Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

a/n: THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS OF THIS STORY ARE (MOSTLY) THE WORK OF hanyouinlove, NOT ME! She had graciously let me take over the story, seeing as this was intended to be a lemon and according to her, she can't write lemons. So she's given it to someone who can evil grin. Fair warning: smut, lemon, AU, HPDM, RWHG, so get used to it!

Harry Potter squinted through the smoke streaming from the smokestack of the scarlet Hogwarts Express as the smoke rolled over the platform like a dense, acrid fog. He was looking for a familiar face in the crowd of students and parents saying their goodbyes. He puffed on his cigarette thoughtfully; a new brand Hagrid had given him a carton of for his 16th birthday. Wizard cigarettes were much cooler than the muggle ones. Most importantly, they didn't make your teeth rot and fall out or give you cancer. And if you ever got tired of plain cigarette flavor, there was a spell you could use to make it taste differently depending on your mood.

Right now, Harry felt like just a plain old cigarette. Nothing fancy. Not that the plain flavor tasted all that great, but he still hadn't mastered the art of changing the flavor or lighting it magically, even after weeks of determined practice... Okay maybe only a few days of half-assed practice. He was Harry Potter, after all.

He'd had to bum a light off a crack-head waiting on Platform 5 back in the muggle part of King's Cross in exchange for one of his sleek, black fags. Harry had given it to him grudgingly, but put a jinx on it as soon as he was out of earshot that made it so that as soon as the unsuspecting junkie put his lips to the filter, he'd break out in oozing cold sores that looked suspiciously like herpes.

Harry saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny and Ron in tow, through the haze and quickly extinguished his cigarette on the brick wall behind him and flicked it to the ground. He was sure the Weasley parents wouldn't approve of this nasty little habit. Or any of my others... Harry thought, smirking a Malfoy-worthy smirk. And even Harry had to admit; the guy had an unexpectedly sexy way of smirking...

"Harry, dear!" cried Mrs. Weasley once she had spied his face amongst all the other teens leaning against the wall next to him, smoking. She ran and took him up in a smothering motherly hug that she was famous for... Well, it wasn't the only thing she was famous for, but it was certainly the least shocking.

She released him and he backed away. Mrs. Weasley's hugs always left Harry woozy and slightly off-balance. He wasn't sure whether it was the intoxicating aroma of her perfume that did it, or his face being smooshed into her breasts and then rubbed back and forth (inadvertently, of course). Which ever it was, Harry never really wanted to find out, nor did he want it to stop. And for the longest time, Harry had wondered why Mr. Weasley always looked a bit dazed. Well, now he knew.

"Hullo, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley," Harry said politely as he shook Mr. Weasley's hand as if they were in a battle to establish dominance. Harry had no clue as to why men shook hands in this way, but it didn't really matter. He always let Mr. Weasley win the silent battle anyway.

He waved to Ron, whom Harry noted was looking quite "gangsta" in an ill-fitted white t-shirt and baggy jeans with his plaid boxers hanging out the back. "Hey," he said uncertainly.

Ron tilted his chin up in response. "Sup?"

"Oh, Ronald! For Christ's sake, stop acting like a hooligan!" his mother screeched as she swooped down on him, her hands grabbing the waistband of his pants and hoisting them up to his ribcage. "And keep your pants up! No one wants to see your 'fruit of the loom'!"

"Moooom!" Ron exclaimed, turning red with embarrassment as the smokers at the wall pointed and rotated between laughing at him, coughing, choking, and then back to laughing again.

"Oh, don't worry, honey," she consoled him. "Someday you'll meet a nice girl who'll want to be all over it, but for now, keep your pants up!" And with a wave of her wand, Ron's pants were belted securely at his waist.

Harry shook his head to clear it of the mental image Mrs. Weasley had implanted there of Ron's quote-unquote "fruit of the loom". "Sorry I couldn't come for the summer," he apologized.

"Quite all right, dear." Mrs. Weasley smiled. "But I do hope you'll come for Christmas."

Harry looked back at Ron, who did his best to avoid his eyes. Harry put on his most convincing fake smile and turned back to Mrs. Weasley. "Of course." He instantly regretted his answer as soon as it was out of his mouth, as usual. But, yet, he still kept being invited and he still kept going. Would the vicious cycle ever end? Maybe when I'm dead... Harry thought.

Every Christmas with the Weasleys was like going to a bar with a bunch of your rowdy friends and getting shit-face drunk, then decorating a tree with beer bottle caps whilst singing off-key Christmas carols. It wasn't that Christmas with the Weasleys wasn't fun and/or entertaining, it was just that after a few years or seeing Mr. Weasley stark naked attempting to climb atop the Christmas tree and shouting "Twinkle, twinkle little star. Here's my handle, and here's my other handle. Wait I'm no star! I'm a sugar bowl!" it just grew tiring.

The train gave an impatient whistle, starting Mr. Weasley out of a daydream.

"Well," he said loudly, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "Off you go, lads!" He shook Harry's hand once again, this time reducing Harry's finger bones to dust in the process.

Harry shook his hand back and forth to get the blood flowing back to it. He really couldn't afford to have anything happen to this hand: it was his "smoking hand". (When he held his cigarette in his left hand, he just looked gay.)He'd actually practiced holding his cigarette, switching hands to see which one looked best, in the mirror over the summer; which happened to be the main reason why he didn't go to the Weasleys'.

Mrs. Weasley hugged Ron, then Harry. Once again, Harry felt the brief contact go straight to his head and almost fell over as he began to lug his trunk and Hedwig's cage to the train. He was almost certain now that it was her breasts that seemed to have that "magical" affect on people. (Men, mostly, except for that curious incident that transpired between Mrs. Weasley and Professor Sprout at one of the infamous "Weasley Parties". Experts believe Tequila shots and a lime were involved...)

Harry looked sideways to Ron, whom, having already loaded his luggage onto the train, was simultaneously tugging at his belt-buckle and cursing.

"Damn! Why'd she have to go and make it so"-and here, he jerked the buckle up in what some might say was a suggestive manner-"TIGHT!"

"I though 'tight' was good... or was that 'fly'?"

Ron didn't get the joke and stared at Harry, so he quickly changed the subject. "Where's Ginny? I saw her, but I didn't get the chance to say anything." (By "anything", Harry meant "Let's hook up 'cos you're hot and I'm Harry Potter, so you know you want me", but he wouldn't have said that to Ron.)

Ron shrugged and finally released his death-grip on the belt-buckle. "I don' know. She saw her bitches and bounced."

Ron had obviously spent his summer watching MTV. "Sorry, I don't speak American," Harry said, trying to suppress the laughter that was fighting to get out. Ron had definitely changed over the summer; for better or for worse, Harry wasn't sure, but it was hilarious either way.

Ron grunted in disapproval and said, "I don't know where she went. She saw some of her friends and left," enunciating eachsyllable as if speaking to a retarded child.

"Oh," said Harry, finally understanding.

They reached the train and pushed Harry's trunk in before climbing in themselves.

As usual, everyone was staring at him. The Daily Prophet called him "The Chosen One". It was just some bullshit about a prophecy that said he was the one who had the power to defeat Voldemort, blah, blah, blah... Neither can live while the other survives. Junk like that that made everyone think Harry Potter was this big hero, when, in fact, all the prophecy said was that Harry could love Voldemort to death, in a manner of speaking. And to find that after all they had been through to retrieve it, that was all the prophecy said, was disappointing. Not to mention the fact that Sirius had died. Harry was awfully upset about that on account of the fact that his godfather owed him money. Quite a lot in fact, due to one of Sirius's many get rich quick schemes which he had borrowed money from Harry to back. He had left Harry his house at Grimmauld Place and Harry had tried selling it, but no one seemed interested. This was probably due to the fact that Number 12 Grimmauld Place didn't actually exist. (You try selling an invisible house!)

"Harry! Harry!" yelled a buxom fourth year Ravenclaw girl. "Sign my chest!" She thrust a black Sharpie into his hand and ripped open her blouse. (A button actually flew off and hit Ron square in the eye, but Harry wasn't paying enough attention to laugh.)

To Harry's surpriseand delight, she was wearing a little, black, lacy number that barely seemed to keep her boobs in place.

"And now I know why they call them Wonder Bras," Harry muttered before un-capping the marker and diving right in. Ron rolled his eyes and casually looked away as if the whole scene bored him, and immediately wished he hadn't.

A certain girl had caught his eye. A certain girl he had dated the previous year (and cheated on). And this certain girl's name was Hermione Granger.

Ron noticed that she had changed just as much as Ron had over the summer, which she had spent stateside with her mother and father. She wore a very low cut shirt. The front read "Insert Coin Here (for 10 second ride)" and had an arrow that pointed up to the slip of cleavage just visible at the neckline. Along with the shirt, she had on tight, black, straight-legged jeans and converse, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.

Hermione stared at Ron icily, her eyes roaming up and down his body, fighting the look of amusement that rushed to her face at the sight of his pants.

Ron realized that she was on the verge of laughing at him, and grabbed his crotch (which is what he did in most embarrassing situations) and tried to yank his pants down a bit.

Harry, having finished signing autographs on various pieces of paper and body parts, turned his attention back to Ron and found him engaged in a passionate kiss with Hermione that included thrashing limbs and strange squeaking noises. (The latter coming from Ron.)

He smiled and leaned against the wall of the narrow hallway. "So I guess she's forgiven you for the whole 'Lavender' thing, eh?"

Hermione's eyes opened and she pushed Ron away from her violently, their lips disconnecting with an audible "smack".

"No," Hermione said firmly, pulling the neck of her shirt, which had come dangerously close to being a serious wardrobe malfunction, back into place.

"What?" Ron, who had been looking so smug, now looked confused.

"I fell," Hermione shrugged and took down her hair. She bent forward to shake it out before tying it back again and Harry snuck a peek down her shirt. Just because she was his friend didn't meant she wasn't a girl. Ron was too flustered to even think about looking.

She straightened up and Harry snapped to attention. He wouldn't want her to catch him in the act. "You fell?" He raised his eyebrows. "What, and landed on Ron's lips?"

Hermione blushed. Ron, by this time, had gone past red and had circled back to pale.

She chuckled nervously. "Erm... Yeah..." Hermione looked away from Harry and tried to look at Ron, but her eyes froze somewhere over his left ear. "Thanks for breaking my fall," she said in an unconvincing tone of appreciation.

Harry snorted and moved on to find a compartment, leaving the two ex-lovers standing awkwardly in the hall.

Not-so-unfortunately, the only compartment Harry could find that was even semi-empty contained none other than Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. And of course, Luna was as high as a kite and Neville was under the impression that he was a loyal, if somewhat behaviorally challenged, Golden Retriever.

They used to be perfectly normal. It had all happened at the end of last year when Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Ginny had gone to the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius and while in the process of trying to find him, Luna had wandered into the Magically Intensified Toxins room, and had somehow managed to get permanently intoxicated (Why the Ministry had a room full of magically modified crack was beyond Harry.) and Neville had wound up with the brain of a dog. No one was quite sure how that happened, seeing as the only witnesses were a dog and a stoner.

"Haaaaaaaaarry!" Neville yelled. He jumped up from his seat, abandoning Trevor, whom he had previously been stroking with his index finger. He ran to hug Harry and Harry opened his arms half-heartedly. There was no trying to stop Neville when he was like this (and he was even slightly more lucid than usual).

"Harry," Luna said softly before returning to her inspection of the palms of her hands with her pair of cutout Spectrespecs from the Quibbler. "Mmmm..." she murmured to herself. "What strange hands I have..."

Harry hoisted his trunk into an overhead compartment and plopped down beside Neville, narrowly missing Trevor.

After taking a quick look around their compartment and as far as he could see down the hall outside, he drew a battered box from his jeans pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Neville watched in fascination as Harry twirled it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. Luna merely intensified her scrutiny of her palms, occasionally making a comment under her breath.

There was a commotion outside the door and Harry sat up, placing his cigarette behind his ear as he did so.

"You ask him!"

"No, you!"

"Fine, fine!" A skinny, dark-haired girl was pushed to the door by another girl, whom Harry recognized as the girl who had asked him to sign her chest. The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes at her friend and muttered, "Honestly!" before sliding open the compartment door.

Harry stared at her a moment before asking, "Can I help you?"

The girl giggled. "Actually, I can help you." She took a step towards Harry while at the same time hitching up her already ridiculously short skirt to show three more inches of smooth skin. "I'm Romilda Vane." She held out her hand for him to shake.

Harry looked down to her hand then back up to her face. "Harry Potter... But I'm sure you already knew that." He ignored her hand and leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on Hedwig's cage and searching his coat pocket for his iPod. He felt like some Rage Against the Machine at the moment...

Romilda laughed anxiously and slowly curled her fingers in to make a fist before dropping her hand to her side.

"And how exactly,"-Harry paused to let his eyes wander back to her-"do you plan on helping me?"

"Well..." she began as she edged even closer to Harry and "fell", twirling gracefully before landing heavily on Harry's lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing her face as close to his as possible. "Oops," she breathed.

Harry turned away from her. Her breath reeked of Firewhiskey. "Yeah," he grunted before pushing her off his lap.

She looked a bit putout and shook her hair impatiently. "Well, I was wondering if you'd like to sit with me and my friends in our compartment?" She glanced towards Neville and Luna, who were now taking turns sniffing Luna's hands, and raised her eyebrows before turning back to Harry. "You don't have to sit with them," she whispered in his ear.

"Actually..." Harry began loudly.

Romilda crossed her arms and stood up straight, staring down at Harry. "Really? What could those two havethat me and my friends don't?"

Harry's attention was drawn to the window on the compartment door where Romilda's friend was pressing her bare chest against the glass. Harry could see his scrawled signature just above the lacy edge of her bra.

"I love you!" the girl mouthed excitedly.

Harry smiled. "I know," he mouthed back.

Romilda tapped her foot impatiently. "Well?"

Harry reluctantly looked back to her. "Look," he stood and grabbed her wrist, leading her back to the door, then turned to face her. "If I told you something, would you promise not to tell anyone? Not even-" His eyes shot to her friend who was now licking the glass opposite Harry's face. He grimaced and continued. "Not even her?"

Romilda grasped Harry's hands. "Of course! You can trust me!"

"Okay." Harry bent down so that his lips brushed against her ear. She shivered as he began to whisper.

He finished and pulled away, dropping her hands. "I hope you can understand."

Romilda nodded slowly and sadly. "I can't change your mind?"

Harry shook his head in an equally sad manner. "You can try."

She smiled hopefully. "I will!" Harry slid open the door and ushered her out, eyeing her friend as he did so.

Once they were out of sight down the hallway, he turned back to find Luna and Neville staring at him.

"Why did she leave?" Neville asked.

"Yes, I found her friend particularly amusing..." Luna added quietly in her misty voice.

"I told her I was gay and that Neville and I were partners." Harry shrugged.

"We are?" Neville asked. He looked to Luna for an answer. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

She patted him on the back consolingly.

"No, you git!" Harry yelled before taking his cigarette out from behind his ear and sticking it in his mouth. "I just told her that so she'd get off my back." He sat down, propped his feet up, and covered his eyes with his arm. "I just hope she doesn't go tell the whole school... The door opened once more and Harry sighed, thinking it was Romilda again.

"So, word in the corridor is that you're a flaming homosexual," jeered Hermione.

Harry removed his arm from his face. Hermione was standing in the doorway, a mocking smile on her face. Ron stood slightly behind her, not quite meeting Harry's eyes.

"Damn," Harry whispered to himself before coming back with a nasty comment for Hermione. "Back from the luggage compartment so soon? Tsk, tsk, Hermione. You should know better by now." He shook his head. "And to think you can call yourselves Prefects... The upholders of our school's moral values." Harry was referring to an embarrassing incident in which the man who helps load the students' trunks onto the train caught Hermione top-less and making out with Ron in the luggage compartment. He promised he wouldn't turn them in if he could get in on it. Needless to say, Ron and Hermione turned themselves in.

"Ha ha," said Ron in a monotone. He sat down next to Harry, but scooted away after brushing his leg accidentally.

"Don't worry mate, you're not my type," Harry whispered to him.

"Then you are gay?" Ron whispered back.

"No, you idiot! My 'type' is girls!" Harry did the little hand gesture, curvy thing that symbolizes a female (you know the one) in the air to emphasize his point.

Ron sighed in relief and moved back towards Harry.

"And we weren't in the luggage compartment, we were doing Prefect duty!" Hermione snapped as she sat down beside Luna, eyeing her Spectrespecs warily. "You won't believe how much Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise we've had to confiscate already!"

"I don't understand why you had to turn in that daydream hookah," Ron complained bitterly.

"Ron, I told you!" Hermione said. "It would just have been taken by Filtch once we arrived at school anyway!"

Ron crossed his arms and stared out the window at the hilly landscape that was rolling by. "I know, but I could have gotten a few go's out of it before then..." he mumbled.

Hermione rolled her eyes and the compartment was silent.

Once more, the door was thrown open, this time by a nervous-looking third-year. When she didn't say anything, Harry asked rudely, "Well, what the fuck do you want?"

"Um..." She thrust a scroll of parchment into Harry's hand. "I'm supposed to give that to you and this,"-she held up another scroll-"to... him..." She looked towards Neville who was quite involved in petting Hermione, who swatted his hand away irritably. The third-year handed the scroll to Neville and he began to sniff it.

She turned to leave, but then turned back to Harry. "Is it true-"

"No!" Harry shouted before shoving her roughly out the door and slamming it behind her.

"How rude!" she squealed as she stomped down the hall.

"Really, Harry," Hermione scolded.

But Harry ignored her and ripped open the seal on the parchment. Ron leaned over Harry's shoulder. "What's it say?"

Harry,

I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.

Sincerely,

Professor H.E.F. Slughorn

"Bloody hell," Harry mumbled.