searched into grey, and Evans smiled. "You're right. You are fine, as you had promised."
Draco shrugged. "After all, I'm a Malfoy, and Malfoys must keep their words…regardless of their allegiance…"
Evans smiled weakly at the sentence before he raised Draco's face again. "Malfoy," he took a deep breath, "I want to ask you something."
The ex-Slytherin frowned lightly. "What?" he asked quietly.
His ex-archrival stared at him for a long time before opening his mouth. "I would like you to be my model. Again. For some months onwards or so."
Draco jumped back, his eyes nearly as wide as saucers, as he exclaimed, "WHAT?" he forced his mouth, which was hanging open, to close. "Are you insane? Me, your model? Po-Evans, have you forgotten that we are enemies and that I hate your guts and you mine as well?"
Evans only shrugged. "Enemies don't exactly behave like this," he commented.
The ex-aristocrat furrowed his thin eyebrows. "All right, we're not enemies, then. Hadn't been since that bloody Halloween party where I bloody spilled my guts to you. But, still…" he looked at Evans again and shook his head, his silver blonde hair twirling around it. "I'm exiled, remember? I'm not supposed to touch anything that is magical or talk to anyone who is magical," Draco whispered in a low voice.
"I'd left the Wizarding World," the ex-Gryffindor countered, "It's okay."
"You did?" the blonde stared at him, "why?"
The ex-Boy-Who-Lived frowned. "A lot of reasons, mainly guilt and sorrow. Anyway, that's not the point now. Malfoy, be my model."
The pale man stood adamantly. "No…I can't…"
"Please," Evans said the word Draco would never thought that he would ever say to the blonde and the ex-Death Eater stopped dead. The ex-Saviour tried again. "I'll give you great payment, take care of your every needs, a good accommodation…please, Malfoy."
Draco was still shaking his head vehemently. "No…"
"Come on!" the reporter said, and the two ex-Hogwarts students suddenly realised that they weren't the only ones in the room. The woman winked at Evans and added, "Beauty must be shared, Mr Malfoy. Your beauty took my breath away. And I daresay: I want to see such beauty again."
Andre nodded. "Me too. Don't worry about me, Draco. I want to see such beauty captured in a photo again."
"Please…" Evans pressed him, and when Draco still hadn't answer him, he changed his tactics, "or, are you telling me that you are scared, Malfoy?"
"No!" Draco replied straight away just as what the ex-Gryffindor had predicted, "I'll bloody do it!"
Harry allowed himself a small inward smirk before exclaiming, "Good! We shall draw the contract straight away!"
The blonde realised that he had been tricked and cursed. "Shit," he looked at his ex-rival, "it's not too late to say that I change my mind, isn't it?" he asked innocently.
"Draw the contract straight away!" the ex-Gryffindor only repeated. Draco slumped to his seat and cursed again. "Shit…"
Andre smiled and put his hand on his shoulder. "You can do it, Draco. I know you can do it."
The exiled wizard only gave his ex-employer a small weak smile.
"Now, now, Mr Eton," the reporter said and offered him an envelope, which was filled full of money, "here is your reward."
Draco couldn't believe his eyes (again) when the big-sized man declined it. "It's okay. I didn't bring Draco here for that purpose." He turned to the smallest male in the room and gave him a hug.
"B-but," the blonde stammered. After all, despite everything, Andre had been kind to him when he just picked his unconscious form off the road…he had been a good employer too…and for him to walk out empty-handed like this…
"Don't worry, Draco," Andre smiled, "if you want to repay me, produce many other beautiful photos, won't you?" he ruffled his blonde hair then, "only, next time, produce beautiful happy pictures, won't you? I'm sure your smile looks as beautiful as your 'Broken Angel' look, if not much more," he grinned.
Draco sobbed and returned the hug before smiling to his employer, the most sincere smile he could muster. "I will, Andre, I will. Thank you for everything."
"That's the spirit," Andre released him and walked to the door, "Good day, Miss Parker! Good day, Mr Evans, and Good Bye, Draco…"
"Good Bye, Andre!" the blonde waved, "I'll see you again!"
The big brown-haired man disappeared from the door, and Draco continued to stare at it before he erased his tears and turned to look determinedly at his ex-rival. "So, Po-Evans, what should I do now?"
Harry smiled at him.
TBC
A/N: The title of the photograph ('Broken Angel') is borrowed from Gravitation fic 'Mou Ichi Dou' ('Broken Doll'), and the name 'Mr Evans' is taken from bananacosmicgirl's HP fic 'The Depths of Winter', which is very recommendable. Again, please let me know what you think about this fic. I hope I don't disappoint you all.
Love
Aria DC al Fine