Falling

Chapter One:
I Hate Mondays

Disclaimer: Not mine! J.K owns Harry Potter!

Rating: NC-17! Lots of Fluff, eventually after all the quarrel!

A/N: This Fan-fiction revolves around a series of incidents at first which bring both Harry and Draco into terrifying, although cute, realizations! Set in Seventh Year, ignoring the events of the HBP. Will be shorter chapters than my usual fan-fictions, and also shorter in general. Probably around 10 chapters. R&R, it will be greatly appreciated! Edited/Revised April 2014.

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Draco was not having a good day. It was Monday, the worst day of the week and a fortnight into term. The blonde Slytherin spent nearly two hours primping himself in the mirror, as perusual, and all eyes followed him as he strutted around the Slytherin Common Room collecting his scattered books for classes that day. Once his book bag was full, Draco scuffed and called out, "Crabbe, Goyle, are you imbociles eating today?" and immediately he was joined by the two oversized goons.

With one last look at his fellow housemates, Draco stuck up his nose and stalked his way out of the Common Room and into the dank dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He walked ahead of the other two, who mumbled and grunted behind him as he lead them into the Great Hall. Pansy Parkinson jumped up from the Slytherin Table once the three entered and ran to meet Draco in front of the Entrance doors, her pug face growing a sickening smile larger as she neared.

She threw an arm around his neck and hung off of him, her eyes sparkled upwards with adoration as he shrugged her off. "Oh, Dracey! What's wrong? Anything I can't fix?" she giggled, fluttered her eyelashes which made the blonde roll his eyes.

"Piss off Parkinson, I am not in the mood," he growled and pushed past her to the Slytherin Table. She hurumphed but was distracted by greeting Crabbe and Goyle. The four sat down at their table, facing the rest of the Houses in the hall as students wearily filed in.

Draco began to place pieces of toast on his plate and knife jam onto them, his silver eyes waning every once and awhile to glance around the Hall at his fellow students. Most of whom he felt were not worth his time. They truly weren't, he was a Malfoy, they deserved better company than the majority of those he shared quarters with at school.

"Did you hear? The Mudblood and that Weasel finally got together this summer," Pansy gossiped to Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini who now joined the group of Seventh Years. This peeked Draco's attention for a different reason, as his vision strayed towards the Entrance door where the Golden Trio were striding in.

Parkinson was right, the Mudblood and the Weasel were tightly holding hands as Potter had his own hands in his pockets, laughing alongside his friends as they joked about something or another. Draco found himself scowling; how he hated those three. They had plagued his seven years at Hogwarts, a school he hadn't wanted to be at in the first place, and they always were the pinacle of news and current gossip. The blonde gritted his teeth and held tight to his knife as the three made their way to sit directly across from him in the Hall, the couple's backs to him as the brunette faced him.

"Look at them," Draco spat as all eyes turned curiously towards the venomous blonde, "Who do they think they are? Potty-head and his Muggle-loving friends...disgusting if you ask me, not worth the dirt on our shoes," he held his nose up and directed his attention back at his breakfast. His classmates all chortled darkly with his comments, but only Draco knew the malice in his voice didn't quite meet his head. Only Draco would ever know.

The morning post came in, his large eagle owl dropped a brown wrapped package, The Daily Prophet, and a letter. Attached to the package was a note, he opened it up; Dear Draconis, Do not disapoint us. He sighed at his Father's writing, he was never good enough for him although he tried with all his energy. He ripped open the package, his classmates peering in. It turned out to just be Endless Ink supply and a silver plated quill with the Malfoy crest engraved halfway up the staff.

His second letter he could tell immediately was from his Mother, her handwriting so precisely done upon the parchment. Softly, he unravelled the letter, it was short, as always but he cherished her kinder words in comparison to his Fathers.

Dear Draco,

I hope that your Father's message does not discourage you, I know you will do well this term at school as you always do. Stay on top of your studies, your Godfather is always willing to assist you when need be. I will be sending more books along soon that I believe will help you as well.

Your Father has been busy with clients, I am home alone most of the time. I am not to leave the Manor that often, I am in fear of your Father's actions as of late. We will discuss more when you return home for the holidays.

Love From,
Mother.

Draco smiled inwardly but did not dare let it reach his lips, he must remain in cold demeanor upholding the facade his Father and himself had worked so long and hard over the years to perfect. The war was at its height, the final battle coming closer and Lucius was at the top of Voldemort's inner circle. Though Draco saw faults in this, he saw followers faltering, they were becoming weary and tired of Voldemort's antics. Voldemort himself was becoming more of a skeptical maniac everyday, his attacks becoming more public and reckless. Draco had denied the Mark last year, his Father had been upset at first but that was the worst for him. He took on a neutral part in this war and that was something in itself.

Now, the seventeen year-old teen was something short of a bargaining chip. He was to keep their family values towards the public known and held strong, their standing in society to be kept heightened by his performance in school and afterwards as well as his Mother's appearance and his Father's alliances with Ministry officials. Their financial situation didn't hurt their cause, either. If the Dark Lord, forbid it, ended up losing the War, which Draco saw as more than a possibility now more than ever, then his family would have to fall back on their appearance, money, connections and very heavily on their son.

Stuffing the letters in his pocket and keeping his package on his lap, Draco finished his breakfast and read the newspaper. Two more Death Eaters had been caught and charged to a 25 years sentence in Azkaban for illegal activity and allegiance with Voldemort, they were of a lower stature though this was still a great impact to Voldemort's small, though powerful, group of followers.

"Malfoy, what is with you today?" Zabini had slid in beside him, he nudged the blonde in the ribs causing an immediate growl in response.

"I hate Mondays," Draco snapped, he held a tight grip on his package and The Daily Prophet as he took off out of the Great Hall and towards the Slytherin Common Room so that he could put his recieved things away. He had taken more time than he thought he did, so arriving to Double Advanced Transfiguration that morning he was late. Draco realized this as the bell rang and he was still in his dormitory, he cursed himself and began to start with quick pace towards his class, he never took well to being late. It was of course, on Monday, that he would be late.

On the way, another two persons were late and flying down the stairs as Draco was flying up them. As both late parties came to the Transfiguration corridor with quickness, they turned the same corner at the sametime and two bodies crashed together. Draco found himself falling ontop of a flustered looking brunette, his hands on either side of his head now as a redhead peered down at them with a stern mouth.

"What are you doing Potter? Transfiguration is that way," Draco nudged his head, still unmoving his body, in the direction from which the two had come.

"Didn't you hear? McGonagall's class got moved to the first at the top of the other stairs," Harry responded curtly, though not angrily as he looked curiously up at the boy above him. His emerald eyes were searching the silver ones for something, and Draco found himself searching back. How did a collision not end in hexes and shouting? It must be the Monday thing, Draco reminded himself, maybe Potter was having an off morning, too.

"Uhm...guys, shouldn't we be, erm...Malfoy, get off of Harry!" Ron was befuddled at first, but then he found his anger for the Slytherin he loathed and noted the awkwardness of their current positions.

Draco scrambled elegantly off of Harry and gathered himself, picking up his forgotten school bag before turning on his heel in the other direction. "Glasses not thick enough, Potty? Or is it that you are just too thick?" he drawled characteristically and swaying his hips as the two Gryffindors glowered after him, grumbling and following him, late into Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class.

The rest of the day, Draco found himself coming oddly back to his strange and apprehensive interaction with Potter. For some reason he began to feel frustrated and chastised himself; he should've been quicker, harsher with their interactions. In past years, he would have been. Draco should have penalized Harry, being a Prefect and all, for causing bodily harm. He knew it was an exageration, but that is what he usually would have done. And now, Draco was questioning himself as to why he hadn't.

It wasn't an easy rest for him that evening, there was something that unnerved him, something new lying in wake within himself. He tossed under his bed sheets, trying to sweat off his thoughts.

"I hate Mondays," Draco muttered before he eventually fell into a fitful rest.