They say the Ministry locked him away because he was turning Dark. They say he was killed being transported to Azkaban, the victim of a stray Blasting curse as they worked to expand the dreary prison for the sudden influx of prisoners from the war. They say he condemned all the witches and wizards in the courtroom for the fact that they would not listen. But why should they have listened? After all, didn't he kill his dearest friends in a fit of rage?

Empty Portraits

Hanging on the wall down a side corridor was a picture of a dozing man with pitch black hair, bangs covering a jagged scar - if you look hard enough, that is. He looks young, probably no older than eighteen or nineteen.

The other inhabitants of the paintings surrounding him always look away, or hardly ever visited their own frames.

Schoolchildren who walked past on their way to class – probably lost, as there weren't any classrooms past him – skidded to a halt in front of the simple frame, wondering who the person was. When they came upon the name, they gasped and skittered away.

And yet he never awoke to see them run away in fear. He never awoke even when a particularly loud prank was pulled in the vicinity.

He was Harry Potter, reputed to be the Darkest-Dark Lord to ever have existed.

Of course, if asked, he would have denied what they said, but how could he when he was merely a ghost of his old self? A portrait?

That all changed when a first year drew up the courage to prod him into the land of the awake.

Helena Lovegood, new first year in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and proud member of Ravenclaw House, ran down a corridor early in the afternoon, wishing this whole castle wasn't so confusing. She was plain and simply lost.

And on her first day of classes, when she had forgotten her books back in her dorm. She was sure to be scolded by the Raven prefects for losing points for such a thing.

She came to a halt in the middle of the hallway, digging around in her bag to see if she had a map on her. Sighing in frustration, she turned to a portrait on the wall, seeking to ask for directions to her classroom.

The one she just happened to be standing in front of was obviously newer than others in the castle, as the paint wasn't yet dulled by sun and age. It contained a black high-backed chair, a sleeping form in it. The person wore slightly rumpled deep blue robes, edged in black and gold. He was sleeping, head tilted to one side and propped up on a hand. Circular glasses were perched precariously on the edge of his nose.

Cautiously, Helena tapped the painting, trying to wake him up as the other frames were curiously empty of people.

"Sir, excuse me… Sir!"

After what seemed like forever, the man stirred and sat up straighter and pushed his glasses up on his nose. Opened, his eyes were a dull green.

"Yes? Why did you wake me?" His voice was oddly flat and monotonous.

"W-well, sir… I was wondering how to get to the History classroom? I'm kind of lost, you see…" The man chuckled dryly.

"You're going the wrong way anyways. It's just down a hallway off the Great Hall, near that portrait of a Goblin rebellion. Don't ask me which, I was never very good at History." Helena's face lit up and she tore off the way she had come.

"Thank you, sir!" She called behind her as she turned the corner.

The man watched her go, before settling down and falling asleep again.

"Sir, sir! Wake up, please." A tapping rudely interrupted his sleep yet again, and the man looked out of his portrait for the second time that day. This time, it was dark outside and torches and candles lit the corridor.

The round-faced, blonde girl from before was standing in front of him again, and he frowned.

"What is it?" He asked, a sharp edge to his voice. The girl winced.

"I was just wondering what your name is; I forgot to ask earlier. Thank you by the way, I was able to get to the classroom without the Professor noticing I was late."

The man was baffled, why would this girl want his name? He was usually left alone to his 'sleep'.

"I'm… Harry."

"Harry? What a nice name." The girl grinned and sat down, obviously wanting this to be a lengthy conversation.

Portrait Harry was at a loss for words for this strange girl yet again. Hadn't she heard of him?

"T-thank you. I don't usually have visitors here. Most people avoid me."

"I'm Helena. That's not very nice of other people to want to stay away from you. You seem like a very nice friend to have had, Harry."

"Say, is old Binns still teaching History?" He asked, feeling strangely relaxed with this girl.

"Why yes, did you have him as a teacher? Was he still alive for you?" Harry chuckled.

"He was very much a ghost when I was still a student."

And that was the start of a tentative friendship that would last for all seven years of Helena's magical education.

Dear mum,

I was talking to Harry's portrait the other day (You remember me telling you about him?), and he mentioned that he once had a friend named Luna. I wonder why his friend has the same name as you?

Anyways…

Luna clutched the letter in her hand. Harry had a portrait? At first she had dismissed this Portrait Harry as someone else. After all, Harry wasn't that rare of a name.

She remembered the trial, when he had looked at her with a sort of sadness in his eyes.

And then he had been gone, off on his next great adventure. Only this time, he wouldn't be seen again. It wasn't that simple of an adventure.

No, he was dead.

Time rolled on, and the inks began to fade.

Rose rolled her eyes at her friend Helena pulled her along the corridor. Her mother and father had known Helena's mother for a long time, back in their Hogwarts days, so she naturally knew Helena since she was had been a little toddler.

Sometimes being the friend of the daughter of Luna Lovegood wasn't always her cup of tea, but there was times when the friendship had paid off.

Just last year, Helena had helped Rose with studying for her Magical Creatures exam, and she had performed better than she ever had.

"Here we are. This is the portrait I was talking to you about. Harry, wake up will you?" She watched her friend tapping the painting. A sinking feeling developed in her gut as she looked closer at the person in the portrait.

"Helena…"

"Harry, you stupid git, wake up will you? I know you're awake. You can't fool me anymore…" There it was! That jagged scar on his forehead, just under his black hair.

"Lena…"

"Be quiet, will you Rosie? He might not want to wake up with other people around!"

"Lena, that's Harry Potter!" Rose ground out. Helena turned to look at her, a curious expression on her face.

"Well, of course it is. Who else would it be? I figured that out long ago," Helena said, putting her hands on her hips in mock anger.

"But- But it's him! Why would you talk to Harry Potter? Don't you know what he did?" Rose stammered, backing away from the painting. Helena glanced back at her and quirked a brow.

"He killed his friends!" Rose squeaked out. Helena's face turned sour, and she glared at Rose.

"Rose, you'll make him upset! Watch what you say!"

A new voice intruded in the conversation, startling the two out of their argument.

"You don't think of me as Dark?" The voice was quiet, but Helena turned to look at the painting.

"Of course not! Mum always says you were a good person, that you were one of the kindest she ever met! You were one of her first true friends apparently. How could one of her friends be Dark? She talks about you all the time you know, and that Defense group you started," Helena drew in a breath to continue, but Rose spoke up hesitantly, her voice quavering and giving away just how lost she was..

"You mean to say he didn't kill those people? My mum and dad told me he betrayed the Light at the end of the second war against Voldemort."

"No, I would never." With that, Harry stood abruptly and walked around his chair, vanishing into the blackness behind it. Even though he tried to hide it, both Helena and Rose saw the tears start to fall down his face as he left.

"He really didn't, did he? I remember my mum telling me that magical portraits are representations of what the person was like when they were painted." Rose murmured. Helena turned to look out the window at the starry night sky.

"No. You've figured it out, haven't you? The best kept secret of the second war? The Light betrayed him, and because he was too Light to turn Dark, no one wanted him."

Hermione stood in front of the small graveyard by the church in Godric's Hollow, even as snow began to fall around her in the cool night air. Pushing the gate open, she walked towards the back, glancing at a tombstone now and then.

Finally, she stopped in front of three newer graves in the back, one of which sat tucked slightly to the side. She bowed her head in prayer for a moment in front of the first pair, and turned to the last soon enough.

Harry James Potter

Tears leaked out from the corners of her eyes, and she brushed them away angrily. Why was she crying? He had killed two of her closest friends.

But even as she tried to make herself angry at Harry for the loss of her friends, she slipped back into her memories of when they had been on the run during the hunt for the Horcruxes, after Ron had left them for a short while and she and Harry had visited the graves of his parents that Christmas Eve.

It had been a night just like this; cold and snowy.

It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live.

That was the epitome of his life, really.

She had tried to convince herself so many times of the reason she had not stood up for him as he looked at her with those dull green eyes in the courtroom as he was dragged out to Azkaban; as he was declared guilty. Eyes that up until then had retained the defiant spark of life.

Perhaps he had gotten so taken in by the idea of power that he had truly fallen to the Dark. Why hadn't they seen the signs before? He was a Parselmouth… even if he had proven being one wasn't truly a sign of Darkness. And no one truly knew what happened in the graveyard fourth year after the final task, right? Even if Crouch Jr. had admitted to placing the Portkey in the maze? Even though Voldemort was truly back?

Harry could have hidden it, surely. Lulled them into a false sense of security so he could fill the void Voldemort would leave. Right?

Right?

The assumptions were hollow, and left a dull feeling in her chest as if someone has grabbed her heart and released it.

Hermione let the tears flow down her face, remembering the time on the train when she had met Harry, and then later on Halloween when the three of them had faced the troll, and then even later the puzzles to get to the stone.

There was no way he could have been Dark, and she hated herself for not seeing it earlier.

Distraught, the letter she had been holding dropped from her hand as she fled the cemetery.

A slight breeze of wind lifted one portion of the letter, revealing the writing.

Harry,

I don't know if you know that this is here, but please know that I believe you? I'm sorry for not standing up for you at the trial, and I'm sure Ron is as well. He's the same stubborn prat he always was during Hogwarts. But I love him all the same.

Can you ever forgive me?

It was like magic, being your friend…

And then the letter was blown away by an even greater gust of wind, even as it began to snow harder.

Time crept along a few more steps, and Portrait Harry watched from his frame as it took its toll upon the surroundings. Helena grew older, and he was too afraid to admit to her he was afraid of when she would leave. There was no love there, yet he had grown used to some companionship in his moments of sadness.

One night, Helena had come to him before her fifth year exams and shot question after question at him. He smiled softly at her, shook his head and told her to find a blank piece of paper.

Upon this piece of paper, he told her to draw a circle and fill it in with many smaller circles, such that all edges were touching and very little space remained between them.

"Those areas not within the circles represent my memories before becoming a portrait, and the area surrounding it are my memories after. I suppose, if it struck your fancy, you could think of the line as the moment when magic animated the paints within this frame.

"Each moment that I continue to exist, I lose yet, I also gain. It is the nature of the spell placed upon this painting, and the skill of the painter. I do not know how to answer your questions, perhaps because those memories have been lost. I don't even know if that is true, though, because I forgot that years ago."

Helena looked up from the paper in tears, horrified at the reality of his existence, only to find the chair empty. Distraught, she fell asleep on the cold floor, and wasn't disturbed by any night patrols.

Harry returned later, when the moon was at its peak, with a lantern borrowed from another portrait, and settled down for his own sleep. When Helena awoke in the early hours of the morning, the gentle light pooling in the corridor. She wiped away her tears and hurried off.

Harry looked out over the Room of Lost Things, where his second portrait was. That's where he went whenever he left the one in the corridor.

It was a guarantee to not be interrupted when brooding here.

He was very much aware he did not have the memories of himself just a few days before the trial, nor of it or afterwards.

However, he did have the mindset of the real Harry just a week before the trial, when the two portraits had been made. And that particular mindset was rather lonely and overall, very downtrodden.

Portrait Harry was very much aware that not a week after he had been painted, the real Harry had been convicted and sent to Azkaban.

His train of thoughts went further downhill, when he heard a crash of noise from the aisle over.

From behind of stuffed bookcase came the distinctive blonde head of Helena, and Harry sighed. Trust a Lovegood to end up finding him in the Room of Lost Things.

"Oh! Hello Harry! I didn't know you had a second portrait! I'm assuming you can go between both?" Helena bounced excitedly on her feet.

Harry sighed and nodded.

"How exciting! Say, what is this place anyways? I don't recall anyone mentioning a room filled with loads of…" She glanced around, trying to sum up what she saw around her, "Everything."

"Because you have to want to have this room appear. This is a form of the Room of Requirement, the Room of Lost Things."

"But then, why are you here?" Helena looked puzzled.

"Where other place would be better for my second frame? Fitting isn't it? I'm a lost person, apparently. Lost to the Dark, that it." He chuckled darkly at his own joke, but Helena just frowned.

"Well, whoever placed you here has a very bad idea of humor, then." Suddenly, she snapped her fingers and her face lit up in delight.

"I know, why don't I take this frame with me to my home? Mum would love to see you again." Well, there was something new. He supposed moving to a new location was a good idea; he was getting kind of bored of staring at only a certain portion of the room. A game of Eye Spy played by one person can only last so long.

He nodded tentatively.

"Great! Tomorrow is end of term anyways, so you can come with me then! I'll take you now though, so I don't forget." Helena waved her wand, and Harry was subjected to the odd experience of having his perspective suddenly expanding as he was shrinking.

Helena tucked him into a pocket on her robe, and trotted out of the Room, easily finding her way out of the mess.

Portrait Harry gazed at the deep black-brown waves in front of him as he dazed off. He gazed down at one hand resting on the chair arm and lifted it, inspecting the planes of the brushstrokes. He sighed.

He turned and walked behind his chair, soon finding himself looking out into the familiar corridor. He settled into the comfy chair, and was soon dozing off again.

After what seemed like a while, he was awoken by a nagging noise. The corridor was now filled with afternoon light, and he stretched leisurely.

"Harry? You there…" A faint voice asked, which he recognized as Helena. Startled that he could hear things from his other portrait, he slipped into the background to his other frame.

He seated himself and looked up into the watery blue gaze of his old, and much more grown up friend Luna.

"Hello, Luna."

"Harry." She whispered, her eyes shimmering with tears being held back.

It had been a year since then, and Harry found it oddly comforting to spend time in the second frame at Luna and her daughter's home. There was always something strange to watch, and it was certainly more exciting than sleeping in his other chair.

Helena visited him now and then, but the pull of her upcoming exams made her visits few and far between.

Those seven years he had known her had gone by so quickly. He remembered pointing her in the direction of the History classroom when she had been on her first day as a first year. He had thought at the time that he would have been angry for having his routine broken by a wayward student. But he wasn't anymore, if he ever had been.

"Harry," He looked up at Luna, who was sitting at a table sorting through a pile of papers for the Quibbler, which she now ran.

"Yes?"

"You know, your eyes are brighter than they used to be. When 'Lena first brought you here, your eyes were all vacant, like the Nargles had gotten to you."

"I hadn't realized. Thank you." Disturbed at this revelation, he wandered back to his first frame.

Luna gazed at the empty frame for a few minutes, before turning back to her work.

"You won't be here much longer, will you Harry? You've almost gotten that peace you've been looking for. It's almost there."

Hermione hugged Rose tight, proud of her daughter for completing seven years at Hogwarts. Rose's friend Helena drifted over, her mother's same far-away look in her eyes.

"I wanted to see if you wanted to say goodbye to Harry with me? We won't see his portrait again. At least here at school." Hermione tensed.

"H-Harry?" She breathed. Helena looked at her, her eyes sparkling knowingly, and nodded.

Rose didn't notice the silent conversation, and nodded happily.

"I've got to apologize anyways, for not believing what you said and for insulting him when he was awake." Hermione's mind was one the edge of a meltdown. Was this truly her Harry? She drifted behind Helena and Rose as the chattered happily down a hallway.

The three drew to a stop in front of a painting, and Hermione drew in a struggling breath as she recognized who it was.

Harry.

"Hello, Helena. I see you're graduating today. Congratulations." He said in a soft voice with an odd shimmer in his eyes that hadn't been there when he had looked at her at the trial. He looked towards the two others standing next to Helena, and stilled as he gazed at Hermione, his small smile slipping.

"H-Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't… I didn't stand up for you at the trial a-and… I wanted to say I'm sorry." She sobbed. Portrait Harry had a confused look for a moment, before it melted and was replaced with the same small smile.

"Thank you for telling me. I wasn't aware you hadn't."

"W-what?" She gasped out.

"I'm just a painting, even if I am magical. I only hold memories of before I was painted - even then sparingly - and as a painting. But it is good to know I wasn't hated by those I considered family."

"Forgive me?" She said, wiping away the tears.

"Oh, Hermione, you have so much to learn. I can tell you I am… well, was innocent. But, you must prove that to the rest of the Wizarding world yourself. My time is past. I did my task." His eyes gained a light she hadn't seen since the last time he had flown and she had watched, which had been so long ago she had almost forgotten. His eyes sparkled with life.

"Still?" She squeaked.

"Tell everyone they are forgiven." He smiled and smoothed out his robes, before standing and walking into the blackness behind the chair.

He turned back just before he disappeared.

"Goodbye."

Helena was panicked.

Both of Harry's frames were empty.

The three had searched the castle, and even enlisted the help of reluctant portraits, and he still was not found anywhere.

He was gone.

She collapsed onto the couch in her home, not worried about rumpling her robes at all. She didn't need Hogwarts robes anymore anyways. Her mother held her tightly as she let out all her pent up emotions from the day, Harry-related or otherwise.

"He's gone, isn't he?" Luna asked, and Helena nodded, hiccupping.

"Oh, dear, you'll understand eventually. He was only there temporarily. Once he had what he needed, his essence couldn't hold onto the magic any longer, and he left."

"He's dead, then."

"He always was."

"But now there is no one to talk to him, and Rose didn't get to apologize, and…" Luna silenced her daughter with a stern look.

"To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

Regarding:

Harry's death: The first block of italicized font is about his death. It's not what the Ministry would be telling the public.

Helena: Daughter of Luna. Tried to make her have the quirkiness of Luna, though maybe a bit subdued.

Who was killed: That's for you to decide. This one-shot doesn't focus on who was killed, but rather Harry's portraits.

Luna/Harry: No. Luna married someone else.

Hermione/Harry: See above.

"It was like magic.": One of my favorite lines from the first movie. I thought it fit well.

Thanks so much for reading! This popped into my head and I just had to type it!