Everybody Must Get Stoned

Chapter One:

Purple Haze

Disclaimer: These characters, blah-ba-blah, ain't mine. I wish I were J.K Rowling I mean...how cool would that be? Anything you don't recognize is most likely mine.

Warning: This is a SLASH fan-fiction. That means boyxboy- fun-times! There will be fluff. There will also be explicit drug usage, just marijuana; if you are offended by any of this I advise NOT reading it. No Flamers, please!

Summary: The summer before Seventh Year, the war is over and Harry indulges himself during his final stay at the Dursley's in some good old Muggle, teenage fun. He suddenly realizes how much clearer everything can be when you're in a haze. So what's Draco Malfoy got to do with all of this? Harry's determined to get everybody stoned.

A/N: Hi there, again! Signing onto my next fiction! I can't expect this one to be too long, though I can expect it to be relatively enjoyable. Please read, review and enjoy!

Thanks a bunch to my very wonderful Beta, PeruvianDarkness, she absolutely rocks! ^_^

XXXX

Harry licked his full, pink lips, dry from the wind and the joint he was half-way through smoking. He grinned at the beautiful sunset that was splashed across the Hogwarts Grounds, reflecting astonishingly off of the Black Lake that was as still as the green grass that lay around it. It was four weeks into first term, the weather already cooling down, so he had his cloak fastened tightly around himself, keeping warm as he puffed on his marijuana cigarette.

His emerald eyes were glazed over, bright red veins extended outwards into all parts of his sclera's. He wasn't worried, however- he had been smoking marijuana nearly everyday on school grounds since September First and had yet to be caught. It was most likely due to the fact it was highly unexpected of anybody attending Hogwarts to be indulging in a Muggle drug; especially The-Boy-Who-Lived, saviour of the Wizarding World.

With the War over, having ended at the end of the first term in Sixth Year, and no more worries of Death Eater's or Voldemort, Harry felt these indulgences were more than necessary. He thoroughly enjoyed them, even if it did get a bit lonely sometimes. Ron, however, would thankfully join him every once and awhile, and every few days the two best friends would traipse across the grounds during a free period and end up returning in a fit of giggles, looking overtly happy and their mirthful eyes full of viseine.

His raven hair had grown even longer and messier as it fell around his square-jaw. He had turned out to be quite the handsome man over the years, maturing and becoming his own person. He was Witch Weekly's Bachelor of The Year, three years running. Viktor Krum was second place, and, surprisingly enough, Draco Malfoy was third.

But Harry paid no attention to such things; he really didn't care for them. Since Cho Chang back in Fifth Year, he didn't really find himself being quite attentive to relationships of any kind whatsoever other than his friends. It just didn't seem important or worthwhile to him.

He read a lot as well now, but not many Wizarding novels. Most of them were borrowed from Muggle libraries, and he had completely raided Madame Prince's Muggle novel section as well. His favourite authors tended to be those who wrote about psychology, sci-fi, philosophy, and the inquiries of the meaning of life. People such as Ayn Rand, Vogt, Aldous Huxley, Timothy Leary, Roman and Greek philosophers. It kept his mind occupied.

But when he rolled a doobie, which he was becoming quite the expert at- which he had to thank Pierre, Dudley's friend, for teaching him how to- Harry didn't like to think about those books. Nor did he like to think about his NEWT-level courses, or all those lives lost in the wretched, finally ended Dark War.

Instead, he just liked to feel. Feel the wind on his cheeks, the grass between his bare toes, the dew pressing on his trousers… the sound of water crashing against rocks in his ears, the call of the creatures of the Forbidden Forest far off into the distance.

Not many other people liked to feel when they got stoned. Instead they would get paranoid, or just get extremely hungry. And of course, Harry did get the munchies quite often, but that wasn't why he liked to smoke marijuana. He smoked it to feel the closeness to nature that relaxed and calmed his soul completely, making him more than content with his small existence in the world.

He had done a few other drugs during his last summer at the Dursley's other than weed, though none were for him. Psilocybin 'Magic' Mushroom's hurt his stomach too much and Savlia tasted too much like fish and didn't last long at all. The night he had used weed, he knew he would enjoy it for many years to come and in many different shapes and forms.

At the moment he was getting it delivered via Owl post for an extra fee from Dudley, who had to sneak the fact he was sending Harry owls a secret from his parents. He paid double the price of the product for it, but it ensured Harry security and freshness every Sunday.

Currently, he was finishing off his first of many rolled joints that used up all of the marijuana Dudley had sent him that Sunday morning, just a few hours ago. It was Purple Haze and tasted sweet and bitter on his tongue… it tingled and made his lips go numb in a funny sort of way. When he finished, he dug a small hole to bury the roach inside of it, pushing the dirt back on top. He retrieved his bottle of viseine from his pocket and put two drops into each eye, taking care of their red, dilated nature. He also pointed his wand at himself and whispered, "Scourgify", ridding himself of any ash and the reek of pot.

He carried the smallest bottle of cologne on him, which he gave two spurts onto his neck and rubbed in before feeling ready to return to the Castle bathed in the last embers of sunlight. With a goofy smile he strode into the Great Hall, ignoring the many swooning females and some males whose eyes trailed him everywhere he walked.

He sat down at the Gryffindor Table beside Neville and across from Seamus who was animatedly speaking with Dean about something or other than had happened in the library earlier that day involving Ernie MacMillan and asking out a younger year Slytherin.

Harry quietly loaded his dinner onto his plate, still smiling brightly as he took large gulps of pumpkin juice to cure his dry mouth. Hermione and Ron entered the hall holding hands, whispering sweet nothings back-and-forth but upon sitting across from Harry, Hermione's face automatically fell. She could always tell when he was high in a second. It was like a hidden talent of hers.

"Harry," she hissed under her breath from across the table, "You can't keep doing this." She didn't completely disapprove of it, she just didn't like the fact that it was an illegal substance and most definitely against many school rules.

Harry shrugged and smiled apologetically, "Sorry 'Mione, but y'know how I feel about it..." he trailed off. He needn't explain his ethics of marijuana to the girl once again, as he had already done so many countless times before.

"Right well, just be careful, okay?" she snipped before beginning to start her own meal, though Ron was smirking over at him. Harry knew he found him amusing when he was high- Harry had been assured he was very funny stoned.

"Will do," Harry nodded, shovelling in a large fork full of mud pie into his mouth and savouring the juicy taste before gobbling down some more, his ever growing stomach craving more and more food with every day and every toke.

Something that night pulled Harry's attention from the Gryffindor Table up across the Hall and he suddenly locked gazes with Draco Malfoy. The platinum blonde… his pointed features well-defined and a symbol of absolute beauty to many. He hadn't been much of a hassle ever since the Final Battle. He had cut all of his pureblood bullshit to a minimum and didn't pick as much fights, though he tended to stick to his Slytherin cronies and still wasn't keen on inter-house relations as much everybody else seemed to be. The animosity between the Golden Trio and the Slytherin Prince had died down considerably, which everybody in Hogwarts was more than grateful for including those involved. They were finally growing up.

Harry looked across at Draco with his wide eyes and saw those silver slits peering back at him curiously as if to ask what he wanted. Harry found himself unable to look away, and very much wishing to jump up from his seat to quickly stride over there and push an intruding piece of blonde hair that fell before his left eye. Harry shook the feeling quickly, shaking himself back into reality. He convinced himself it was the weed that was doing it, making him think like that about Malfoy.

But even he knew better. Draco was such a beautiful, well-carried person. He was smart, cunning, quick and seductive without even trying to be. He wasn't the Third Place Bachelor of the Year for no reason. The blonde had sprouted up quite a bit in his last few years at Hogwarts as well, growing to Sixth Feet tall, and it well complimented his perfectly lean figure. Harry licked his lips tentatively, unable to look away now and it seemed as though Draco was caught in the same thoughtful trance as he didn't look away either, nor did his eyes narrow and that familiar sneer cover his face. Harry was glad, for Draco was ugly when he sneered like that, he was much prettier with this strange look of curiosity.

Then, the strangest thought crept into Harry's head; 'What would Draco Malfoy be like stoned?' and he found himself giggling aloud at it. Draco decided to finally sneer over at him and return his attention back to his own meal once Harry began giggling like that, such an immature gesture, but he couldn't stop. It was just too funny. Hermione was rolling her eyes as Ron was grinning- it was quite often when Harry broke into a giggle fest these days without reason.

What would Draco Malfoy be like stoned?

Harry made it his personal goal to find out as soon as possible.